DARKHAVEN | "Three Sisters" Book One

Chapter Thirty-Three

Roslin

The ball was still to happen. Despite the Kerata, despite the attacks, despite...despite everything, the ball was still to happen.

The visiting Lords had decided that though they'd brought their hosts for war, they'd also brought many a visitor who were not warriors—bookkeepers, the odd bard or two, Keeper of Coin, aged Captains of Arms too old to fight but still of use for counsel, wives of the men whose ranks were worthy of bringing wives, a noble paramour, horsehandlers, and so on and so forth until it was quite tiresome to list.

It was for these few, and for the people of Darkhaven, and even for the morale of the soldiers who would no doubt soon see the battle they'd come for, that the ball was to commence as planned, with all its grandeur and pomp and circumstance.

"These people," Lucien had said, and for once he'd sounded genuine when he'd spoken, "need something to hold on to. Let us show them that Darkhaven isn't the place of malice they think it to be."

"It is the place of malice they think it to be," Aleksander had sneered.

"Then let us lie to them." Lucien's smile had not reached his eyes, but the conversation had gone no further.

The few days that followed blurred together, having been a neverending rush of research, training, and—much to Blodwyn's chagrin—dance lessons and final dress fittings.

Then the morning of the ball came at last, and an early-morning knock at Roslin's door stirred her from her that comfortable state of half-waking, half-dreaming, when the sun has not yet risen and there is still sleep to be had.

"Hello?" She hesitated for a moment, wondering if it might be Novak with some twisted, last-minute training to fray her nerves one more time before a night of fun.

"It's me, Ros," came the familiar voice. At the sound of her sister's voice, Roslin opened the door and let Gia—who was much perkier and bright-eyed than she'd been in...uncomfortably long, truthfully...whisk her way into Roslin's room.

Roslin was about to close the door when Blodwyn appeared in the hallway, rolling her eyes as she sauntered in. "I figured you two would be awake," said the youngest sister with feigned dryness.

Roslin laughed, kicked the door shut behind her, and joined her sisters, who had already settled cross-legged on her bed.

"I didn't think you would be up so early," Roslin teased. "Are you sure you're not secretly looking forward to having a dance? And in a dress worth more than our childhood homes, no less." She pantomimed a waltz. 

Blodwyn scoffed and plainly bit back a smile. "I'm only here because I knew the two of you would wind yourselves up with excitement and then come and wake me. I've saved you the trouble."

"Sure, Wyn," Gia said sceptically. Then she sighed, stretched out her legs, and reclined back onto Roslin's bed. "I'm nervous about falling down the stairs, or no one asking me to dance, or..."

"Or what?" Roslin tucked her hair behind her ears. Rather than sitting, she was pacing. "I'm most certain Lord Aleksander will ask you to dance."

Gia propped herself up on one elbow. "He's still so...hot and cold. He's been perfectly reasonable with me these past few days."

"That bastard!" Blodwyn cut in with mock outrage. "A reasonable man? The worst kind!"

Gia laughed. "You know what I mean. It feels more...platonic. Not that there's anything wrong with that, but—"

Roslin opened her mouth to respond when the door creaked open. They hadn't even heard the knocking, nor the little maid's gentle voice from without.