DARKHAVEN | "Three Sisters" Book One

Chapter Seventeen

Gia

There they gathered, the six of them: three Lords and three sisters. The energy at the top of the staircase was positively unreadable. Smiles, glares, and nervous stares.

Gia found herself wishing for a pull-or six-of faerie wine to steady her growing nerves.

An attendant motioned to the doorway. "Lord Aleksander, Lady Amethyst," he said, addressing the two in turn, "you're first."

Despite her best efforts to maintain composure, Gia's cheeks flushed as they had a way of doing under Aleksander's gaze, betrayed by her own body. Even Gia herself no longer knew what she was feeling.

Aleksander offered his arm. "Shall we, my darling?"

The wording was intentional, Gia realised. He was offering her a choice.

There was a decision to be made, and Gia made it. She reached for him.

He has trained me, saved me, fought for me, fought with me, healed me, and kissed me, she told herself as she hesitantly reached for his arm, and now, he has stood up for me. Even in the face of her anger, her pettiness, her pointed spiteful indifference, he had made it known that her honour was not to be insulted so long as he was around.

Even if she hated him.

"We shall." She offered him only the smallest, weakest, and most strained of smiles, but it was not lost on him. His eyes shone when her hand found the crook of his arm. And there, amidst the near-constant storm of emotion, lingered that something that refused to be extinguished.

The sound of trumpets, then, "Announcing Lord Aleksander and Lady Gia Amethyst!"

In her many fanciful titterings, Roslin often said that the sisters were being treated like princesses, but as Gia and Aleksander ascended the grand staircase, Gia didn't feel much like a princess at all.

She felt like a High Lady.

Aleksander was regal as could be. He played the part well: holding his head high, sticking his chin out, squaring his shoulders. Gia mirrored his mannerisms and together they descended to the dais, the High Lord and his would-be High Lady.

Blodwyn

In the hallway above, the attendant's head turned and his eyes settled on Blodwyn. "Oh for fuck's sake," she huffed, "just get it over with."

Lucien did not have time to offer his arm before Blodwyn snatched his elbow in a deathgrip. "Willl you just-" Lucien shook his arm and adjusted Blodwyn's reluctant grip. They dragged each other towards the door.

Taking a deep breath, Blodwyn straightened and forced herself to wear a mask of indifference, preparing to navigate the treacherous waters of the evening ahead. She harboured a not-so-quiet resentment at being paraded before the Mansilla's host like a prized possession, yet she kept her chin held high, refusing to show any sign of weakness.

Then Lucien leaned in close to her. "I do hope our guests are ready to be captivated by the enchantress."

Blodwyn stilled, then swallowed. She had no retort. Never before had such attention been lavished onto her, and she suddenly realised how very out of her element she was.

And she was still in pants and a sparring shirt, at that.

Before she could look over her shoulder to Roslin with a silent plea for help, Lucien all but shoved her out the door.

"Announcing Lord Lucien Laufeyson and Lady Blodwyn Terran!"

Something physically shifted around her as they stepped through the doorway. It was quick, but noticeable. It felt as if a snake had slithered up her body. It was a rush of magic, she recognised, but not of her own doing.