Chapter 8 - 8

Considering you changed for this event, you decide to at least put the clothes to use.

You drift over to the dance floor, watching as couples, young and old, dance with one another. You know how the Game of Politics is played, and know that dance and tongue take the place of swords and spears. Doesn't mean you have to like it.

You take particular notice of the young men. They're the ones that must fight, a fact you're well aware of.

War is imminent. And they're all oblivious. Glancing at the twins, you see no grief on their faces. Mira must not have told them yet. Again, you bite back a curse.

Next

A sense of discomfort fills you as you enter further into the crowd, though your stoic mask remains firmly in place. You dodge past pairs of dancers, not wishing to collide with them. But it's those without a partner that you avoid even more.

You reach the edge of the dancing circle near the head of the table where the twins are sitting. You make sure to keep a healthy distance away from them, lest they recognize you.

Most people hanging on this edge are the elderly or otherwise occupied, but some are still seeking dance partners. You make sure to keep a watchful eye out for Elya, scanning the dancers as they pass by. You particularly note the absence of Mira. She would be present if Elya was somewhere at the feast.

Minutes pass…

You notice in the corner of your eye as a pair of young women stand, whispering intently between themselves. You pay little attention to them until you notice one, who appears slightly older, taking the younger one by the hand and trying to pull her in your direction.

The younger one swats her hand away, her face turning red from embarrassment. Then she shoots a glance in your direction, and you catch her eye. She turns an even deeper shade of red and turns away, once again whispering sternly to the older one.

You make absolutely sure to maintain your stoic mask of disinterest so as not to tip the duo off to your suspicions. Your hand moves to rest on the sheath of your dagger.

You've had bad experiences with infiltrators. There's a reason you stay armed, even years after it all.

Other men may not expect women to be infiltrators. You, however, have seen children used as infiltrators. Such experiences have made you much more open-minded in your rampant paranoia.

You sigh and try to loosen up, attempting to push away the intrusive thoughts.

I'm at a feast. In my home. Out of The War.

Frowning at the thoughts, you turn your gaze back to the dancers, but your mind continues to drift.

Am I truly home? Is this actually my home? Do I truly belong here?

The short answer is a resounding no.

It has been months since the last time you were last in Wrido. Even then, it was a brief stay, strictly for business. You had to oversee the implementation of new defenses on the city's outer wall. It was a thankless job.

Funny how Sobik never thanked me, never cared for me, but still expected me to help run Kanton's military.

The dead king was a fool, and the twins maybe even more so.

And I'll be the one wading through its forsaken ashes.

Father never thanked you. Mira sure as hell didn't. Most of the country doesn't even know your contributions. How you single-handedly won the war against the—

Movement from the duo draws your attention.

Next

The pair are moving at a rapid pace, the older one practically dragging the mortified younger one along.

Please, by God, do not be heading for me.

They are. You curse internally.

The older one lets out an amused giggle as she looks at her unwilling victim. Your face remains expressionless.

She strides in front of you, all but pushing the younger one toward you. A triumphant smile spreads across the older one's face.

The younger one is on the shorter side of the average height for women, meaning you're just over a foot taller than her. Her dark-brown skin appears smooth, most likely with a severe case of "noble skin." Her ebony hair is straight and long, cascading down the back of her ornate dress, while her eyes are dark-brown, with an almost mischievous glint in them.

The older one, the smug smirk still on her face, says in an almost teasing tone, "My friend here is just dying to introduce herself to you."

The younger one chuckles awkwardly, trying to mask her embarrassment. You blink in confusion.

"Hi," she says.

The older one chuckles, almost menacingly. You nearly reach to check for your dagger. She continues, smirk firmly in place. "Lada, aren't you going to tell him what you said about him? How—"

The younger one, supposedly called Lada, cuts her off, her voice cracking. "Can't you just stop?"

The older one chuckles to herself again. "I'll just leave you two to it," she says, giving Lada a wink. Some unspoken joke or comment hidden in that wink causes Lada to fire back a steely glare. The older one walks away, still cackling like a madwoman.

"Sorry about Denica. She can be… overwhelming sometimes," Lada says, quickly regaining her composure, her embarrassment passing.

You blink and realize she's inviting a response.

Lada looks… impressed by your light southwestern accent. "You aren't one of the locals, are you?"

You reply without emotion, "I'm not."

"I like your accent," she says as her voice takes on a… strange quality. "Where's it from?"

"The southwest."

"Were you born there?"

"No. But I was raised there," you reply. That's not a lie. You spent a lot of your life down there. Too much.

The woman gives you a slow nod as she licks her upper lip, a gesture that you hardly notice, and then she turns toward the dancers. You also turn, still slightly confused as to what's going on.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see the older one, supposedly called Denica, giving Lada a thumbs-up and a smirk. She returns the gesture, giving a thumbs-up, but slightly shakes it from side to side.

The realization hits you like a trebuchet rock, and you barely stay composed. Denica is acting as matchmaker. She… set Lada up with you. That means…

Lada is flirting with you.

Fuck.

The woman speaks up again, gesturing toward the dancers. "They look like they're having fun." How subtle. You will offer her no such hooks.

"Indeed."

After another pause and a flutter of the eyebrows, she asks, "Would you be my partner for a dance?"

She gives you an almost predatory smile, then eagerly takes your hand. You flinch at the touch, but she hardly seems to notice. She then runs a finger over your hand, feeling the callouses and pausing at your missing ring finger.

She shoots you a glance, the questions evident in her expression. You offer her no answers.

You have your own questions. For one, her hand lacks the smoothness you were expecting. While it's certainly no soldier's hand, it's rougher than that of a noble's.

You briefly contemplate what physical labor she must have done to gain these callouses, but your thoughts are cast away as she continues to reel you toward the dancing floor, into the group of dancers. As you take in the group, realizing that you're about to join them, a single thought hits you.

What in the hell did I get myself into?

Next

You're pulled into the ring of dancers, and your partner eagerly takes you into the center. Hesitant, you stand there awkwardly, not really knowing what to do with yourself. She shoots you an almost predatory smile that has you instinctively reaching for a sword that isn't there.

Instead of attacking you, Lada takes your hand in hers, causing you to flinch once again. Ignoring your reluctance, she places your hand on her hip, offering the leading position to you.

Soon, you're moving, twirling, and following the rhythm of the music swelling around you. You can't recall the last time you danced, but you know it was for sure after your exile, maybe before The War.

Though rusty at first, you slowly dust off your old dancing skills, and find yourself…

As if The War hadn't been proof enough. You shudder at the thought.

Lada presses her head up against your chest, causing you to stiffen in discomfort. You're not used to such casual contact. She tilts her head up to look into your eyes and says in a low tone, "You gave many people quite a fright when you first waded through the dancers."

You raise an eyebrow and look back down at her. "Is that so?"

Lada's smile widens. "I can tell why."

Before you can question her further, she extends a hand toward your face.