Europe / British Empire / London (St. James Palace): June 5th, 1817.
It was a beautiful day for the world. The birds were chirping their songs as mankind went about their daily routines with smiles on their faces at the beauty of the city, but also sad looks on their faces at the horror of it whether it be financially, emotionally or physically, yet if you were to look closely in london. To be more specific, inside of st. james palace. You could see a ballroom so full of silk, jewels, velvet, perfume, politics and false laughter that it almost looked holy from a distance.
The atmosphere glittering with rot.
Crystal chandeliers burned overhead. Candles flickered in mirrors framed in gold. Servants moved in perfect lines carrying trays full of champagne, wine and things that only the rich had the luxury of pretending not to desire. The music was soft. Elegant. Harmless sounding.
Which of course meant the room itself was anything but.
(Unknown POV)
"Did you hear that the marquess of bexley's eldest son lost three thousand dollars in one evening." Asked a mature woman with a powdered face and diamonds in her ears as she opened her fan with a flick.
*Pak*
A younger nobleman with slicked hair and a smug mouth sipped from his glass and said with a chuckle "That is not nearly as entertaining as hearing that his sister spent five thousand on french lace just to be ignored by the already married duke of norfolk."
The little cluster around them laughed quietly.
A broad shouldered man in a dark tailcoat adjusted his cuffs and said dryly "At least lace can be worn. Money spent on failed business vanishes and takes family dignity with it."
"Oh hush. Men always think business is the only respectable way to waste money. Women at least look beautiful while doing it." Said the mature woman with a smile as she glanced toward the dancers.
The ballroom was loud. Not with shouting.
With calculation.
"I heard a little birdy whisper that the stafford family still intends to attend despite the accident." Said a very beautiful pale blonde woman softly from behind the edge of her fan. Her eyes squinting.
"That cannot be right. Why would they show themselves now. The city has been chewing on that rumor for days." Said the younger nobleman with slightly widened eyes.
"Because absence confirms weakness. And weakness is expensive." Said the broad shouldered man with a shrug.
"Hm…well if the girl is truly disfigured, I imagine it is all over for her in terms of marriage." Said the powdered woman with false sadness in her voice.
"That depends. If the dowager marchioness is still as ruthless as she once was then she'll find a way to make the injury somebody else's problem." Said another noble from nearby as he joined the circle.
The little circle went quiet for a moment.
Then all of them laughed under their breath.
"Speaking of marriage. Have you seen baron fletcher tonight. I heard he returned to london with family. Strange family." Asked the pale beautiful blonde woman.
The younger nobleman frowned and asked "What kind of strange."
The woman leaned in slightly and said in a low voice "Russian. Newly attached. Old blood supposedly. Though I heard one of the girls was already registered as his wife the same week they arrived, so whatever story is being told on paper, it was clearly written in a hurry."
The broad shouldered man snorted and said that while rubbing his beard and said dryly "So. A respectable mess."
The music went on.
A different cluster of nobles nearby were already speaking of shipping routes, sugar holdings, east india contracts, ironworks, land and marriages. Old men discussed ports with tight smiles and dead eyes. Younger sons discussed cavalry and loans while pretending not to be deeply in debt. Mothers discussed titles as if naming cakes. Daughters stood in arranged colors and practiced pleasant expressions while being inspected like polished livestock.
No one in the room was here purely to dance.
Not a soul.
At the far end of the ballroom, near the wide staircase and the double doors, a herald adjusted the scroll in his hand and lifted his chin.
The nearest conversations quieted first.
Then others.
Then more.
A fresh wave of arrivals was beginning.
The ballroom gradually settled. Fans slowed. Glasses lowered. Eyes turned.
The herald adjusted his throat loudly and said loudly out "Lady honorable penelope ashcombe and the ashcombe family."
Heads turned. Some nodded politely. Others did not bother.
"Tch…they always arrive as if the queen herself birthed them." Said a man muttering as other voices rose.
The ashcombes entered in pale blue and silver, full of posture and inherited arrogance. They moved through the ballroom with all the graceful confidence of people who had never once doubted that they belonged in every room they had ever stepped into.
The herald adjusted his throat again and said loudly with a hoarse voice "The right honorable viscount and viscountess pembroke and family."
A small wave of whispers moved through one side of the room.
"New money behind old title." Said a old man whispering with a dry chuckle as he left to go grab him a glass of wine.
"Coal." Whispered a very interested, distinguished young man with squinted eyes.
