Elven Legacy

Chapter 39

Zemisha

The Azuria Palace's ballroom was a lavish affair with soaring arched ceilings, rows of ornate pillars, majestic chandeliers, and floors of lavender marble imported from the Tortoise Isles in the Dryanic Ocean.

Funnily enough, considering the celebration was supposed to be in her honor, Zemisha spent most of it on her own. She sat alone now, at one of the long tables still strewn abundantly with delicacies.

Clad in stiletto sandals, a slim gown of amber and gold hues, tightly corseted and bare at the shoulders, with long golden earrings and her hair intricately pinned up, Zemisha sipped her Elzendel out of sheer boredom and picked without much appetite at a lemon pastry.

Even as dawn lit up the ballroom in its timid glow, many guests had been undeterred. Now, a cloudy morning sky bestowed the occasional spearing rays of sunlight, and at least thirty noble men of varying ages still danced and flirted with their heavily perfumed courtesans, wives and other noble ladies. The music was provided by a string instrument quartet.

Zemisha found the rhythms interesting at times, but mostly redundant. The dancers were openly gulping vials of sin, especially at this hour, so they could be filled with the unnatural energy and desire to continue into the morning-after.

If she glanced the other way, a massive billiard table sat on solid oak legs and covered in rich black cloth, bearing colorful balls that the players hit with their sticks. A young man with a highly decorated soldier's uniform had invited Zemisha to join their game earlier. One of her scarce interactions of the night. She'd declined, though now she regretted it somewhat.

Every time they hit those balls, the clatter it made worsened her weary headache. Had she been playing as well, maybe she wouldn't have found it quite so irritating.

She wasn't allowed to leave. Two guards in red-and-metal uniforms flanked Zemisha's sides. At the beginning of the night, they'd been standing. Now they sat, most likely as tired as she was, a few chairs away to either side. They weren't allowed to speak with her, either – she'd tried a few times before giving up.

It felt like some ridiculous fancy prison.

Her mother had spoken to her, of course. It must've been a few hours ago. The pre-dawn sky had still been a pallid gray across the east-facing windows. Lakensha had told her daughter to be patient, to be a good girl, and that Neros would surely speak with her soon.

Yes, well. He hadn't.

Zemisha turned back to the dancers. Neros was among them, clad in perfectly tailored outfit of metallic brown with a white-and-gold side cloak that, Zemisha found, spilled out and swayed around him stupidly as he danced.

The young emperor was, unshockingly, surrounded by a cluster of beautiful young women in provocative dresses. Some of them looked younger than Zemisha. She'd pinned the youngest-looking at fourteen or fifteen. They all appeared ecstatic to be there – wide-eyed, smiling, sensually brushing themselves against Neros at every opportunity. The sin probably helped with all of that.

She certainly wasn't judging the girls. Zemisha was beyond that, right now. She just wanted to get out of this godforsaken dress, rip out the pins from her hair, and go to sleep.

Zemisha noticed the slaves had started to clean up. They were discreet about it, picking up discarded wineglasses and plates in the corners of the ballroom, and the tallest ones used long poles with downward cups at the top to douse the chandeliers' flames.

The billiard players finished their game and decided to call it a night, making their way toward the ornate spiral staircase that dominated one end of the ballroom. The young soldier who'd invited Zemisha to the game earlier waved at her one last time, with a small nod and smile, before turning away, and it looked to Zemisha as if he pitied her. Maybe he did.