You steel yourself for the touch, but still flinch as her hand draws near.
Her hand lightly traces across your face, taking particular notice of the scar over your left eye.
"Where did you get this one?" she asks, almost playfully, as she pulls her hand away.
"I don't want to talk about it," you say, firm in your denial.
A smirk spreads across her face. "How mysterious."
The stoic mask remains firmly placed upon your face, hiding your… confusion. Why is she so fascinated by my scar?
Mercifully, Lada stops pursuing this particular route, and instead returns to pressing her head against your chest. This act continues to make you stiffen in discomfort, which in turn nearly trips you up as you continue to dance.
Once the dance ends nearly five minutes later, Lada pulls away from you, her smirk still spread across her face. "Well that was fun," she says in a strange tone that makes you shudder internally.
"It was," you lie, barely restraining the venom from dripping into your voice.
"I'd best be off, then," she says.
"Of course."
With a final smile, she turns away and sinks back away into the crowd. She meets back up with Denica and very enthusiastically begins to speak to her. After a minute, you finally deem it safe enough to stop watching her.
A single thought hits your confused, dazed, and slightly uncomfortable mind:
What in the fuck just happened?
Next
You break away from the crowd and purposely choose a much more obscured spot in the far corner of the feast, though still close enough to overhear and decipher the many conversations around you.
None of these conversations particularly strike you, though you do notice a few speaking about you. A handful toss glances in your direction. Your face remains impassive, as if you don't notice the extra attention, but your right hand lingers on your left hip, an instinct ingrained into you from the years of fighting and training.
Your arrival has created quite a stir. You feign ignorance, though casually glance at the twins, making sure they aren't aware of your arrival. They're oblivious. You briefly contemplate informing them as well, but decide against it. You're already pushing your luck by being here.
With a sigh, you place a hand to your chin and wait for Elya to arrive.
Half an Hour Later
Elya's entrance was hard to miss. The doors to the banquet hall were pulled shut, just so they could be dramatically thrown open upon her arrival. She's wearing a dress of fine blue, with a breathtaking number of jewels dotted across her person. Mira's work, you think.
You can almost hear a collective intake of breath among the young men. If you weren't maintaining cover, you might have laughed at how pathetic that was.
Elya has always gotten attention from those of your sex.
Her skin is lighter than average among your people, with a dark-brown tone. Soft raven hair, nearly three times the length of your own, is wrapped into a single long braid that cascades down her back. She shares her amber eyes with Mira, but Elya's contain much more light and radiate more warmth.
You quickly scan behind Elya for Mira as she steps in, clearly not enjoying all the attention. Even the musicians have stopped. The uncomfortable silence is broken only by hushed whispers.
What's with all the flair? Is this her debut? you wonder idly to yourself. Wait… is it? How old even is she?
It then strikes you that you don't remember how old Elya is. You ponder it for a second, then realize that she must be sixteen. Meaning this must really be her debut, and that she is now in the market for a suitor.
So Mira isn't telling her so she'll have an easier time marrying her off? you think. Should've seen it coming.
But a debut strikes you as strange. Why not marry her to someone foreign? Strengthen ties with Kanton's neighbors? Unless there's someone foreign amid the attendees…
You scan the crowd, but no one strikes you as foreign. You purse your lips in thought.
If a foreign suitor truly is here, then you know it would be best if he left now. The sooner the better. If he gets caught in the brewing storm, it would be bad news for Kanton. You really don't want to start a diplomatic incident.
Elya, still walking forward, looks miserable. She's wearing a false smile and a mask of calm, but you can see through it. You're the master of masks, and you know your sister. She's screaming internally.
You want to feel sympathy for Elya. You really do. But you just can't.
Because you remember your own sixteenth birthday.
So much blood. You wade practically ankle deep in the crimson depths, an equally bloodied sword in your hands as your men move systematically, enacting their vengeful slaughter.
Then you come upon it, bathed in blood and black mud. Her… his… whoever's face left unrecognizable. And the smell…
The terrible smell…
Next