"Rail contracts." Whispered a young woman with interested eyes.
Another young woman scoffed and said "Dreadful taste."
The viscountess's emerald dress drew three separate looks of disapproval and one of envy.
The herald adjusted his dry throat loudly again with a wheeze and said loudly "The stafford family of northumberland. The marquis edward stafford and marchioness edith stafford, Lord oswald stafford, and the dowager marchioness elizabeth marianne stafford."
The ballroom shifted.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
But it shifted.
Conversations did not stop entirely. They thinned.
Eyes sharpened.
The staffords entered with the old clean confidence of a family that had survived enough scandal to no longer flinch when people looked too long. Edward stafford wore dark formal attire with silver trim and the expression of a man who would rather have been discussing estate accounts than letting half of london examine his family from a distance. Edith looked beautiful in a way grief had sharpened instead of softened. Oswald walked upright and cold and polished as if his spine had been carved from one solid piece of aristocratic restraint.
And then there was elizabeth.
Old.
Elegant.
Severe.
She moved with her cane and with more authority than half the titled men in the room possessed combined.
But no one with them was veiled. No daughter stood at their side. No mary olive'era stafford was visible anywhere among them.
And because of that alone the whispers began to truly move.
"They left her behind." Whisperd a young man with surprised eyes.
A older man shook his head and said with a chuckle as he placed his left hand on the young man's shoulder "No. They are protecting her my grandson."
"Or hiding her." Whispered a old luxerious dressed woman's
"Same difference, my beloved" Said the old man with squinted eyes as he glanced at the older woman slightly.
The herald lifted the scroll once more and had a ragged breath.
A few more families were announced. A duke. A baronet. The daughter of a lord admiral. The room breathed, shifted, judged and continued.
"Baron Ivan theodore fletcher of cheshire. Baroness abigail fletcher. Mister svyatapolk ainsworth. Mister mordred ainsworth. Mister vladimir ainsworth. Lady honorable margaret ainsworth. Mrs adelaide ainsworth. Master william ainsworth." Said the herald loudly with beads of sweat trailing down his face from his forehead.
The ballroom was silent for a moment.
Not because the names were the most important in the room.
Because they were new enough to be interesting.
And strange enough to be worth staring at.
The group entering did not move like one old house.
They moved like several sharp objects gathered under one banner.
Ivan fletcher entered first in black and deep wine formalwear, clean shaven, composed and charming in the smooth infuriating way of a man who knew exactly how handsome he was and had never once been punished for it. At his arm was abiigail, beautiful and tense and dressed exquisitely enough to pass, though the stiffness in her mouth and shoulders made it clear she would rather have been almost anywhere else. At abigail's other side was william, dressed properly and looking around with enough curiosity to be a threat to public order.
Behind them came adelaide, graceful and controlled. Margaret moved with her cane and with the air of a woman who had once belonged to rooms like this, had later belonged to far worse rooms, and now found all of them mildly disappointing. Vladimir looked broad, handsome and overly aware of his own necktie. He also looked like a man trying very hard not to grin at something nobody else had been told about yet.
Svyatapolk entered with the loud inherited confidence of a man who had contributed very little to the rise around him yet still carried himself as if the room owed him recognition on sight. He held his chin too high, his posture too proud and looked around the ballroom as if he had personally been invited by god rather than dragged along by more useful people.
Lastly.
Mordred ainsworth entered with the help of the herald.
The ballroom grew quieter without intending to.
He was tall enough to be looked at twice even before the eyes were noticed. Milky white. Empty of pupil or iris. A face too severe to be called soft and too composed to be called harmless. His evening attire was charcoal, high collared, sharp in the shoulders, clean and without unnecessary decoration. It did not beg to be remembered with the cane in his right hand.
Which somehow made him more memorable.
He did not smile. He did not search for approval.
He simply stood there as if no room in the world required his permission to enter and no person in it had the right to question why he had.
A young nobleman by the powdered woman swallowed and muttered "Who in the hell is that."
The broad shouldered man beside her said quietly "Somebody who shouldn't be ignored."
(Abigail's POV)
Abigail kept her arm in Ivan's and her face held the exact amount of softness expected of a woman in her position, which was unfortunate because what she actually wanted to do was remove his hand from her and throw it into the punch bowl.
The ballroom was loud. Warm. Suffocating.
"Stop walking like you're being led to execution."Said Ivan softly from the side of his smiling mouth as he nodded at a couple of very distinguished figures.
