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 would see a ballroom that had not recovered from what had just happened between two people who had spoken to each other with the sort of calm hatred that usually took years to earn.
The atmosphere polished and poisonous.
(Unknown POV)
"Did you see the way he stood over her." Asked a noblewoman softly behind the edge of her fan. Her diamond earrings swaying slightly.
A older man with a silver cane and watery blue eyes hummed and said dryly "I saw the way she failed to step back. That was the more interesting part."
The little cluster around them went silent for a moment.
"They were not flirting." Said a younger gentleman with a look of confusion on his face.
A mature woman in plum silk chuckled quietly and said "No dear. They were doing something far more dangerous."
"What would that be." Asked the younger gentleman.
"Recognizing each other." Said the mature woman with squinted eyes as she sipped her drink.
Across the ballroom several other little circles had already started forming their own versions of the same story.
"He touched her chin." Whispered one young woman with her eyes wide.
"And she did not slap him." Whispered another woman immediately after with even wider eyes.
A old luxerious dressed man stroked his bearded chin and said dryly "Then either the stafford girl has lost more than beauty in that accident or the ainsworth boy is already a bigger problem than he looks."
"He looks like a funeral dressed itself and learned how to glare." Said a pale blonde countess softly into her fan.
"And yet you looked twice." Said her husband with a very bored look on his face.
The ballroom was loud. Not with music.
With appetite.
On the other side of the room. A distinguished group of old men with expensive waistcoats and red faces from wine had also noticed.
"The fletcher baron brought in a nest of wolves." Said one.
"No. Wolves move cleaner." Said another.
A third man glanced toward mordred's silhouette from across the room and muttered lowly "That blind one is not built like a man meant to remain harmless in society."
The room was absolutely alive.
And then.
A herald's voice rose loudly from near the grand doors as if the room itself had been taken by the throat.
"HER MOST EXCELLENT MAJESTY. QUEEN CHARLOTTE OF MECKLENBURG-STRELITZ."
The ballroom froze.
Then it moved all at once.
Skirts shifted. Men straightened. Fans lowered. Mouths closed. Backs bent. Curtsies deepened. Servants became even more invisible. The music softened. The very air changed.
Which was expected.
The ball was held in honor of the king.
And though His Majesty was not yet visible in the center of the chamber itself, the queen's entrance alone was enough to make half the room remember it did not belong to them.
Queen charlotte entered beneath chandeliers and candlefire in a gown that glowed like old gold and winter pearl. Jewels rested across her throat. Her face held the kind of composure only a woman long married to a king and longer surrounded by snakes could possess. She moved with dignity, intelligence and the quiet certainty of a person who knew exactly how much the room needed her approval and exactly how little she was required to give it.
Heads bowed lower.
The ballroom was silent.
And then queen charlotte smiled the smallest little smile.
The room began breathing again.
(Mary's POV)
Mary hated this room.
She hated the smell of perfume trying to smother candle smoke.
She hated the silk.
She hated the music.
She hated how everyone kept pretending they were above desire while moving exactly like people built from it.
Most of all.
She hated the fact that the moment queen charlotte entered, the room turned into something even worse.
It became careful.
Mary stood where she had been left for the moment and kept her posture exactly where it needed to be.
Tall.
Steady.
Controlled.
Her face still hurt. Her throat still felt like it had been dragged over broken glass. Her patience was a corpse.
The gauze over the lower half of her face made some people look longer and some people look away faster.
Good.
Let them.
Anne had done well enough with the gown.
Cream white. Elegant. Expensive. Soft where it needed to be and sharp where it needed to remind people she was not to be pitied too easily. Her body still felt like something she had borrowed from an enemy and was currently learning how to weaponize.
"That old queen got presence" Thought mary while glancing subtly in the direction of the queen's silhouette.
She understood rooms fast.
This one had just rearranged itself to face the crown.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
Then footsteps sounded.
A familiar smell of starch, cologne and the type of confidence that usually came from inherited stupidity.
A young nobleman stopped in front of her and bowed with a smile too practiced to be sincere.
"My lady stafford. It is a pleasure to see you in such improved spirits." Said the young man with slick black hair and a handsome enough face to have been forgiven for saying boring things too often in life.
Mary stared at him for a moment and thought "I don't know you and I already dislike you"
"And you are." Asked mary nonchalantly with her eyes narrowing slightly.
The young man blinked, visibly offended that she had not already known him and said with a tight smile "Lord Julian Pembroke, my lady."
"Congratulations." Said mary flatly.
Lord julian stared at her for a moment and laughed a little too loudly.
