"That was strange," Rosie mused to herself. Her mother was rarely alone with other men, save 'Uncle' Geoffrey, and in all her life she'd never seen her mother look as if she wanted to devour someone in one bite. "Cailan," she slapped her brother's arm, "what do you make of that?"
"Huh?" He was once again pulled from his favorite sport and frowned. "Mother's making some back deal, she does it all the time. Oh sis," Cailan grabbed onto her shoulders and situated her to stand in front of him. "You can't get away from it."
He was right. Rosamund wasn't anywhere near as powerful as her father. She was the responsible one, he was the fool. It wasn't true, not all the time, but the reputation, the illusion itself served him well. While her father was free to run from duty, it ensnared her every breath. There was no way she could vanish from this.
Cailan slapped her once more on the arm and then gave her a soft shove forward. "Your future husband awaits."
CHAPTER EIGHT
Girl of Nots
Myra stood out like a sore thumb that was turning purple at these things. She knew she was as welcomed as another blight by all those women that flocked around her sister, but that made Myra more likely to tug one of her three dress options out of the closet and head on up to the palace. Swaying back and forth in a circle, Myra had one hand cinched up under her lacy chest, while the other kept waving with the music. On the dance floor, all those handmaidens kept giggling while they forced the squires and other servants rounded up to be their dates to give a spin. It was kinda funny watching the ladies pretend it was all romantic while the lords looked as if they wished to climb the walls to escape.
She gave it two to one odds one of the women would go in for a kiss, the guy would turn in terror to flee, and knock over the punchbowl. At least the food was good. Lately, her mother'd been leaving cooking duties to whoever was on the board. It wasn't bad when it was Lunet, who could stew things up like nobody's business, but the dwarves were the worst. Their idea of cooking was taking a hunk of bread and dipping it into things. Not even normal things. Once they left out a spread of mustard and maple syrup as if that had anything to do with the other.
Myra knew the game they were playing. Oh poor me, I'm so incompetent, I can't be trusted to handle a simple task. You must assign it to someone more worthy who can deal with something as trivial as cooking. Too bad that trick never worked on her mother. She'd tried it ten times to get out of laundry.
"Excuse me, my Lady," a man spoke to her as his elbow swooped near her dangling arm. Myra shifted out of the way to avoid the hit, while her eyes darted up to him with a question. "I don't believe we've had the pleasure."
"Pleasure of what?"
"Of...um," his pale cheeks, scrubbed and shaved as smooth as a new babe's, turned salmon pink at her question. "I'm afraid I'm not certain. It's..."
"Myra!" She knew that voice. Turning, Myra spotted her sister surrounded by a halo of slavering men. They all held up drinks and tiny tastes of food as if that might tempt Rosie to turn to a single one of them. Like she was some alley dog who'd just follow them home. Waving her hands and arching an eyebrow for help, the princess smiled sweetly, "Come join us."
After shrugging at the pleasure guy, Myra inched into the group and smiled wide, "What's up, Rossie?" A few eyes darted skyward, as if there was an honest answer to her greeting. Maker, how could they all be this dense? Was there a lack of air out in the Bann estates or something? Poisoned well water?
"I was hoping you could delight us all with one of your daring adventures," Rosie was in true form. Her eyes sparkled, her smile never dimmed, and her fingers looked as if she wanted to strangle the skirt jammed inside of them. The latter was to keep a guy from shoving food or drink in her palm, or snatch her onto the dance floor.
Myra's eyes darted around the options. She sort of recognized a few of the guys but they all ran together in a blur. Nearly the same haircut, the color changed a bit but not to like pink or purple. That'd be memorable. Same watery features. All about the same age. There was a noble look to the fancy Fereldens. It wasn't in the outfits or the hairstyle, but the blood. High foreheads, smaller noses, thin lips, a stout chin, and slightly wide-set eyes. Myra was the only one in the group who stood out as different and off.
"Well, let me think," she made a show of putting a finger on her chin. "There was the time we had to stop a trio of smugglers that thought they were moving a live dragon egg through Denerim's streets."
