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The carriage lurches as it comes to a stop in front of the palace, and I can’t help but relish this final moment of silence before I’m thrown to the wolves. Glittering lights shine from the many windows, and even from within the carriage, music and conversation spill from the open palace doors.
Tonight is an opportunity to finally break away from my family. Deep in my bones, I recognize it as the beginning it truly is – and yet, I can’t find it in myself to feel excited.
It takes a truly pretentious, narcissistic asshole to believe themselves capable of making decisions for the fates of so many, and perhaps that’s why politics have never held any appeal for me. I’d be much happier simply existing, with my only responsibilities concerning my well-being or where to spend my money rather than being responsible for the lives of so many individuals I could never possibly understand or relate to.
It’s either sell your soul in politics or have it crushed beneath Ocuri’s heel.
Politics it is.
The zagfer footman hurries to open the door. I run a hand through my hair as I step out of the carriage, craning my neck to see the top of the castle before remembering myself. My parents’ many lessons ring in my ears, my spine straightening as though they were truly chastising me.
A Thuvrol doesn’t ogle wealth, we have plenty.
The only people who outrank you are the royal family themselves, act like it.
Carry yourself with the dignity of our family name.
A mask of cool indifference settles over my features, my shoulders pushing back and my chin tilting up. My family name places me above these people, and I need to act like it. Especially if I expect tonight to go to plan.
I stride toward the castle doors, not sparing the various zagfer at their stations a glance as I make my way into the opulent wealth of the palace.
Marble floors glitter beneath the heels of the many khuzuth filing into the palace, swaths of decadent fabrics in all textures and colors draped from their bodies. I don’t miss the glances thrown my way, or the way the available women titter and whisper as I pass them by.
The Thuvrol name is enough to make any woman throw themselves at my feet, regardless of whether or not I am the ‘golden child’ of the family. I can’t help but hope that I’m able to avoid the worst of their attention tonight, but given the way that several fathers seem to shove their daughters in my direction, I doubt that will be the case.
I manage to slip into the ballroom without incident, and only by the grace of the Thirteen do I manage not to make a complete fool out of myself.
A full orchestra has taken up residence on a raised podium at the back of the ballroom. An expertly woven melody echoes off the walls of the luxurious space as the undercurrent of conversation melds with it like a heartbeat.
Heavily laden tables of every kind of delicacy imaginable line the walls, tables and chairs dotting the space surrounding the dance floor where eligible lords and ladies spin and dance with one another. By force of habit, I find myself receding against the wall, drinking in the sight of the ball as it unfolds before me.
I care as little for preening as I do for politics. Unfortunately, this ball is the perfect playground for both.
It’s going to be a long night.
A zagfer weaves between members of the crowd, carrying a silver tray laden with glasses of various spirits. I swipe a glass of zhisk as the poor bastard moves past me, bringing it to my lips and savoring the way the burn of the alcohol slides down my throat and warms my belly.
The familiarity of the drink soothes some of my more frazzled nerves. I grew up around events like this, but having been the spare rather than the heir, fading into the background was not only allowed but encouraged.
Tonight will be different.
Tonight, I will have to step into the full force of the spotlight and pray that a lifeline is handed to me in the form of the Prince or the King.
My eyes rove over the crowd as I begin to walk the room, scanning for any sign of Carisu mingling with the guests. King Ishiraya notoriously detests having people grovel at his feet, so I’d be unsurprised if Grymlok had decided to forgo entertaining his guests until it was absolutely necessary – not to mention I’d be unlikely to get an audience with the King simply by walking up to him.
“Denve!”
I cringe inwardly at the sound of the wheedling voice but paste a smile on my face as I turn around.
“Lord Rostra, how wonderful to see you,” I say, the lie falling flat even to my own ears. The squat, rotund male inclines his head at me as he approaches, dragging his waif of a daughter behind him.
Wonderful. A marriage proposition.
“Indeed, indeed! I would have expected Ocuri to be the one representing your family at this event!”
My teeth grind together, and I have to force my smile to stay in place.
“I’m sure he’s around here somewhere,” I concede, taking a step back. Rostra doesn’t seem to get the hint, matching my step with one forward of his own.