The ballroom was absolutely silent in mary's head.
He was one of those men.
The kind who thought charm was a thing he could drape over any surface and call it conquest.
He bowed again and extended his hand.
"Would you honor me with the next dance, lady mary." Asked julian with a smile.
Mary looked at the hand and then back at his face.
"No." Said mary immediately.
Julian's smile flickered.
The nearest conversation around them continued while pretending not to listen.
"I see. Perhaps you misunderstood my meaning. I was asking out of courtesy my lady, not imposition." Said julian with the same smile and a slightly harder tone.
Mary's eyes went flatter.
"And I answered out of honesty. Not confusion." Said mary nonchalantly.
The young lord's smile thinned.
"I do not think your family can afford to be difficult this evening." Said julian lowly.
Interesting.
So that was the kind of man he was.
One of those polished little worms who mistook public civility for leverage.
Mary was about to answer.
Then a shadow cut between them.
No warning.
No permission.
A quiet movement. A dull thud into flesh.
*THUK*
Julian's eyes widened.
The sound that left his mouth was small, wet and humiliating as his stomach folded inward from the force of a fist that had landed exactly where it needed to.
Not loud enough to make a scandal.
Precise enough to make one man stop breathing correctly for several seconds.
Lord julian bent slightly with a strangled sound and clutched his middle.
Mordred's hand withdrew as if he had merely brushed dust from a coat.
The ballroom did not fully notice.
Only the people close enough.
Which made it better.
Much better.
Mary stared at mordred with widened eyes.
He did not look at julian at all.
He looked at her.
Then with calm, absolute nerve, he took her by the waist with one hand and by the gloved hand with the other and pulled her forcefully out onto the dance floor just as the next set began.
The ballroom shifted.
The music swelled.
"WHAT THE HELL" Thought mary as she was drawn into the movement before her pain could fully object.
(Mordred's POV)
The nobleman had boring hands.
Soft. Unused. Overconfident.
The sort of hands that asked women to dance because they believed a title had made refusal impolite.
I disliked him immediately.
So I corrected the problem.
Efficient.
Very efficient.
Mary's body was tense when I took her into the dance.
Good.
It meant she had not expected it.
Better.
It meant the room had not either.
The music was elegant. Predictable. Structured enough not to offend me. My hand settled at her waist. The other kept hers. Her body heat was close enough now to be irritating. Her breathing tightened once from pain and once from anger.
Interesting.
Both were useful.
Her feet moved when guided.
Also interesting.
"You're insane." Said mary quietly with her unique rough voice as we moved into the first measured turn.
"No. Just faster than the decorative idiot you were wasting time on." I said calmly.
Mary's fingers tightened once in mine and said nonchalantly "You punched a nobleman in the stomach."
"Quietly." I said calmly correcting.
The ballroom glided around us.
Silk moved. Shoes whispered. Couples turned. The chandeliers above did nothing useful.
Mary's posture remained excellent despite the pain still hidden in it.
Good.
"I did not ask to be dragged into a dance by a blind undertaker with boundary issues." Said mary in that same low ruined voice.
"You also did not ask to be cornered by a man with no function beyond inheritance. I improved the situation." I said calmly.
Mary let out a tiny breath through her nose.
Not amusement.
Annoyance with the potential to become something worse.
Good.
Potential.
Efficiency to it's finest.
Her voice dropped lower.
"You really are the sort of man who mistakes intrusion for rescue." Said mary nonchalantly.
"And you're the sort of woman who mistakes being left alone with carrion for autonomy." I said calmly as I turned her with exact pressure and brought her back in line with the music.
That one did not get under my skin.
Nothing did.
Not tonight.
Not when the room mattered more than the insult.
Her perfume reached my nose again.
Annoying.
"Do you know what I think." Asked mary quietly as we passed another couple.
"No. But I assume it is something dramatic and mildly self indulgent." I said calmly.
Mary's eyes sharpened.
"I think you saw another man ask me to dance and could not stand not being the one controlling the moment." Said mary.
Incorrect. Only mostly.
Which made the statement more annoying than it deserved to be.
I did not react.
I adjusted our angle and continued moving her through the dance with clean measured steps.
"Control is not a moment. It is a habit. Learn the distinction." I said calmly.
Mary tilted her head the slightest bit.
"There it is. That little worship of order like it ever loved you back." Said mary softly.
Nothing.
Nothing at all.
No irritation.
No sting.
Only information.
Poorly aimed information.
"You seem disappointed." I said calmly.
Mary's grip on the closed fan in her free hand shifted once.
Good.
That meant she had hoped for something.
Worse.
It meant she had expected to reach something.
