Chapter Text
Aarya pushed open the gilded doors, and had to place a hand over her eyes at the dazzling sight. At every turn could she see the servants’ outdoing themselves–silk ribbons hang heavy, lining the upper floor for guests to admire. Fresh polish gleaned the walls and tile, bouquets potted along them, decadent tables and chairs precisely spread, each piece of furniture clothed and adorned with the garden plants, and Aarya noted the Darryl touch. Royal reds, golds, and whites draped the ceiling. A string quartet was plucking sweet notes at the far right of the room on a makeshift stage. And, looking up, since when did the staff have a chandelier? The walls were completely barren the day before, and Aarya silently saluted their dedication. You couldn't tell this ballroom was once a sparring hall for fresh-faced recruits.
Today was a celebration, as the High Council called it. A voyage to intercept Sval forces, including Aarya, was recently enacted, ending in a Council victory and several key leaders apprehended. She didn’t want to return to the sunken faces of the chieftains and warriors, trudging in a line off to some dungeon, or worse. She shook her head.
If her image were to be preserved, might as well enjoy the party.
At the time of her arrival, several guests were already frequenting the grounds. Aarya could spot Prince Emyrs at the center of the dance hall, surrounded by nobles, probably showcasing his hand-picked decorations so wonderfully displayed around them. She couldn’t blame the man–however prickly the prince is, bland taste was not one of his traits. She steps toward the throng of nobles, a few Garrison members catching her attention. They sidled up near the prince, gushing at the decadence of the gala. How excellent the event was, or how impeccable Emyrs’s choices were, they would rave. Aarya notices the immediate disinterest on his face when they opened their mouths. It soon dissipates when he notices Aarya joining his circle.
“And what does the De Chabenet heir think of the decor?” Emrys turns to face her, a relaxed smirk back on his face. He eyed her carefully, as if searching for whatever apprehension Aarya had for this gala.
Being this directly addressed, Aarya cocks a brow. “Opulent, your Highness. It rivals even the triple-fluffed fur ‘round your neck. Not one hair goes frayed.” The other High Council members' eyes widen at the retort, though Emrys only throws his head back with a laugh, his calculating eyes twinkling at her mischief.
“Enjoy the ball, my lady.”
“You as well.” Aarya bids her leave, feeling pleasantly light after that exchange. Should Emrys suspect anything, he wasn’t showing it. No sooner does she spot Prince Darryl at his lonesome by the drink fountain, his slight frame against the seven-foot high marble chisel. He watches the mingling guests, an untouched glass in his hand. She greets him warmly.
“Poisoned drink at our latest ball?” Darryl pauses to consider her words before he shoots a reluctant grin back.
“Well…a servant offered this into my hand, and I suppose it’s impolite to refuse a sip.” Darryl takes said sip, and hides his grimace with a flash of teeth. “Ahhh…”
“Do you not drink, Darryl?” He sighs.
“I have a dietary regime to maintain, and alcohol doesn’t fit in it. In fact, I’ve been trying to impart that on the mages, but…” His gaze travels toward a few feet away, where two mages revel in how much wine a third can guzzle down in one sitting. “Heh. That’s not the food item I’m missing though.” He glances longingly at the dessert table beside them. “I haven’t had a good custard tart in ages.”
Aarya glances as well at the spread. Cream puffs, tarts, fruit pies, vanilla wafers, and tens of other pastries she couldn’t name occupy the length of the table. All enchanted sweets, no doubt, as Emrys would enjoy it. Perhaps it was the confectioner’s tooth in her or one look at Prince Darryl’s expression, Aarya plucks a red-looking tart from a plate. “Even the best dieters get cravings, your Highness. Care to indulge just one?” She hands him the little pastry, which Darryl cautiously accepts. A look of child’s joy soon envelops. “You are most kind, Aarya!”
He paused, only for a moment, glancing back around the guests. “If you wouldn’t mind, however, please don’t mention this to the High Council–I have an image to keep up.” Darryl beams, an ear-to-ear grin at a pleased Aarya, who leaves him alone with his rekindled love.
It was not soon after that Aarya spots a lady in sparkling blue, who entered the room with a sliding of the doors. Princess Iris glides in, and with a brief taking-in of the ballroom, she notices her as well, and the two soon make their way to each other.
“A pleasure, Aarya.” Iris held a knuckle under her chin with a soft smile. “The Council is buzzing about the victory.”
The victory. Aarya kept her expression neutral, free from giving away her worry. Only her tenth week arriving in this country and her Sval identity was put into question. She remembers her first boat arriving at this land, where a sudden Sval longboat had boarded their ferry. She had the choice of either fighting her comrades or keeping the peace, mediating between the passengers and preventing further bloodshed. Suffice it to say, several concussions and a Council interference later, all was well and good.
“Do you know of the current conditions of the Sv–prisoners?” She slipped out, not meaning to. Aarya supposes her worry cannot escape her attempts at being diplomatic and neutral. But even yet, she adds, “I must confess, the conflict was messy, and battering the Sval black and blue does not feel…”
“Fulfilling?”
Aarya was glad Iris wouldn’t have the energy to harm a fly. Even this bit of confiding was more reassuring than she’d like to admit. Iris drops her hand, looking intently into Aarya’s eyes. “Your concern is not unfounded. To be frank, I am not sure the Sval are receiving the quality treatment our physicians are praised for.” Her eyes narrowed. “It matters not their brutish reputation has caused immense pain, for are we not the same in their eyes?”
Aarya sighs. “The Council can’t enjoy pondering that while retribution is to be dealt, I’m afraid. I’ve… fallen into that battle mentality myself.”
“Though I do not agree, I cannot fault you in that regard. That’s what you’ve trained for, after all. Still, it’s easy to get caught up in a single mindset while blocking out all other stimuli.” Iris looks away, as if struck by a thought. Suddenly, the ambiance of the band’s tune shifts into a smooth, melodious beat, and several nobles start pairing up at the center of the ball.