Lines of Violence

01

Leona looked around, and could find no respite.

And she detested all this- the flurry of activity around her, the swell of excitement. It was for all the wrong reasons.

Her mother's hand was cold as marble on her shoulder, an ever present remind to 'behave'. Leona was far beyond the age to be chastised, yet who was she but a pawn in her mother's eyes? A pawn to be bartered and traded to her parents' satisfaction, and tonight's celebration was exactly that: a trading. They could sugar-coat it for the rest of the world to see, but Leona saw through the opulence, the careful planning, the honourable guests invited.

Her mother guided her down the sweeping staircase away from her friends and into the crowd (perhaps she worried that Leona would make a run for it?), silk whispering against skin. The bitterness in Leona had not warped her smile, so practiced it was that the falsity felt like a second skin. And so she smiled her charming smile, shook hands, thanked those who had came. She was the very image of aristocracy in its finest hour, very near perfection.

"Lee, my girl!"

She turned to see a man with open arms, grin as wide as his face. Shimmering constellations seemed to be embedded in his tuxedo. "Uncle!" She stepped forward to hug him, one of the few she genuinely was pleased to see this night. Her false smile was chased away by sincere joy. "How was Japan?"

"Absolutely wonderful! The akkorokamui, though, was not so wonderful." Her uncle Ilias replied.

"Well, you must take me sometime. It would do us both good to get out of the Sections once in a while."

Ah, the Sections. The world of the magical grouped into thirteen sections, lingering in the unseen spaces of reality. That's how they hid from the mortals so well (though magical creatures lingered in their world. Some found it amusing how the creatures lived right under the mortals' noses and caused not a single ruckus).

"Don't tell me you crave mortal simplicity, Lee. You have everything you need here, and with your union to the Fifth Section... You might as well crown yourself Queen." Ilias snagged some finger food from the passing servant, a twinkle in his eyes.

"Not simplicity, uncle. Think mortal ignorance, their blissful carelessness."

Ilias dabbed his mouth with the corner of a napkin. "They are not so different from us. Their wars are just as bloody and violent as ours." His tone was purely conversational, as if he was commenting on the plate of pastries next to him. In fact, he was offering that very plate to Leona. "—Tart?"

The corner of her lips quirked as she reached for one, tasting Sicilian lemons and golden fields in one single bite. "Tell me more about Japan. Indulge me." It was a hidden plea for respite that her uncle could not refuse.

She had waved away every single person that dared to interrupt their conversation, the senior ranking of her uncle adding to their dismissal. But she could not hide in her uncle's speech and marvellous tales forever. Heavy footsteps approached and Ilias fell silent. The hulking presence of her father could not be ignored. A second, and he spoke. "To the stairs, Leona. The Fifth have arrived."

She followed behind him, a new tart in hand. The gold at her father's shoulders glistened in the light, the twisting symbols embroidered on his sleeves clearly indicated his ranking: the commander of the 13th Section; the highest position in any Section. The commoners would call Leona a princess, inspired by her visage, but the Sections were not a monarchy.

They stopped at the base of the grand staircase. Fanfare sounded, the heavy doors were pushed open by soldiers, and figures in black appeared. Their ebony hair was impossible to miss, a signature of the Aelia family who ruled the 5th Section. They began their descent down the stairs, steps indolent, and even from down below Leona saw the jewels dripping from their waists and wrists. She felt like a sacrificial lamb in her pale blue silks, pearls and sapphires.

She thought it was the man in front leading the Aelia family who had come for her hand, and she considered him kind looking, if not a little melancholic.

She bit into her tart, and tasted sweet raspberry.

But it was not he who stepped forward. Another, a taller man, parted the crowd of black and descended the last few steps.

The sweetness in her mouth turned sour.

He towered over her with his broad shoulders and lean muscles. But it was not his bulk that had her heart turn to steel. It was that terrifying look in his eyes, that unreadable look in his eyes. The dark glint in violet shades that seemed to belittle her. She felt silly in that moment, holding her half-eaten tart, pearls threaded in her hair while the Aelia girls had gold circlets upon their brows. But she refused to be intimidated; she had a right to be here, it was her he was to be bonded to, it was her home he was intruding in.  She drew herself taller, her gaze glacial as she looked at him, a goddess in her own right.

He glanced down at her, at his bride-to-be, noting that smudge of raspberry jam across her pink lips, the coldness in her glare. Looks like neither were particularly fond of this situation.

The hall had been quite for a while now ever since the fanfare interrupted the casual ease of the celebration. Somewhere an ornate clock struck midnight, and he stepped forward, all grace and deadly intent.

"I, Gaspard Aelia of the Fifth, come to pledge our souls as one. I come with a kingdom in my heart for you, Leona Lang. Will you accept my mark?"