"Really?" a boy turned to her. Oh yeah, that was the other thing, everyone here was young. Not as young as Myra, but in that mid 20's range. No one reached above thirty for certain. Bit weird for a castle party to skew that young.
Putting on a big smile, Myra turned to the guy who asked and said, "That part wasn't exciting, it was when they tried to return the egg that things got really neat. See..."
"Princess," a new voice spoke overtop of Myra as if she wasn't even there.
"It turned out that--"
"If I may be so bold..."
Myra didn't give an inch, raising her voice to be heard, "-it wasn't a dragon egg at all..."
"To ask you a question..."
"It was really--"
The interloper smiled wide, inching closer to Rosie, "You and I should slip onto the dance floor together."
"A rock the whole time!" Myra shouted at the top of her lungs, which was the exact moment the band stopped thumping the floor and every eye in the place swiveled to the loud half-blood. Shrinking lower into her dress' modest neckline, Myra's eyes hunted around the circle of young men like a wounded animal. Maybe if she dashed under the buffet table no one would spot her hiding.
"Well?" the boy clinging to Rosamund's elbow wouldn't give up. He looked older than the rest here, out of his mid-20s for sure but even more ragged. And hungry. The others were politely pretending to play the game, but he was going to stampede over them all to get what he wanted.
Too bad he had to compete against Rosie.
Daintily dipping her elbow low, Rosamund shook his fingers off without a thought. She kept her smile plastered on, her eyes beaming as she glanced at the men surrounding her. "My lord Eldon," Rosie bowed her head a moment as if in deference to the pig slime. "The dance floor is quite full up with talented young men and women. I see no reason to cause it to buckle under any new weight. Nor, would I think it proper for me to abandon my sister in the middle of her exciting story."
Lord Fartface blanched at how quickly Rosie dismantled all his arguments before he could make them. He snarled a moment, jabbing a finger as if he could browbeat the princess into giving him what he wanted. But that sure as shit wasn't going to work. Abandoning his plans, Eldon sighed and slapped a hand into his thigh, "As you say, your Highness."
"Now," Rosie spun back to Myra, "this dragon rock..." A new sound broke through the din and Rosamund turned to find Cailan in what looked like the middle of an about to be brawl. "Blighted hell, now what? If you will excuse me," Rosie apologized before clipping over to their brother to no doubt grab him by the ear. She was good at that when dad wasn't around. Shit, she was better at it than dad. Sometimes Myra was surprised the king wouldn't join in with Cailan's antics just for the fun of it.
While a few of the young men who were sniffing for a taste of the crown wandered off, the pleasure one remained by Myra's side. He coughed a moment, running a hand through his hair and gripping tighter to the glass of wine he'd been carrying all night. "This rock you found..." he began to get her attention.
Myra glanced over, an eyebrow lifting in confusion. She hadn't found the rock, that was the whole point of the story. About to explain that fact to the boy who wasn't listening to her, he interrupted to say, "You have the greenest eyes I've ever seen. Like a fresh green apple I want to take a bite out of."
"Uh..." Myra gulped, those apple eyes darting around in a panic that he might suddenly make good on that threat.
He tipped his head to the side and inched closer, "Your sister also has lovely green eyes. It's a gorg
eous trait to share between two beauties."
Myra sneered, her dangling fingers bunching up a moment, "Rosie gets her green eyes from her mother." The boy nodded along as if that made perfect sense, when she tried to calmly explain, "And I get mine from my mother." No doubt her sister would have laughed the fumble off, or treated it like a charming anecdote. Myra didn't have the skill to keep from thinking "Idiot, idiot, idiot" in her brain.
"They're so large..." pleasure boy continued, proving he wasn't listening to a word she said. Myra could have claimed her mother was a dragon and he'd have nodded dumbly and kept trying to stare down her dress. Well, joke's on you buddy, there's not much to find down there.
"Oi," Eldon who had to be some fancy Bann's son stomped over and got into the guy's face. "Knock it off, Woolsey. You don't waste your time with the bastard half-blood."