"I am with you. Isn't that similar enough." Asked Abigail with her own smile fixed neatly in place.
Ivan's mouth twitched and chuckled as he pulled her closer and placed his left arm very far down her hip and close enough to her ass and said calmly while continuing to lead her forward "Careful sweetheart. We are being watched."
Abigail could feel that already.
Eyes followed them. Women. Men. Old nobles pretending not to stare and younger ones not even trying to hide it. It made her skin itch.
At least her gown was not ugly.
That was the only mercy she had been granted tonight.
Dark blue. Structured. Tasteful. Covered enough not to invite foolishness, fitted enough to satisfy the kind of people who treated a woman's body like part of the evening décor. Her hair had been done properly. Her jewels were elegant but not loud. Margaret had looked at her earlier and said she finally resembled a woman with expensive problems.
Abigail still did not know if that was a compliment.
William looked around, his eyes widening as he caught a few chubby noblewomen and said with his mouth opening in surprise and eventually turning into a grin as he thrusted his hips back and forth "Mama…There are so many hunch candidates."
The ballroom was absolutely silent around their immediate vicinity.
Abigail slowly looked down at him and said with a stern smile "What did you just say."
William blinked and said "What uncle vladimir sa…"
"Do not finish that sentence. Just stay quiet and do not speak." Said abigail immediately as he felt lightheaded and swayed slightly as she felt Ivan's arm steady her.
Adelaide closed her eyes for a moment and said calmly "That boy hears far too much."
Vladimir adjusted his throat behind them with a face full of innocence so fake it should have been illegal.
Margaret let out a short evil laugh into her fan and said dryly "Wonderful. We haven't even been here three minutes and already the boy is a threat to social order."
Svyatapolk chuckled under his breath and said while adjusting his cuffs "That boy is only observant. Nobility used to encourage perception. Nowadays there are just so many wussies."
Adelaide slowly turned her head toward him.
Svyatapolk looked away immediately.
Abigail breathed in carefully through her nose and out of her mouth while thinking with tired eyes "This is my life now. Excellent"
Ivan leaned slightly closer and murmured into her ear without moving his smile. "Relax. If you look hunted people will smell it."
"I am not a horse." Said abigail softly.
"No. Horses are easier to calm." Said Ivan murmuring back.
Abigail hated him. Deeply. That unfortunately changed nothing.
They moved further into the ballroom. People bowed. Nodded. Introduced themselves with smiles too polished to trust. A countess complimented abigail's gown and tried to figure out whether she had been born into anything respectable. A younger lord asked vladimir whether he hunted. Vladimir answered yes with enough seriousness to make the poor fool look impressed for all the wrong reasons. Svyatapolk somehow ended up laughing too loudly with an older gentleman near a drinks table as if he had known the man for years, which almost certainly meant trouble was approaching from somewhere unseen.
Mordred said almost nothing.
He stood slightly apart, head angled just enough to suggest attention without invitation, and listened.
That was what unnerved abigail most.
He was not lost here.
He was measuring.
(Mordred's POV)
The ballroom was inefficient. But useful.
Music. Perfume. Silk moving against silk. Shoes whispering across polished floors. Glass touching glass. Trays shifting in the hands of servants. Heartbeats. Breathing. The small changes in voice that came when people lied politely instead of honestly.
Every room spoke.
This one simply happened to be louder than most.
I stood still and listened.
Clusters arranged themselves naturally by function.
Old titled men with older money stayed near one side of the ballroom and discussed shipping, land and crown policy as if god himself had taken personal interest in tariffs. Women with daughters of marriageable age drifted toward one another in colorful formations built entirely on false sweetness and predator mathematics. Younger men stood too straight, laughed too loudly or played indifference badly enough to expose themselves.
Useful.Very useful.
"Hm…"I muttered.
A man in his forties approached Ivan with a polite bow and the unmistakable smell of tobacco, starch and recent debt.
"Baron fletcher. A pleasure. I hear you have recently enlarged your household." Said the man with a smile.
"I have. London has been very kind." Said Ivan with a smile smooth enough to deserve execution.
Lord hawthorne's interest shifted, briefly, almost against his will.
Toward me.
"Your brother." Asked lord hawthorne with a smile.
"No." Said Ivan very dismissively.
"Family." I said calmly. My eyes widened very slightly.
Lord hawthorne nodded a second too slowly.
He was trying to place me.
Good.
Let him try.
