Chương 83: Chapter 81 Edited

Princess Talena The first circuit of the hall passed as it always did, with awkward introductions and attempted acknowledgments. These were small conversations that were less about what was said and more about who chose to say it, how long they lingered, and who was watching while they did. I was automatically a focal point, the eldest daughter, apparent heir, and Dominion beauty. It was predictable and tedious, mostly tedious. I moved through it with practiced ease.

"Your Highness." Lord Serrathis of House Serrathis, one of the Four Pillars, was surrounded by lesser nobles trying to get his attention. He inclined his head as I spoke, his voice soft enough that only I would hear it despite being surrounded by people.

"You look well, as beautiful as ever."

"Lord Serrathis, ever the flatterer. Did Cassia make it tonight?" I replied, giving him a slight curtsy.

"I trust the journey was uneventful."

"Unfortunately not, she is actually on Valecis Isle," he said, which meant it had not been.

"Handling some administrative matters for Arclight." We both knew what that meant. She had followed Kaereth. I cannot believe she is still chasing that idiot. I had the tact not to bring it up. A representative from Caelvaris, the second son of a branch family member whose name I did not know and did not care to learn, followed, speaking at length about trade routes that did not interest me and stability that he clearly did not believe in.

I listened, nodded where appropriate, and gave him exactly enough attention to avoid offending Duchess Caelvaris should she find out about it. To my left, I caught sight of my father in conversation with Duke Vanta. Their expressions were controlled, and the angle of their bodies told me they were still discussing something of importance. My mother stood slightly apart, engaged in a conversation that looked effortless and was anything but. She did not need to raise her voice or command attention.

People adjusted themselves around her. I moved toward her.

"You are late," she said without looking at me.

"I arrived exactly when I was announced."

"You are late in spirit," she replied, finally turning her head.

"You are looking for something."

"Someone," I corrected. She studied me for a moment.

"That is worse."

"I disagree."

"I expected you would." Her gaze softened just slightly.

"You are holding your composure," she said.

"Continue doing so."

"I always do."

"Except when you don't," she replied.

"Like the time you tried to capture a handsome mercenary and force him to marry you."

"I don't actually know that he is handsome."

"That's even worse."

"Come now, Mother, that is no way to talk about your future son-in-law." My mother snorted, a very un-queen-like action. The music began a few moments later, the shift in tempo signaling the transition from conversation to formal movement. The first set of dances was always predictable, designed to reinforce hierarchy in one of the dumbest court power plays. I was hoping I would be overlooked this once, since I was too anxious to make nice. I was wrong, of course, and I did not have long to wait.

"Your Highness," a voice said. I turned to find one of the visiting nobles from a minor house just beyond the Dominion of Vera's direct influence, still on our Upper Plane. He bowed correctly, and his posture carried just enough confidence to suggest he had practiced this moment.

"May I have the honor of this dance?"

"You may," I said. Up close, he was younger than I expected. Not a boy, not fully settled into himself either. His name was probably Damion or Deacon or something similarly plain. His shoulders were held just a touch too high, his jaw set a fraction tighter than it needed to be. His gloves were new, the leather still stiff where his fingers bent. I could feel the tension in his grip before we even began. His relief was immediate when I accepted, and he worked to bury it behind proper form.

He offered his hand exactly as he had been taught, and I placed mine in his. He led correctly. Careful consideration instead of confidence. Every one of his steps was placed with intention, as if he were recalling instruction rather than moving naturally. He did not attempt conversation beyond what etiquette required, which I appreciated. This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

"You move well," he said after a moment, his voice steady and quieter than it had been before.

"You sound surprised," I replied. His mouth tightened briefly before smoothing out.

"Yes. You're a princess, of course. Sorry, I am babbling. You're really pretty, and pretty girls make me nervous." Honest. Well, that was a surprise. It actually made me relax just a bit. I gave him a soft smile. He adjusted his grip slightly, catching the rhythm a fraction later than he should have, then correcting it. He was paying attention to me more than the music, measuring each movement against my response rather than trusting the pattern.

He wanted to say something more to me, I could tell, and I simply did not have the emotional bandwidth. Still, I was glad he was not angling or trying to cop a feel on my backside. Men who act like pigs are pigs regardless of station, and I have run into my share of those. We completed the pattern without incident, and he returned me to my place with the appropriate level of gratitude. Another approached before I had time to step away. Then another.

Each dance was some variation of the six or seven royal steps generally accepted at these functions. They were boring and predictable. Once, just once, I want to go to a club and dance with no inhibitions. Apparently princesses do not do that. Dumb. I continued to dance. Each partner came with his own flavor of ambition or calculation, some attempting conversation, some attempting charm, some attempting seduction. All of it aimed at impressing me in some vague way. I was not impressed. None of them mattered.