She didn't.
"Not disappointed. Bored. I expected your ego to be easier to bruise." Said mary with a slight shrug of one shoulder.
"I expected you to be prettier in silence." I said calmly.
That one reached her.
Very good.
The room around us continued its own lies. I heard nobles speaking behind fans, half the floor pretending not to watch and the other half failing badly not to.
Near the edge of the chamber margaret's heartbeat had the rhythm of entertainment. Vladimir's had the rhythm of someone trying not to laugh. Abigail's had the rhythm of a woman who wanted to vanish into the nearest wall. Across the room, the stafford family had gone still enough to be dangerous.
Queen charlotte, however.
Interesting.
She had noticed.
Mary followed the line of the dance and then said softly "You look pleased with yourself."
"I usually am. Most rooms improve when I start arranging them." I said calmly.
Mary's eyes narrowed.
"You know what your problem is, mister moron. You keep speaking like you're some natural disaster. You're just a man with posture and an untreated need to dominate furniture, people and oxygen." Said mary nonchalantly.
Nothing.
Still nothing.
No effect.
The music turned us. I guided her hand higher, corrected her angle by the waist and brought her through the next sequence. She moved well enough for a woman healing from surgery and rage.
Useful.
"Your posture is improving." I said calmly.
Mary looked at me in disbelief.
"Did you just critique my dancing in the middle of an insult." Asked mary flatly.
"Yes." I said calmly.
The ballroom was absolutely silent in my head.
And then, despite herself, she let out the smallest ugliest sound through her nose that almost resembled laughter before she killed it.
Interesting.
"You are actually intolerable." Said mary nonchalantly.
"I've heard worse from people less damaged." I said calmly.
Her eyes hardened at once.
There.
Much better.
Now she was clean again.
No accidental amusement.
Just edge.
Good.
Mary leaned the slightest bit closer while the dance carried us forward and said with a nonchalant tone sharpened at the edges "You act like a man who was denied tenderness so long that now you'd bite the hand that offered it and call that discipline."
Nothing.
Nothing at all.
The statement passed through me and hit nothing because there was nothing there to strike.
Mary noticed immediately.
Excellent.
That disappointed her.
Even better.
"That almost sounded personal." I said calmly.
Mary's jaw tightened beneath the gauze and said quietly "I was trying to be cruel."
"You'll need to improve." I said calmly.
That one reached her.
Her pulse jumped once.
Interesting.
The dance slowed into another turning figure. I kept one hand firm at her waist and guided her through it without mercy and without softness, which was likely the only reason she tolerated it at all.
Near the edge of the floor I could hear Julian Pembroke breathing like a dying horse and trying not to expose why. Good. Let him.
"If you think dragging me out here proves anything, it doesn't. It only proves you are badly socialized and theatrically controlling." Said mary nonchalantly
"It proves you came anyway. Despite the pain. Despite the room. Despite your family's nerves. You did not come here to disappear. So do not insult me by pretending you dislike being seen when you entered dressed to be remembered." I said calmly.
That one found something.
Her breath changed by the slightest fraction.
Yes.
Very good.
Mary's eyes went colder.
"I entered because absence feeds scavengers. Not because I wanted anyone's approval." Said mary nonchalantly.
"Correct." I said immediately.
She blinked.
I continued before she could decide whether I had agreed too easily.
"And that is why you are still worth speaking to." I said calmly.
The ballroom still glittered like a disease in candlelight.
Mary stared at me for a moment and then said quietly "You know what's funny. You keep saying things that almost sound like respect and somehow make them feel like threats."
"That is because most respect is only useful when paired with threat." I said calmly.
Mary's fan shifted again.
I could feel the room making room around us now.
Not physically.
Socially.
The dance had turned into observation.
Good.
Let them observe.
Then mary tried again.
Harder this time.
"I think when this is all over you'll end up exactly where men like you always do. Surrounded by things you own and not one person who would mourn you honestly." Said mary softly.
Still nothing.
Not because the statement had no structure.
Because it lacked novelty.
I had already measured that possibility years ago and discarded it as emotionally decorative.
"You say that like a person who still believes honesty is the same thing as devotion." I said calmly.
Mary's fingers flexed once against my hand and said "And you say that like someone who has never had either."
There it was again.
Better aimed.
Still ineffective.
I adjusted our steps and turned her back into line with the music.
Her body followed mine cleanly.
Interesting.
"No. I say it like someone who doesn't require either to remain useful." I said calmly.
Mary's eyes flashed.
For the first time since we stepped onto the floor, the anger in her looked edged with something less controlled.
Good.