His wife approached a moment later and greeted abigail, then looked at me with the sort of politely disguised confusion people often wore when deciding whether to be unsettled by my eyes. She decided yes.
Also good.
Fear was cleaner than pity.
I moved away before the conversation became social.
Social was useful in measured doses only.
At the edge of the ballroom stood a mirrored column and beyond it a long opening toward a side hall where servants passed more quickly and the music became slightly thinner. A better angle. Less noise. More perspective.
I went there and stood with one hand lightly behind my back.
The room unfolded inside my head in breathing shapes and living edges.
Margaret had been correct.
Deals were being made without paper.
A duke's second son spoke too quietly to a port investor in the corner near the palms. Two old women smiling near the east wall were discussing which family was one failed marriage away from ruin. A viscount with a weak left knee had already lost too much at cards to a man whose shoes cost less than his lies. Svyatapolk was now attempting to explain something about russian hunting traditions to a group of men who were only half listening, which meant he had not yet embarrassed us beyond repair.
And the stafford family.
Were being watched more than spoken to.
Interesting.
Their cluster remained composed, but tension sat around them like a drawn curtain. The old woman, elizabeth, remained the stillest among them and therefore the most dangerous. The younger man, oswald, scanned the room with discipline instead of vanity. Edith held herself together in the way fragile objects sometimes did right before cracking.
And the daughter had not yet been brought out.
Which meant one of two things.
Either she was too damaged to display.
Or they were saving the display for timing.
My left eye narrowed slightly.
A servant passed behind me carrying champagne.
Another moved in the opposite direction whispering to a different servant about a side corridor, a private retiring room and a delay with "The stafford young lady."
There.
I turned my head slightly and said calmly and softly "Interesting."
(Unknown POV)
The music swelled as another dance began.
The ballroom glittered harder under the candlelight now. More guests had arrived. More gossip moved. King George III had not yet entered the main chamber himself, which only made everyone perform harder in advance. Ambition always shined brightest before authority arrived.
Near one side of the room lady honorable margaret ainsworth had already made three older women laugh, one younger woman blush and one elderly earl choke on his own drink after asking if she had really vanished from society for several decades only to return attached to a baron with a russian mess of a family.
She had answered: "No dear. I merely went where the money and the violence were ripest."
No one had known whether to laugh.
They eventually had.
Across the ballroom vladimir ainsworth was being cornered by two daughters of minor nobility and one married woman who had no business looking that entertained. He was, inexplicably, managing not to ruin it yet.
Svyatapolk sinsworth had found a champagne tray and was now holding court near a marble pillar as though the room had been waiting all evening for his opinions. The older men around him did not respect him yet, but two were amused and one looked drunk enough to adopt him as a friend for the night.
Baroness abigail fletcher stood near a marble column with a drink untouched in her hand and the posture of a beautiful hostage.
And mordred ainsworth had not danced, smiled properly or courted a single soul.
Which, if anything, made more people curious.
The herald near the doors adjusted the scroll again and his now moistened throat and said loudly "LADY MARY OLIVE'ERA STAFFORD."
The room softened.
Then quieted. The ballroom was silent.
No titles followed.
No crowded family procession.
Just the name.
All eyes turned.
(Mary's POV)
The hallway outside the ballroom was quieter than the ballroom itself, which was already offensive enough as a concept.
Anne adjusted the fall of mary's shawl one final time and stepped back with nervous hands and whispered "My lady…If you feel faint..."
"I won't." Said mary flatly. Her unique grey- violet eyes glancing back at anne subtly.
Her voice was still rough. Better than two days ago. Worse than she would have liked. The swelling on the left side of her face had gone down enough for the bandages to be removed, but not enough for beauty to have been invited back into the room. The lower half of her face was partially veiled in fine black gauze attached artfully enough to pretend at fashion and modesty rather than necessity. Her gown was cream white shoulder gown, structured high enough too suggest choice where there had in fact been almost none.
Good.
Let them wonder.
The mirror had not been kind earlier.
You could see a very tall woman standing at 5'11 with a pale soft skin tone, long dark curls, large grey-violet eyes, full lips and a face so refined and delicately beautiful that it almost looked painted instead of born. Her body was lush, heavy and strikingly feminine with a full chest, corseted waist, broad hips and thick thighs that gave her the kind of presence men noticed first with their eyes and then again with their silence, while the cream off shoulder gown and layered pearls only made her look more expensive, more polished and far harder to forget.