I moved through them anyway. This was what I was here to do, after all, and by the third set I began to feel the edges of impatience. I did not act outwardly. My posture remained steady, my expression composed, my responses measured. Internally, the rhythm of the evening had become a clock I was watching rather than an occasion I was inhabiting, and I was waiting for the moment to change. I excused myself after what had to be the tenth noble's son.

I stepped away from the floor at the conclusion of the next dance and made my way toward my father.

"You are performing admirably," he said without preamble.

"See, is it so hard to show up to a function?"

"Father, when you almost get killed, saved, and then have your true love run away from you, you can lecture me about showing up to silly galas," I said, keeping my voice low and not particularly respectful.

"In the meantime, do not talk to me about showing up. If he does not show, I am not going to the Gala. I promise." He looked at me.

"Your true love — is this the same true love that you attempted to imprison?"

"Why do people keep bringing that up? That was a misunderstanding."

"You tried to have him chained."

"That was ceremonially."

"Talena." I crossed my arms.

"I would not have tried to chain him if he had not rejected my marriage proposal so badly. What was I supposed to do, Father?" My father was trying very hard not to laugh. I could tell.

"I do not know, daughter. Perhaps not try to imprison him."

"If I did not try to detain him, he would have gotten away."

"He got away anyway."

"That is not the point."

"I think it is the only point that matters." I glared at him.

"Remember what you promised." I crossed my arms and turned my head. He studied me, then allowed the conversation to end. I stepped back, letting the flow of the room carry me again. ⁂ The music shifted, and another dance began. I declined the next request and then the next. My mood had soured. That alone caused a subtle ripple. Declining was not improper, and it was noticed. I did not care.

My attention had shifted, and I could feel the change in the air, a thread at the edge of perception, like a current moving beneath still water. My mana stirred in response. I turned slightly, scanning the room without appearing to do so, and nothing stood out immediately. For all intents and purposes, everything was the same. A herald's voice carried cleanly across the hall.

"Now presenting, Lord Aiden Vanta, heir of House Vanta, Knight Captain of the 34th Squadron and First Sword of the Four Pillars." That caused a far more noticeable reaction than my refusal to dance. Aiden Vanta was not someone people ignored. I turned fully now and watched as the heir to the Dukedom of Vanta entered without entering alone.

A small regiment of men-at-arms followed behind him, their formation tight without being rigid, each one carrying themselves with the quiet confidence of trained soldiers who knew exactly where they stood and why. Their armor was practical, reinforced, and marked with the subdued sigil of House Vanta. Flanking the formation were two knights in full tactical Technica armor. They did not resemble the ceremonial guard stationed throughout the hall.

These suits were built for combat, heavier and more aggressive in their design, layered with reinforced plating and integrated systems that hummed with contained power. Their presence shifted the room more than their number suggested. Aiden walked at the front of them, the weight of that presence belonging to him rather than the other way around. He came to a stop at a respectful distance, his posture relaxed and his presence unmistakable.

He inclined his head just enough to acknowledge my station and not diminish his own. Aiden crossed the floor with measured ease and stopped before my parents, offering the proper bow, precise in angle and duration.

"Your Majesty. Your Grace." My father acknowledged him with a slight incline of his head, the kind reserved for men he trusted to act without supervision. My mother studied him for a moment longer, her gaze sharp, weighing more than the greeting itself. Whatever passed between them was brief and quiet, and it carried enough weight that those watching understood something of importance had just been confirmed. I did not listen. My attention had already moved elsewhere.

If Aiden had arrived like this, with that level of control and presence, then he had not come alone. That much was certain. What mattered was where he had placed him and how long he had been here without drawing attention. Aiden turned. He approached me now. He stopped at the proper distance, close enough to speak without raising his voice, far enough to maintain the structure expected in a room like this. His posture remained easy, the ease of complete awareness rather than indifference.

"Your Highness."

"Young Master Aiden," I said quietly, unable to keep the impatience from threading through the word.

"You are late. I was starting to doubt."

"It is a far flight from our location, Your Highness, and I had to convince him to come," he replied. Then, in a softer voice, "I had to convince him you were not going to try to capture him again." I let out a small breath. A faint smile touched his expression, controlled and deliberate.

"He is here, Your Highness. Rest assured." I tried to keep my composure, and I was never very good at it. I was excited. Really excited. He positioned himself just enough off-center to limit the direct sightlines from several angles in the room. It was a small movement, and it changed the space between us.

"Is he here now?"

"Yes, Your Highness," Aiden said. Then he straightened, stepped half a pace forward, and let his voice carry just enough to gather the room without forcing it.

"Ladies, lords, nobles, and honored guests," he said, "there is someone I would like to present to the court at this time." That alone was enough. Conversations thinned. Heads turned. The current of the evening shifted toward him with the ease of long habit. Aiden paused just long enough to let the attention settle where he wanted it, then turned his head toward the far end of the hall and gave the smallest nod. The great doors opened.