Myra's fists bunched up tight, her eyes darting around this pompous windbag's body. She'd go for the throat first. No, the eyes. Jam her thumbs in fast to blind him and then... A breath caught in her throat as she realized her body was frozen in place. She wanted to shoot lightning off her hands but they wouldn't lift. She wanted to grab a sword off the wall and teach that Lord Fuckstick that he should be careful who he dismissed. But she couldn't move.
"Uh," Woolsey glanced over at Myra before falling into the proper lord's good graces. "Right." And just like that, the only one willing to give Myra the time of day was chastised back into thinking she was some dirty, half-elven whore.
Damn it!
Swiping at her eyes like a bit of makeup got in there, as if her mother would let her wear any, Myra was able to stuff the tears away. Not now. Don't let them know they could sting her. It wasn't worth it. They weren't worth it.
All the gild and glamour faded as it always did. They weren't highborn lords and ladies trading high wit about arts, politics, and horses, but a bunch of young adults all but beating their fists against chests and flashing their asses to get laid. It was all a stupid farce and she shouldn't have come. Myra let her fists loose, prepared to grab all the food she could steal and run off to freedom when a hand bumped into her.
She turned, expecting to come face to face with another asshole human, but it was an elf instead. Bryn winked at her and smiled. Confused but grateful to have some kind of backup, Myra grabbed her friend's hand only to realize the other was clutching a silver platter. "What are you doing here?"
"Stealing the dishes," Bryn rolled her eyes, "what's it look like I'm doing? They called us in special, seems this little party was a bit off the books."
"Explains the guest list. Have you seen anyone proper all night?" Myra asked.
"It's nothing but humans. Ain't no one proper," Bryn whispered with a hand covering her mouth and the girls giggled. Technically, Myra was a human. She looked like one more or less, but her blood was more elven than not.
"Did ya see?" Bryn spoke to cover over their shared secret.
"What?" Myra felt as if she saw both nothing and too much already.
Bryn waved her serving tray towards the back wall, "Your old boyfriend's here too."
"What are you on about...?" Myra asked as she followed her friend's point. A few knights stood guard, so stiff and wooden they may as well have just put the armor on a stand. Her eyes darted down them until she had to slide back up to spot a familiar brown face above a deep green. The blush was instantaneous. "He's not my boyfriend."
"Not with that attitude," Bryn laughed. "Go on, go say hi. I'm sure he's bored out of his skull standing there."
Myra tried to remember if she was allowed to talk to the squires. She never wanted to before, or if she had she wouldn't have cared about the rules. But getting him into trouble seemed mean. And after how mean she was before to him... Then again, Gavin may be the noblest of them all at this thing. She picked up her skirt and tried to navigate around the crowd, when Cailan met her coming the other way.
"No new bruises," Myra called to her brother.
He spun on his heel and bowed widely, "The night is young. May I have one?" The latter half was turned upon Bryn who extended the platter to the prince.
Cailan popped something into his mouth and barely chewed before gasping, "Maker, may I say this food is nearly a tenth as delectable as you are?"
"I can't seem to stop you, my Lord," her friend was blushing, staring into his damn eyes as if there was no one else in the room.
"And if I may be even bolder, could you tell me your name?"
"Bryn." Even as Myra faded deeper into the swell of partygoers she could spot a flush rising on her friend's cheeks. Maker, Bryn. Come on, that's Cailan. He flirts with anything that moves.
Her brother tipped his head as if she told him a sacred secret. "Well, Lady Bryn..."
"It's just Bryn."
That wicked smile lifted and he spoke, "With a woman as beautiful as you, it's never just." Suddenly, Cailan glanced back at something coming for him. "Ah, if you will excuse me, I seem to be required far over there." Snatching up another amused bush and popping it into his mouth, her brother finally left the poor elven servant girl alone as he swam back into the mass of skirts.
Myra tried to ignore the sick feeling crawling up her skin at the idea of her brother flirting with her best friend. It shouldn't surprise her, Cailan never turned it off, but Bryn was smarter than that. Surely she'd see right through his brand of bullshit and... Risking a glance back, Myra caught her roomie waving her empty silver platter back and forth in front of her face like a fan.