Mary had not asked it to be.
"Do I look like someone about to die." Asked mary nonchalantly
Anne blinked and then said carefully "No my lady. You look beautiful."
"Good. Then they can do it another day." Said mary muttering.
The corridor was silent. She could hear the ballroom beyond the doors breathing like some huge silk covered animal.
Music.
Voices.
Judgment.
Mary had chosen to walk into it anyway.
Not because she wanted to. Because hiding gave too much information.
And because she had not survived dying just to spend her second chance under a bed curtain while strangers wrote her fate in other rooms.
From farther behind, elizabeth's cane sounded once against the floor and said dryly Go in now before I change my mind and carry you myself."
Mary turned her head slightly toward her silhouette and said with a slight roll of her eyes and mutter "You say the warmest things."
Elizabeth sniffed.
"And you still sound alive enough to be annoying. Excellent." Said elizabeth with a wave of her right hand.
A corner of mary's mouth almost moved.
Almost.
Then the doors opened.
*Boom*
The ballroom sound rushed at her all at once.
And so did the staring.
Good.
Let them look.
Mary stepped in.
Slowly. Upright. Controlled.
Do not rush. Do not shrink. Do not apologize.
The floor beneath her shoes felt too polished. The air smelled like perfume trying to murder candle smoke. Conversations did not fully stop. They simply bent around her and changed shape.
She heard it immediately.
Whispers.
"That is her." Said a man with surprise.
"God." Said a woman with envy.
"Poor thing." Said a nasal voiced man with a sigh.
"No. Look again." Said a woman beside the nasal voiced man.
A woman clicked her teeth and said "She still came."
Exactly.
Mary's left hand rested lightly against the fan she carried more for line than need. Her breathing stayed measured. Her body hurt, yes. Her face hurt, yes. Her patience hurt most of all.
Then she felt it. Not eyes exactly. Attention.
Different from the rest.
Not pity.
Not curiosity.
Assessment.
Her own eyes moved.
Across faces.
Past jewels.
Past dresses.
Past liars.
And then found him.
Tall.
Still.
Charcoal.
White dead eyes in a face too composed to belong to a young man.
Mordred.
What a ridiculous name.
And yet standing there he somehow made it look intentional.
He did not gawk.
He did not soften.
He did not offer the sweet looking horror everyone else was trying to hide.
He simply watched as if she were a puzzle and not a tragedy.
Good.
That was the first honest thing anyone in this room had done all night.
(Mordred's POV)
So.
That was mary olive'era stafford.
The veil had been well chosen.
The dress also.
The family had not hidden her.
They had weaponized presentation.
Interesting.
Her breathing was controlled but not easy. Her gait careful but not fragile. The left side of her face remained altered under the gauze and shadow, yet not enough to erase what had likely once made half of london interested and the other half envious. But that was not the most interesting part.
The most interesting part was the way she looked back.
Not wounded.
Not grateful.
Not ashamed.
Cold.
Evaluating.
As if she too had entered the ballroom to count weaknesses rather than survive it.
A servant drifted near with champagne and I took one glass if only to give my hand a reason not to look idle.
Our distance remained proper.
Enough to preserve the fiction that nothing had yet happened.
Then lady this and lord that approached her in quick succession with the kind of careful concern that said: We wish to be seen acknowledging you without becoming too involved in your discomfort.
She dealt with them adequately.
Not elegantly. Adequately.
Interesting again.
She had not been this before.
Or the accident had sharpened her.
Both possibilities had value.
After the third empty conversation I moved.
Not quickly.
Quickness suggested intent. It
Itsuggested that I also apart of a predictable performance as a doll would on strings.
I was not.
I crossed the polished floor and stopped at a socially acceptable angle near where she stood between two gilded columns and one large arrangement of flowers that smelled expensive and useless.
Her fan remained closed.
Her posture remained excellent despite pain she was very obviously hiding.
I inclined my head once and said calmly with no intentions "Miss Stafford."
The ballroom around us continued breathing.
Mary turned her head toward me fully and said in that roughened voice of hers, as if trying my name and finding it only moderately offensive "Mister Mordred."
The nearby chatter dimmed by a fraction.
Mary had noticed me before I arrived.
Good.
"You attended despite your condition." I said calmly with my right arm behind my back.
A noblewoman three steps away pretended very badly not to listen.
Mary's eyes stayed on mine and said nonchalantly "And you attended despite your eyes. We all make sacrifices for society. Do we not."
