WAR STORM (Red Queen 4// Alternate Version)

Chapter 17

Iris

"Enjoying the evening, My Queen?" Maven asks, adorning a smirk reserved for the evilest of people. His cutting blue eyes bore into my charcoal ones, and I stare back with equal arrogance.

I curl my fingertips into his shoulder with force and offer a serene and vicious smile. In the public's scrutiny, we preserve a perfectly healthy-looking relationship between a husband and wife, but always find ways to squeeze in jabs at each other.

In this case, it happens to be on the ballroom floor, amidst an ocean of dresses and suits. There are many, many aspects of Maven I detest, but his ability to throw celebrations of grandeur doesn't fall into that category. The masquerade has a warm, welcoming theme, with red, orange, and yellow lights fixed to the chandeliers, only abandoning the edges of the massive stretch of room to darkness. Tables are arranged at those edges, holding taper candles, illuminating the food and drinks well enough to consume freely.

There are multiple rooms like this in Whitefire, suited to house the masses, but this chills me. The ceiling is a piece of magnificence, gradually added to over the course of centuries. It's a more of a story than a mural. Beginning at its core is drawn the tale of the rising Silver empire, portraying people colored silver standing up from their knees, breaking free from Red abuse. Next come the Great War and the start of the Nortan dynasty, led by Caesar Calore. Silvers and Reds combat, Godly abilities versus fruitless weaponry. Landscapes are recounted, fields that are no longer green but awash with blood, both sides taking strain. The last portion of the section shows Silver men atop a knoll, overlooking their spoils, the land stained completely red now with blood and flame.

Newer tales are found further out in the furled ring, and my gaze snags on electric purple. Literally, electric. Mare Barrow falls with her back arched from an arena balustrade, sparks spitting from her body. I wonder if that's actually how it happened, or if her powers there are exaggerated. Either way, I know not to underestimate the girl. Farther down the spiral, I see Tiberias and Mare's failed killing, Maven and his coronation, and the return of Mare and her misery.

"Presently, yes," I murmur back, almost forgetting to answer, and insinuating that the merriment is temporary. "Do you know what would be an amusing activity for our guests?"

Maven simply inclines his head, silently telling me to explain. The red of his mask shimmers and reflects the light, while the black deflects it, seeming darker by the moment. Maven isn't predictable, but his fashion sense is. I almost chastise him for being so unimaginative, but keep my lips zipped shut. Little time-minutes, perhaps- separate me from my liberation and Rosalyn, and the last thing needed would be getting into trouble with Maven, throwing my plans askew. "The lords and ladies could wager on how long it will take for the power to crash." There go my plans of not enraging the King.

He irons his mouth into a pale, thin line; a true shame for him that his mask only covers half of his face. To my surprise, however, billows of heat don't radiate from the boy, and his lips curve upward into that nasty grin that is never gone. "Leave it to the professionals to plan these gatherings, Iris. Your ideas are anything but good."

My mask, thankfully, shelters the entirety of my expression, and I allow myself to glower for awhile. The painted blue and silver lips lack emotion, neither pointed upward or downward and while the fabric may itch and bite at my pores, I am glad for it.

As nonchalantly as possible, I look toward the balcony, where Bart Nornus has settled, along with my other guards. He dons a disgusting robe, making himself identical to the Sentinel next to him, and the one after that. Greco is outside the hall's mighty doors, on duty for potential attacks from what Maven warned his men of. A particular little lightning girl. Our eyes collide, though I cannot offer any indication of anything at all, as Maven spins me and other couples come between our gaze.