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Tammy rolls her eyes. “I know that. I read the books. But the people here think it’s rumored.”
“I wouldn’t say full of.” Kingsley taps a finger to his chin. “Those in power are shifters, as well as most of their soldiery—if you can call it that.”
Demetria stands. “I’ve also arranged some attire and accessories more fitting people of your station. Come, now. There is a gathering to attend.”
Chapter Three
The Unusual Suspects
My kids surprise me.
While I can’t say that I’m really happy with Tammy being stuffed into a gown that makes her boobs so prominent, she doesn’t seem to mind the style. My ‘little goth daughter’ is rocking the pseudo-Victorian ballgown Demetria provided. It’s not ‘vampire chic’ either, but rather a deep royal blue. Anthony’s in whatever equates to a tuxedo for this setting, complete with a fluffy ruffled ascot type thing. It’s as if the costume department for Contest of Sovereignty got stuck using the leftovers from a stage production of Henry VII and the movie Interview With the Vampire. Anthony’s pale blue suit reminds me a bit of what Tom Cruise wore.
You’d think most boys his age would be reluctant to wear clothes like this for fear of being ridiculed. I expected him to laugh and opt to stay back at the manor house. Nope. He’s having a ball—literally.
It’s Kingsley who’s the grumpiest about being squeezed into fancy attire. Go figure the man who has a closet full of $10,000 suits is the only one of our group who is unhappy with dressing fancy.
My gown is similar to Tammy’s. Only real difference is she hated the heeled shoes and opted to go barefoot—not that anyone can tell in such a long dress. She had a fairly sound reasoning to it, though. Not being an immortal, her ankles can still twist. My ankles are a little more resilient. These shoes will break before my bones do.
To be fair, it’s not really a ball. No one is dancing, and there’s no music. It’s ‘holding court’ or some such thing like that. I don’t really understand it to be honest. To me, it’s like a bunch of rich people standing around talking while the person in charge sits there fielding questions and making decrees. Except, the throne is presently unoccupied.
Of course, I know where the child queen is, and it’s far from here—and safe.
The more I look around, the more I think this is basically the medieval equivalent of a corporate Christmas party. All we need is some irritatingly placed speakers blaring too-loud music right in my ear and cups filled with lukewarm eggnog.
It amuses me that no one is talking about the disappearance of Queen Thae. Some voices nearby express their lack of surprise that the child monarch is not sitting on the throne for court. Others seem appalled that she’d miss it. Opinions are divided about thirty/seventy between if her absence is due to her throwing a tantrum or if the regent who is managing the kingdom for her until she comes of age is insisting she not be here. Not one person floats the idea something might have happened to Thae. Everyone thinks she’s merely too shy to show herself in a room with so many people.
This is probably a good thing. If the houses are already ramping up their attacks on each other into direct violence, then learning the sitting monarch has abdicated the throne (or been abducted or killed) would escalate the situation even more.
Tammy sidles up next to me. So weird. Except for her hair being jet black to my dark brown, we totally look like sisters with only six or seven years separating us. She’s gone full Disney Princess mode, prancing around in the fancy gown as though she’s worn them her entire life. She even omitted the obligatory threat of dire consequences if I ever told any of her friends she wore such a thing. That means she either genuinely likes it or she’s sure no word of anything happening here will leave my lips.
Safe bet. Alternate dimensional wanderings aren’t the stuff of casual dinner conversation.
“Ugh, ma, this sucks,” whispers Tammy.
“I thought you were having fun.”
She puffs at a strand of hair hanging over her face. “I thought it was going to be a party. This is just people standing around being fancy, feeling superior to peasants, and gossiping like crazy. Weird.”
“What’s so weird about royal court?” I gaze around a room of about a hundred people. As with most social events, the attendees have grouped themselves into conversation clusters.
“It’s weird for being much more entertaining to read about than be here in person.”
Kingsley frowns. “I can’t imagine what would possibly be interesting to read about nobles getting together to complain about whatever trivial nuisances plague them.”
“You should try reading the books rather than chewing on them.” Tammy nudges him.
“Knock that off… or I’ll chew on your sneakers.” Kingsley pokes her in the side.
She grins.
Demetria appears out of nowhere behind us, inserting herself between me and Tammy. She peers left at Tammy, then looks toward me. “All the players are in sight. You already saw Roldon.”
“Yeah.”
“House Barathor,” says Demetria, “is brash. Bold. He’s as pragmatic as he is warlike. The man’s first choice to solve any problem is reaching for his sword.”
I nod. “Doesn’t seem like the sort of guy to hire assassins. He’d just walk up to his enemies and do it himself.”