The ballroom was absolutely silent around us for a moment.
Then it wasn't.
My lip's curled slightly upward.
Interesting. Very interesting.
"That is the first intelligent sentence I've heard in this room tonight. Efficient. I will bring you a jar of cookies later if I have the time." I said calmly and very flatly.
Mary looked at the untouched champagne in my hand and then back at my face and asked softly "Do you always open conversations like a warning."
"Only when honesty saves time. Me speaking to you is a very waste of it." I said calmly with squinted eyes.
Mary adjusted her fan in her hand and said nonchalantly "Then allow me to return the favor. I dislike music, pity, forced smiles and anyone who calls suffering character building. I will return your jar of cookies later if I have the time."
"Good. That eliminates most of the room." I said calmly.
Mary stared at me for a moment and then let out the smallest breath through her nose that almost resembled amusement.
Almost.
Nearby, I could hear abigail speaking too tightly to Ivan, margaret laughing at something inappropriate, vladimir trying not to sound illiterate in the presence of a count's daughters, svyatapolk loudly agreeing with a lord he had met seven minutes ago and across the ballroom and the stafford family pretending not to monitor every inch of this exchange.
Good.
Let them.
Mary tilted her head very slightly and asked in that low damaged voice "And what exactly do you want, mister moron."
"To know whether you are as unimpressive as you look." I said calmly. Yet very Immediately.
The ballroom was silent in my head.
Mary was still for a moment and said "More. By a humiliating margin."
My left eye closed briefly.
Excellent.
I looked at her for a moment longer and said calmly "Good. I hate wasting time on people who still believe chandeliers improve stupidity."
Mary's fan shifted once in her hand and said with a nonchalant tone "And I hate men who sound like they were born offended by the existence of everyone else."
"Not everyone else. Only most." I said calmly as I looked around at the white silhouetted men.
The corner of mary's mouth almost moved again.
Almost.
"Then this is unfortunate. You strike me as the sort of man I'd dislike immediately." Said mary quietly.
I was silent for a moment and said calmly "That makes two of us."
The ballroom was silent in my head.
And yet neither of us moved away.
Mary's eyes did not soften in the slightest. If anything they sharpened with the cold irritation of a person realizing they had found the first thing in the room worth despising properly and said nonchalantly "Good. I'd be deeply insulted if the first interesting person in this room turned out to be tolerable."
My grip on the champagne glass stayed steady.
I could hear her breathing. Her heartbeat.
Both.
Controlled.
Slightly strained.
Irritatingly disciplined.
"Tolerable is for people begging to be invited back into rooms. I fall into the efficient category." I said calmly.
Mary stared at me for a moment and then asked with that same rough voice "And what are you begging for exactly mister moron."
"Nothing. That is why I will likely do well here and you will not." I said while squinting at her silhouette.
The nearby chatter dimmed by another fraction. Two nobles farther behind her had stopped pretending not to listen altogether. One of them had the decency to at least hide it badly.
Mary turned her head just enough to acknowledge the room without giving it anything useful and then looked back at me while saying nonchalantly with a dismissive rough tone "How unfortunate. Now I dislike you more. For someone so obsessed with with structure, you are remarkably fragile whenever you are not in control. I think the reason you value control so much is because you know nobody ever stayed for you freely."
"That seems to be improving your mood." I said calmly.
Mary's fingers tightened once around the closed fan and said nonchalantly "And you seem pleased by that. Which makes you sound diseased and pathetic."
"Most accurate things do. You just think that way because your intelligence is lacking." I said calmly with a dry sigh.
The ballroom still glittered, bowed, lied and smiled.
And neither of us had smiled properly once.
Good.
Mary looked at me for a moment too long and then said in that same low ruined voice "You carry yourself like a man who has never once been loved in a way that improved him. You are just deeply exhausting that only a lonely man can be, cruel enough to be feared properly and not warm enough to be loved. what an embarrassing middle."
The ballroom was absolutely silent in my head.
Very good.
That one landed.
My lip moved slightly.
"And you carry yourself like a woman who was pitied so badly she started polishing the wound and calling it identity. Furious enough that the world can still reduce you to appearance, yet every move you make is still negotiating with its gaze." I said calmly with a chuckle.
Mary's eyes hardened immediately and said softly "There it is. The part where you mistake being foul for being sharp."
