I sip my drink slowly, and watch as they all exchange glass after glass, all well on their way to being plastered.
Then, around midnight, two hours after my arrival, I returned to the dais and clap my hands together once to call the attention back to me. I continue with our plan.
"Lords and ladies, you were kind to dance your feet off in my hall," I say, all smiles and chuckles."And now I invite the rulers of each court to follow me so that we may get to know each other before the end of the conclave."
Look at me, I'm a little tipsy, innocent and ignorant of how these things are done, this is in no way a trap,my demeanor claims loud and clear.
And I'm young enough, foreign enough, for some of them to fall for it, too.
Either way, they're too eager to get me alone and take my measure to think to refuse.
I spot the bright queen, eyes narrowed into slits, though even she seems flushed, with her glass empty.
I’ve won this round.
And if I can keep winning and winning little things, put out one fire at a time, I might even win this battle before it starts.
The council room's not far away, and Loch leads us there in silence. It's prepared with thirteen seats around a long trapezoidal table, plus one larger, higher chair in white with golden carvings on the sides that is most definitely a throne heading the shorter of the four angles. That's the most regal piece of furniture he could find large enough for fourteen; the previous queen's table was rectangular, with the map of Ilvaris carved on top. I've kept it as a sideboard.
I'm surprised to find one of my guests already here. He's tall, tanned, and broader than most folk. His hair's a dark shade too fiery to be called brown. Russet, I think. He has green eyes. But while none of those features are like Ryther, there is no denying that this is his brother. They have the exact same face, sharp jawline, prominent cheekbones; the kind of man who makes every girl in the room stop and stare.
Calreth wears a long dark green leather duster with golden stitching and has a bow strapped to the back of his chair. He seems ready for a fight, and yet utterly relaxed as he leans back and nods. "My queen, I assume. A pleasure. You favor your mother."
Startled, I blink. No one told me that before. "I do?"
"Almost as much as I favor my brother. You could have been twins," he assures me, offering me a hand as I approach.
When I take it, he turns my palm, so as to look at the mark running through it.
"The mating bond is a blessing. One I envy you for," he tells me on a wistful sight.
Then he brings his mouth to the back of my palm.
"You're a charmer," I accuse with a chuckle.
He's also perhaps the first of the folk that put me so utterly at ease. Even Loch, I thought to fear for a moment or two. Calreth could be a threat—everything about him says as much. But he chooses not to be.
"Sit close to me," I invite, relieved by his presence.
We weren't sure he'd make it. Calreth's hunt doesn't take part in the conclave, uninterested in the rites, or anything to do with the general ruling of Ilvaris. It just exists to hunt, constantly fighting the greater threats around our world. He's only here as a favor to his brother, to help with a show of strength on our part.
I cannot have Ryther close to me. Loch was supposed to be at my right and Valdred to my left; instead, I sit Calreth in Valdred's space, trusting he wouldn't take it for a slight. As another more or less neutral party, like Loch, he makes more sense.
Valdred's next to Loch. He doesn't seem to mind.
Ryther sits opposite me, right in the middle of the longest side of the table. One glance across, and I can see how unwise that is. We were trying for distance, but the way he occupies the space, he seems to be a second head to the table.
I make myself detach my gaze from his, and try not to blush.
"Sit, sit," I tell everyone, once my circle's at their respective places. "Wherever you find room. This is to be informal, just a get together so we might understand each other better, yes? We'll see to formal seating arrangements later."
In short, I'll reserve judgement on who gets closer to me after I've heard them.
"Hopefully you'll pardon my lack of decorum; I don’t have much experience in your world. So, let’s get to know each other. I'll introduce myself, speak of my goals here, and you'll all do the same. Ryther darling, would you very much mind serving us wine? I didn't call any servants."
Silly me, how stupid I was.
Of course, I purposely failed to ask any servant here, and it is by design that the first words I exchange with Ryther are an order—one for what the lords would see as a demeaning task, at that.