Oh boy. Lunet was going to love hearing about this one.
Shaking it off, she walked closer to her only salvation from this mess of rich snots. Gavin seemed to have shifted all of his weight from one foot to the other, no doubt to stave off boredom. Well, Myra smiled to herself, she knew a few good ways to keep him entertained. She raised her hand, about to call his attention, when those amber eyes darted to the left and right into the emerald green ones of her sister.
She couldn't hear what Rosie said, but it was clear she was speaking to Gavin rather informally. He kept his hands behind his back, nodding at whatever the princess was telling him to do. Perhaps she wanted a window open, or for him to track down more wine...
Suddenly, Gavin's lips cracked apart and a hearty laugh escaped. Or she was telling him a joke. Such a good joke, it required her to grip onto his upper arm in solidarity. Whatever Gavin's response was to be was cut short by Rosie spinning back towards a mob of future dowagers. She waved her perfect little fingers at them, and then slipped into the throngs.
And the entire time amber eyes watched her body, her shapely form, glide across the ballroom as if she was born to it. She was. The golden princess, their one great hope to continue the line. Perfect face, perfect hair, perfect... Myra felt a spark leap off her fingers and she stared in horror at her hands.
It'd been years since she last lost control. Okay a year, a few months at least. Shaking her hands as if they fell asleep, Myra found her eyes wanting to turn back to Gavin but her head locked in place. Instead, her body took her towards the stairs. She didn't realize she grabbed onto the railings as she flew up them until Myra was nearly halfway up. Thanks to her long legs, she was able to take them two sometimes three at a time.
A few servants eyed up the not-princess appearing before them. They looked about to either explain the party was downstairs or that they weren't taking a break, when Myra stomped to the first door she found and stepped inside. Blissful darkness enveloped her. It was one of the side guest rooms. Piles of some random girls typical dresses lay strewn about the bed. They had to break out the fancy ones for tonight. Myra only caught a quick look, but she knew in her heart that even those castoffs were of a finer make than what she was wearing.
The damn thing wasn't even long enough for her. While all the other girls skirts brushed against the floor, requiring them to daintily pick it up lest they get dirty, Myra could run through a lawn and not risk any grass stains. It was out of style, it was terribly boring,
it was the only damn thing she had to wear.
Rather than confront that nagging voice, Myra yanked open the windows. The latch was simple, giving in quickly to her as she flung open the shutters to find a smattering of stars across the night's sky. It looked like sugar crystals spilled over black velvet. At least she could enjoy the Maker's bounty without having to say the right thing, or look the right way.
Hopping onto the window railing, Myra glanced around the outer eaves of the palace. This was where it cut in to make a sort of U shape, the next wing over sat so close she could jump to it. Maybe. Probably not off this narrow ledge, but from the roof for sure.
She left her shoes on the windowsill and rose up onto her bare feet. They gave a better grip, in the off chance she missed something in the dark. One foot in front of the other, Myra picked up speed dashing across the railing until she reached the end and leapt out into the plummeting darkness. It was only a second before her foot caught the room next door, but it was enough to get her heart racing. She adored those moment where there was no certainty in life, only a strangely blissful chaos. Would she make it? Would she fall? It didn't seem to matter when she could float thanks to magic, but her body didn't seem to know that.
Padding like a cat past another two windows, Myra began to feel more secure in her movements. A long balcony was ahead of her, no doubt for Rossie's fancy room. Their beloved princess had quite a few of them to her apartments. All the better to house her handmaidens with. Picking up speed, Myra leapt one foot forward onto the balcony bannister and then rolled forward to cartwheel on her hands. It was at most an inch thick of a balance, but her body never let her down. Trusting in herself, knowing she could do it, Myra easily plopped back to her feet and reached the end of the line.
The next window was higher up, but that'd require climbing... Good thing they loved stupid ornamentation outside the palace. Myra's fingers gripped onto a jutted out brick bearing a mabari and she dug her toes into the wall. Climbing high, she partially leapt upwards and grabbed the next handhold.
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