I looked at her and said calmly while invading her personal space with my eyes close to hers with my left hand gripping her chin upwards tightly "No. I simply dislike softening my thoughts for strangers with decorative suffering, if it wastes time, breath, dollar, or thought, then it has no right to remain in my presence. Most people call it coldness when a man stops wasting energy on things beneath Improvement. I do not hate chaos because it is ugly. I hate it because is it Inefficient, people like you love calling necessary things cruel when they themselves are to weak to do them efficiently. I was not made to wander. I was made to refine, reduce and remove my dear."
Mary's stared up at my eyes and said with no emotion in her tone "And I dislike men who perform cruelty like it's refinement. You aren't rare. You're just unpleasant with posture. It is a difference between your little ideology. Moron."
I leaned the slightest bit closer and said calmly while catching a glimpse of her face "And you aren't tragic. You're simply the first woman in the room too damaged to hide what she actually thinks. The difference between me and most people is simple. I reorganize them."
Mary went still.
Excellent.
That one had found bone.
Mary closed her left eye with her right still open and said nonchalantly "You know. If I had met you before the accident, I think I would have hated you on sight. The saddest thing about you is that if someone ever loved you correctly, I think you would call is manipulation. You are not hard to love, Mordred. You are simply built to make it humiliating, you have the sort of mouth that should be kissed shut or cut off. I haven't decided as your betrothed yet."
"Interesting mindset" I thought as my nose filled with her perfume.
"And now." I asked calmly.
Mary's eyes stayed on mine and said nonchalantly "Now I'd only need to hear you speak."
Excellent.
That was better.
Much better.
A noblewoman somewhere behind mary inhaled so sharply it almost sounded like silk tearing.
Good.
Let her.
Mary did not move away.
Neither did I.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
"You really are rotten. Let's also not forget loneliness with a cravat." Said mary nonchalantly.
"I've heard that from prettier liars." I said calmly as I didn't move an inch.
Mary's gaze sharpened.
"And I've heard arrogance from handsomer men.They were less needy about it than you are who likely still requires titty milk." Said Mary flatly.
That one nearly made my lip move again.
"Disgusting. So this is what gets you stimulated" I thought with my eyes squinting slightly.
I disliked that immediately.
"Needy. I see, waste offends me more than a insult ever could, if a thing can be done in one move, then doing it in five is vanity pretending to be effort." I said calmly with my lips curling subtly.
Mary's fingers tightened around the fan hard enough for the knuckles to pale.
There.
Very good.
And when she spoke, there was teeth in it.
"I didn't come here to be looked at. I came here so people like you couldn't decide what I am in my absence." Said mary nonchalantly with a sharp look in her eyes.
Interesting.
That was much better than wounded pride.
That was hunger.
Good.
"And yet here you are. Still being decided. Just to your face this time."I said calmly. My right hand landing on top of her pale one that was clenching the fan.
Mary up stared at me.
For one ugly second, all I could hear was her breathing and my own pulse staying exactly where it belonged.
That should not have interested me.
It did.
I hated It immediately.
Her eyes dropped once to the champagne in my left hand and lifted back to my face and said with a nonchalant rough tone "You know what's unfortunate. I think you're the only person in this room I wouldn't have to lie to."
My left eye closed briefly.
That was worse.
Much worse.
Because I understood it.
And because I disliked how quickly she had found the exact same thing I had.
"So you're not stupid after all. We are alike." I said calmly.
Mary's fan opened once with a soft snap and then closed again.
*FAK*
LAnd you're not subtle after all. A good battle indeed. Very disappointing though Im certain aspects but overall a good battle." Said mary nonchalantly with a nod of her head.
I atared at her and said calmly "I don't do subtle. I do useful."
Mary let out the faintest breath through her nose.
Not amusement.
Not exactly.
Something more dangerous.
"Of course you do You are the sort of man that would dissect the affection of most just to make sure no one could ever use it against you. Don't tell me I'm wrong. I can read you like my bald head underneath this wig I'm wearing." Said mary nonchalantly with her eyes squinting.
That one landed well.
A little to well
"And you look like the sort of woman who would weaponize being underestimated and then punish anyone perceptive enough to notice. Don't tell me I'm wrong. I can read you like the tight ass boxers I'm wearing underneath this suit." I said calmly.
Mary's eyes flashed.
For the first time, something in them looked almost pleased.
"Disgusting" I thought with a strange feeling in my chest.
"Good. At least you aren't boring." Said mary with a very dismissive look on her face as she looked around at all the eyes staring at both of us.