"Useful. Useful. Useful. Do you ever get tired of hiding inside that word." Asked mary in a low voice.
"No. Do you ever get tired of hiding in wounds and calling it complexity." I said calmly.
That one landed well.
Excellent.
Her heartbeat sharpened.
The fan in her left hand nearly bent.
And yet.
She kept dancing.
Good.
The queen's attention remained on us in measured intervals now. Not constant. Enough.
That meant the room had not only noticed the dance.
It had accepted it as a development worth tracking.
Useful.
Very useful.
Mary saw where my attention flickered for the briefest moment and said "Ah. There it is. This is still performance to you."
"No. Performance implies falsehood. This is simply me using what is present." I said calmly.
Mary's mouth moved beneath the gauze.
Not a smile.
Something closer to insult having to share space with thought.
Then she tried one last time.
Quietly. Directly.
"I think you liked touching my face earlier because it gave you something to hold while pretending you weren't the one being looked at for once." Said mary in a low nonchalant tone.
That was the sharpest one yet.
And still.
Nothing.
No wound.
No heat.
Only the mild appreciation one gives a better crafted knife.
Interesting.
"Better." I said calmly.
Mary stared.
"What." Asked mary flatly.
"That one had effort in it. Keep that version of yourself. The others are less efficient." I said calmly.
The ballroom was absolutely silent in her head for one brief second.
Then she understood.
And hated it.
Because I had not only refused the insult.
I had graded it.
Excellent.
Mary's hand in mine tightened hard enough to ache.
Good.
Her voice dropped lower than before.
"I want to smash this champagne glass into your throat." Said mary nonchalantly.
"You'd need the right angle." I said calmly.
For one ugly second there was nothing between us but music, perfume, discipline and a kind of mutual irritation that had become far too vivid to be dismissed as simple dislike.
Then the dance ended.
The final notes faded.
Applause rippled.
Couples stepped apart.
I did not release her immediately.
Nor did she step back immediately.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
Queen charlotte's voice carried gently, elegantly and with enough weight to turn the whole chamber without effort "What a curious little storm."
The ballroom froze.
(Unknown POV)
The room opened around the queen.
Not fully.
Just enough.
A little path of etiquette, fear and hierarchy formed as queen charlotte moved forward with two ladies behind her and one older lord at a respectful distance.
Fans lowered.
Heads bowed.
Even the people pretending not to care cared very suddenly.
Queen charlotte stopped several steps from mordred ainsworth and mary olive'era stafford and looked at them both with the calm intelligence of a woman who had seen every type of ambition arrive at court dressed as innocence.
"My dear miss stafford. Mister ainsworth. You have managed to become the most watched thing in this room besides the crown itself. That takes either talent or poor judgment." Said queen charlotte calmly with a slight tilt of her head.
The ballroom was silent.
Margaret's pulse in the back of the room nearly sounded delighted enough to become vulgar.
Mary dipped into the correct curtsy with careful control despite the obvious discomfort in her body. Mordred bowed with the exact right amount of depth and none of the warmth.
"Your majesty." Said mary nonchalantly.
"Your majesty." I said calmly and very slowly.
Queen charlotte's eyes rested on us both for a moment longer.
Then on our joined proximity.
Then on the room.
Then back on me.
Interesting.
A true performance Indeed.
(Mordred's POV)
The room had already shifted.
Enough eyes had gathered.
Enough silence had formed.
Enough interest had been secured.
Which meant the timing was correct.
I released mary's hand.
Then stepped forward into the exact amount of visibility required and bowed once more before queen charlotte.
The ballroom was absolutely silent.
Good. It needed to be.
I lifted my head and said calmly in a clear voice meant for the room as much as the crown "Your Majesty. Since this ball is held in honor of the king and beneath your grace this evening, I would like to announce before all present that I am to wed miss mary olive'era stafford and would humbly ask for your blessing toward a happy marriage."
Nothing moved.
For one clean perfect second the entire ballroom forgot how to breathe.
Then shock struck it all at once.
A noblewoman inhaled like she had been stabbed with gossip itself.
Three older men turned so fast their dignity nearly lagged behind them.
Julian pembroke forgot his own pain completely.
Abigail's heart nearly stopped.
Vladimir's pulse jumped with wild delight.
Svyatapolk's grin expanded like a drunk idiot seeing god.
Across the room the stafford family had gone so still they no longer felt human.
Excellent.
Queen charlotte did not react immediately.
Even better.
She looked at me.
Then at mary.
Then beyond us, very briefly, toward elizabeth marianne stafford.
Old women who had survived long enough usually knew when silence itself was a weapon.
