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Tegan nudged him playfully as they started to descend the stairs. Salem and Marcus stood at the bottom waiting. Both in formal black, Salem wore a suit similar to Michael, his waistcoat the same black as his suit. Marcus favoured the old style of formal clothing, a brocaded emerald green tunic over black dress pants. A twisted cord of golden threads hung across the front of it, attached to shoulder lapels. The cord announced to others that Marcus was the Second of a Principal. A high honour amongst the Akrhyn.
Salem turned from his conversation with Marcus to see his son and daughter coming down the stairs, his face split into a wide smile. He bowed his head in greeting as they approached him. “My Heirs,” he said formally. Michael beamed with pride and Tegan felt her own smile widen. “Tegan, you have no idea how much it means that you wore this dress.”
“I think it suits the occasion,” she murmured shyly.
“It does, just as your mother reminded the Court all those years ago that she was more than an Akrhyn looking for a match.”
“This was your mom’s dress?” Michael asked in surprise.
“Yes, she wore it to her first official Court, after her final Trial,” Tegan ran a hand over the black satin. “Salem gave it to me this afternoon.”
“Well, it looks perfect.” Michael smiled at her.
“The Castors should be back soon, they took Sloane and Zahra already,” Marcus informed them.
“Castors?” Tegan asked as she fixed her chiffon wrap.
“Castor Jameis and,” Marcus faltered, “I never remember the other one’s name.”
“Cord is Heir tonight,” Michael whispered softly. “He won’t be a Castor that portals attendees.”
“I forget he is Heir,” Tegan admitted.
“So does he,” Michael chuckled.
Tegan felt oddly disappointed he wasn’t going to be there to portal her to the ball and see her in this dress before she was presented to the northern territory.
Castor Jameis appeared and waited patiently. “I have been instructed to take you, Principal, Second,” he bowed to Marcus, his white robes brushing the floor.
Salem sighed in exasperation. “Cornelius and his games,” he looked at his children. “See you soon.” They had just disappeared when a Castor in black robes appeared.
“I can only take one,” he stated harshly without greeting.
“I better go,” Michael said. “You never know what Cornelius is planning, I’ll be waiting.”
Tegan looked around the empty hallway and gave a light laugh. “And then there was one.”
“Not quite one,” his smooth voice slid over her.
Turning, she looked at Cord, he was in formal attire similar to Marcus. His black tunic was heavily embroidered with flecks of red stitching, accentuating the pattern. Cord’s hair was styled fashionably, and Tegan’s fingers itched to run her hands into it and mess it up so it framed his face like she was used too.
“They said you wouldn’t be here,” Tegan said. “You would be on Heir duties.”
“I wanted to make sure you weren’t in fatigues,” Cord’s usual mocking tone was light. “You disappoint me.”
“Because I am in a dress?”
“No,” his eyes ran over her, taking in her naked shoulders, the way the corset hugged her slim frame, the muscle tone of her upper arms. “No, you’re not disappointing me with your choice of dress.”
“You look nice,” Tegan ventured as her cheeks flushed with his compliment.
“And you look simply stunning,” Cord was frowning at her hair. “Who did your hair?”
“I did. Why, is it wrong?” Tegan’s hand flew to her hair, checking the tidy bun was still in place.
“I don’t like it.”
“It’s not your choice,” Tegan replied as she shook looked at him in exasperation.