"I would say the same. But I dislike rewarding people too early." I said calmly as I didn't move a inch from her personal space.
Mary tilted her head very slightly and said "There it is again That need to control the temperature of every room you enter. Tell me, mister moron. Do you ever get tired of performing superiority like it keeps you warm. Maybe you get off on this."
"No. Do you ever get tired of bleeding in public and calling it dignity. Maybe you get off on this argument." I said calmly.
Mary's fingers tightened once more around the fan.
That one reached her.
Good.
The nearby chatter had dimmed even further. I could hear abigail speaking too tightly to Ivan, margaret laughing at something indecent, vladimir trying not to sound illiterate in the presence of two daughters and a married woman, svyatapolk being one drink away from becoming a public inconvenience, and across the ballroom the stafford family pretending not to monitor every inch of this exchange.
Good.
Let them.
Mary looked at me for a long moment and then said softly "I think I would ruin you if I had the time."
That should have ended the conversation.
Instead my lip moved slightly.
"I think you'd try. And hate yourself for enjoying it." I said calmly while stepping away from her.
The silence between us sharpened.
Not empty.
Loaded.
Her breath caught by the smallest fraction.
Excellent.
Because that one landed.
And because I heard it.
Mary's voice dropped lower and said "I would never enjoy you."
"That is not what worries me. You simply don't notice it yet." I said calmly as I glanced at all of the silhouettes staring at us.
Mary's eyes went colder.
Good.
There it was again.
That ugly involuntary pull hidden underneath offense.
She hated that I heard it.
I hated that she had it at all.
For one second too long neither of us moved. The distance between us stayed correct for the ballroom and wrong for everything else. If I leaned any closer it would become a scene. If she struck me with that fan, I suspected she'd enjoy it.
Interesting.
Very.
"You make me want to break something." Said mary quietly and nonchalantly while looking down ar the fan In her hand.
"How convenient You make me want to test how much pressure a person can take before they become honest." I said calmly as I stared at her silhouette.
Mary's eyes did not leave mine and said with a very nonchalant tone "I already am honest."
I stared at her silhouette for a moment and said calmly "No.You're disciplined. It isn't the same thing."
That one reached her too.
Excellent.
Because now her anger was clean enough to be useful and my own irritation had become something uglier, sharper and far more stimulating than it had any right to be.
Mary was silent and said with squinted "I think you would be unbearable in private."
"I think you'd come closer just to prove it." I said calmly with my lip curling upward slightly.
Her fan pressed lightly, once, against the front of my coat.
Not enough to be scandal.
Enough to be deliberate.
Good.
"I think. You should stop thinking you understand what people want from you." Said mary with that same roughened voice.
I felt the fan touching my chest and then back at her silhouetted face and said calmly "And I think. You should stop touching things you claim to dislike."
Mary withdrew the fan as if it had burned her and that, for some reason, made the pulse in my throat feel uglier.
Excellent.
I hated that too.
Before either of us could say more, a fresh swell of music rose and a herald's voice carried somewhere farther down the room announcing the movement of His Majesty toward the adjoining chamber. The room shifted around us at once. Nobles straightened. Conversations fractured. Power rearranged itself.
Mary's grip on the fan tightened once.
My hand on the champagne glass remained steady.
There it was.
Not fear.
Readiness.
The same in both of us.
"This room is about to become louder." I said calmly.
Mary's eyes did not leave mine and said with a nonchalant tone "Then I suppose we'll both have to become worse.l
"And try not to make me think about you again tonight." Said mary with an even quitter tone.
"I make no promises, although I highly doubt that a masochist would ever forget me." I said calmly with a shrug.
A fact. I'm just the epitome of what all maso's love.
Mary's eyes narrowed by the smallest fraction and said "Good. Promises are for liars, weaklings and husbands."
Interesting. I now have a fuck date.
I inclined my head one last time.
"Until later, miss stafford. Hopefully this little battle will be the end." I said calmly.
Mary's gaze stayed on mine for one second too long and said with a sudden cold tone that I wasn't aware of "Regrettably."
Excellent.
Now I am.
I turned and moved back into the ballroom.
Did not rush
.
Did not linger.
Did not look back.
I did not need to.
I'm not apart of the performance.
I am the performance.
I could feel it already.
The room had changed shape.
And somewhere beneath the music, the perfume, the title games and the polished lies, something poisonous, humiliating and far too stimulating had already begun.
Me.
Because.
I am mordred.
…
THE END…