Page 58 of The Beast Of Gloomenthrall
At least of the two of them Alia was well rested. Thankfully she also had nerves of steel. By the time Alia was bathed, dressed - in the outfit handmade by Perri especially for her debut appearance - and Perri had arranged her hair to her satisfaction, the mantle of the Beast had settled over Alia’s features. She looked both commanding and somehow dangerous.
Ready to face any and all foes.
Which was all well and good, except Alia had yet to make an appearance at the first event scheduled today. The introduction morning tea.
Perri fought the urge to fan her scarf covered face. They’d agreed that Alia would make a solo entrance, but it already felt like this small ballroom was overflowing with bridal candidates greedily sucking in all the air. Everyone had to be here… except Alia.
Where was she? Had she gotten lost?
Gods, even more people were trickling in. There was no room for them. Go away. Biting her lip, straightening her back, hoping she wasn’t unconsciously still swaying. Perri gripped the edges of her chair so tightly her hands had turned bone white. All the while silently chanting her new mantra, don’t faint, don’t faint… whatever you do, don’t faint.
At least she had found a seat at the rear of the room. If she did faint… which she would not, she wouldn’t have far to fall and could perhaps do so discreetly. Hopefully everyone would assume a swathe of grey cloth had accidentally been dropped on the floor and proceed to ignore her.
Damnation, people were moving her way. No, no, there was no room, no air, were they blind, deaf and dumb?
“Heavens. Where’s a breath of fresh air when you need one?”
She knew that voice. Brandth! The entitled fop would definitely have no compunction in stealing all Perri’s air. Go away. Go away.
“Let’s open a window… Cruddy hell, when was this last opened? Ah, that’s got it. Hmmm, might have to get a glazier in to fix that glass though.”
A tidal wave of cool air poured over Perri, so refreshing, so welcome, she couldn’t help but whimper in relief. Crossing her fingers the sound was lost in all the groaning Brandth made as he manoeuvred himself around with the aid of his crutches, and took the not so surprisingly empty seat available beside Perri. The other companions and chaperones too nervous or wary to sit themselves next to a veiled figure who looked suspiciously like a drab grey ghost.
“Good morning, Healer Perri.”
“Lord De’Luca.” Perri’s voice just above a whisper, desperately trying not to attract any more attention her way. But heads kept turning, gazes settling on her before swiftly moving on… and then slowly moving back. Honestly, had they never seen a woman wearing a veil covering her face before? “Just what are they looking at anyway?” She grumbled.
“I expect it’s something to do with all that unrelieved grey you’re wearing. Major fashion faux pas, I’m afraid. If you’d worn some sparkly earbobs to break up all the monotony, I doubt they’d give you a second glance.”
“Really?” Perri couldn’t help but enquire dryly as she took in another deep lungful of decadent fresh air. “You believe my lack of accessories is the reason I’m garnering so many not so covert looks?”
“Must be. You have the scarf thing down pat, clearly. But without rings, a necklace, or ear dangles, they don’t know whether to pigeonhole you as serf or lady. Must be driving them mad.”
Okay, she would admit it, the man could be mildly amusing occasionally. “Just how many candidates did you invite? This room is crammed to bursting.”
“Only nine this season, including your sister. The rest are their family members. Mostly unmarried siblings, who might potentially meet a worthy match at the Palace. And of course, the young ladies’ parents. The mothers gathering information on the competition. Planning and plotting how to bring their child to the notice of the Prince. And the fathers; forming alliances, trade, political, seeking and exchanging favours.”
“It feels like rather a lot of people.” Couldn’t a larger room have been chosen for this event?
“Don’t forget all the impoverished cousins or maiden aunts lingering at the edges of the room acting as chaperones and maids. Fixing hair. Fetching shawls. Running messages.”
“The Palace must be fit to bursting.”
“Yes and no. See, each candidate is only provided one set of rooms identical to the ones you and your sister were assigned. So, if the family entourages wish to stay here, where all the action is, then they must all pile into the two room suites assigned to each of the candidates.”
“Oh, no.” Perri raised her fingers to press them to her scarf covered lips, she would not laugh at the image of all these families crowded into their tiny suites so over stuffed already with antiques there was little room to manoeuvre. And yet, she suddenly felt so much better. The fresh air. Brandth’s familiar presence. Yes, he was annoying, but kind of useful, with all his insider knowledge. She couldn’t relax exactly, there was still no sign of Alia, but some of the tension drained from Perri’s shoulders.
“Oh, here we go.” Brandth rose to his feet as did anyone else who was seated. Perri a half second behind, her poor timing thankfully lost in the crowd. They were starting. Starting! And still Alia wasn’t here.
“Is it the Prince?” She couldn’t see over all the people blocking her view of the elaborate entrance doors.
“The Dowager-Queen Cecelia.” Brandth whispered out the corner of his mouth, bending at the waist, executing a bow. Perri immediately bobbed low, imitating a curtesy.
“You might want to practise that.”
“Shush.” Evil man.
There must have been a signal as the occupants of the room resumed their seats if they had them, though respectful silence continued to reign. Perri finally catching a glimpse of the King’s mother. Her hair purest white, done up in an elegant twist. Her dress, other than Perri’s, the most sombre colour present, a few shades lighter than navy blue. The long sleeved silk gown showcasing her willowy frame to perfection. The delicate array of crystals sewn across the neckline her only real decoration. Ensuring her long swanlike neck and sharp cheekbones were emphasised. Somehow the Dowager-Queen’s outfit was understated yet still managed to convey that she was the most powerful person in the room.
