𝗨𝗟𝗧𝗜𝗠𝗔𝗧𝗘 | 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐰 𝐟𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝

𝐭𝐰𝐨: 𝒃𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒔, 𝒂𝒈𝒓𝒆𝒆𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒂 𝒇𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒍𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒘𝒐𝒐𝒅

♕

Dahlia was in a foul mood all evening, her parents had an argument with Ariadne about Charles. The mere mention of his name aggravated Dahlia to no end. It wasn't just Charles, it was his obnoxious brother too. Matthew Fairchild's existence made Dahlia want to burn the idiotic bastard and use his ashes to make amusing sand structures. Though it couldn't be called sand structures, more like ash structures.

Speaking of Matthew, where was he?  Dahlia wondered absently.

Tessa Herondale, Dahlia's not-so-aunt, and Will Herondale - Dahlia's not-so-uncle, were greeting guests at the ballroom doors.Uncle Will was over the moon with excitement for the Carstairs. It was something about the Carstairs that made uncle Will giddy. Dahlia was convinced he thought even Alistair Carstairs, a smug bastard, had some hidden depths.

The ballroom was something else, everything was airy and bright, the walls lined with pale wooden benches padded with gold-and-white-striped cushions. A frieze of golden birds darting among trees ran above the curtains—if you looked closely, you could see that they were herons. Hung on the walls was an assortment of ornamental weapons—swords in jeweled scabbards, bows carved of ivory and jade, daggers with pommels in the shapes of sunbursts and angel wings.

Most of the floor had been cleared for dancing, but there was a sideboard laden with glasses and pitchers of iced lemonade. A few tables draped in white were scattered around the room. Older married ladies and some younger ones who didn't have dancing partners clustered at the walls, busying themselves with gossip.

Cordelia Carstairs entered the room, aunt Tessa hosting them and the rest of the Carstairs family in the behind Cordelia.

She seemed to be looking for someone, her eyes landed on Lucie for a bit then she scanned the room once more, looking disappointed.

Lucie was dancing with Thomas Lightwood, it was a miracle he wasn't tripping over his own feet.

Alistair Carstairs who had been dwelling at the edge of the group, suddenly walked away over to Charles who was talking to everyone. Ariadne, Dahlia's sister, was at the refreshment table. 

Dahlia decided to approach the table just as Lucie and Cordelia were.  A group of girls in colorful dresses had gathered there; Catherine Townsend, Rosamund Wentworth, and Ariadne Bridgestock. 

Dahlia didn't like Rosamund much, but she could tolerate Catherine. "Dahlia!" Ariande exclaimed when she noticed Dahlia. Dahlia smiled softly at her sister and turned to the others at the table. "What a pretty dress," Ariadne said to Cordelia, her voice warm. Her own gown was of flattering wine-colored silk. "I believe that's the shade they call 'ashes of roses.' Very popular in Paris."

Oh, yes," Cordelia said eagerly. Dahlia was suddenly growing panicked, Rosamund Wentworth was a jealous twat; she would most definitely insult Cordelia if she spoke one wrong word. ANd exactly what Dahlia feared, happened. "I did get this dress in Paris, as a matter of fact. On Rue de la Paix. Jeanne Paquin made it herself."

 Lucie's eyes widened in concern. Rosamund's lips tightened. "How fortunate you are," she said coolly. "Most of us here in the poky little London Enclave rarely get to travel abroad. You must think us so dull."

"My mother has always said Shadowhunters aren't meant to have much of an interest in fashion," said Catherine. "She says it's mundane."

"Since you've spoken of Matthew's clothes admiringly so often," said Ariadne tartly, "should we assume that rule is only for girls?"

"Ariadne, really—" Rosamund began, and broke off with a laugh. "Speak of the devils," she said. "Look who's just come in."

Dahlia blinked twice, then furious rage settled over her just as it did every time Matthew entered room with his aggravating confidence and swagger.