Elizabeth met the queen's gaze and did not move for one beat too long.
Then.
Very deliberately.
She inclined her head once.
Not surprise.
Not refusal.
Permission.
Excellent.
Queen charlotte saw it too.
Of course she did.
Then her eyes returned to mary.
"And what says the lady in question." Asked queen charlotte with mild grace and dangerous interest.
The ballroom was absolutely silent.
Mary looked at me.
Not at the queen.
At me.
That was a mistake.
Or perhaps it wasn't.
Because what sat in those eyes was not helplessness.
Not even outrage by itself.
Calculation.
Hunger.
Challenge.
Very good.
Mary then turned her head toward queen charlotte and said in that roughened voice of hers with perfect dangerous control "I believe mister ainsworth has a reckless mouth and very little fear for public timing, your majesty."
A few nobles almost laughed and then thought better of it.
Queen charlotte's mouth moved by the faintest degree.
"And is that your refusal, miss stafford." Asked the queen calmly.
Mary's fan rested light against her palm.
Her breathing stayed measured.
The room leaned toward her without moving.
"No, Your Majesty. Merely my observation of this moron." Said mary softly.
That one struck the room cleanly.
Good.
Very good.
Queen charlotte's smile widened by the smallest but deadliest fraction.
"A wise answer. Mister ainsworth. You ask for blessing as if the matter were already written and sealed." Said queen charlotte calmly as she looked toward me.
"It will be." I said calmly.
The ballroom was absolutely silent.
That one landed.
Queen charlotte studied me for a moment longer and then looked once more to mary, to the gathered room, to the watching staffords and the watching family behind me.
Then said clearly enough for the room to keep forever, "Then may whatever understanding lies between you grow into a marriage not entirely built on warfare. You have my blessing for happiness, if not my confidence in your methods."
A wave moved through the room.
Not loud.
Not yet.
But it moved.
The queen had spoken.
That made it real enough to become dangerous.
I bowed once more.
"Your majesty is generous." I said calmly with my head fully bowed.
My mouth grinning inhumanly as I thought "Very generous"
Mary curtsied again beside me with a composure that cost her more than the room would ever know.
Queen charlotte's eyes rested on her a fraction longer and said with subtle meaning, "Miss stafford. Try not to let him reorganize you completely."
Mary's left eye narrowed the slightest fraction.
"I make no promises, Your majesty." Said mary quietly.
Interesting.
Don't think that I didn't catch that meaning my lovely mary.
Because.
I did.
Queen charlotte moved on.
The room exploded the second decorum allowed it.
Fans snapped open.
Voices rose in false softness and true hunger.
"What did he just say." Asked a man with a serious tone.
"Is it real." Asked a older man with a shocked look on his face.
A luxerious dressed chubby woman looked around and asked "When was this arranged."
"The dowager must have known." Said a man with his eyes darting toward elizabeth.
"Baron fletcher's people move quickly." Said a woman quietly.
A woman with a jealous look on her face clicked her teeth and said with envy "Tch…The stafford girl accepted."
"No, she did not." Said another woman with a envious look on her face.
"She did enough." Said the woman with the jealous look on her face.
Across the ballroom margaret laughed into her fan like a woman hearing a hymn she approved of. Vladimir looked like his soul wanted to clap. Abigail looked like she might faint from secondhand scandal. Svyatapolk was already trying to stand like this had always been the plan.
Of course he was.
Mary stood beside me in the eye of it all.
Still.
Controlled.
Furious.
Good.
(Mary's POV)
Her heart was beating far too hard for someone standing still.
Mary hated that immediately.
She also hated him.
Deeply.
Professionally.
With vision.
The ballroom had turned into a nest of whispering aristocratic parasites the second the queen gave that blessing.
Excellent.
Now every eye in the room thought something had happened.
Which meant something had happened.
That was the dangerous part.
Not the announcement itself.
The structure around it.
The queen had spoken.
Great-grandmother had not denied it.
The room would carry it by midnight into every drawing room in london.
That bastard knew exactly what he had done.
Mary kept her posture perfect.
"You're a complete piece of shit." Said mary softly without moving her smile.
Mordred stood beside her with that same calm severe face and said quietly "Correct. You noticed fast."
Mary wanted very badly to strike him with the fan.
Instead she asked with a nonchalant tone sharpened enough to draw blood "Did you enjoy that."
"Yes." Said mordred calmly.
The honesty of it irritated her more than a lie would have.
Mary looked out over the ballroom and thought with cold eyes "He didn't ask because he was certain. He asked because certainty can be built faster in public than private"
And worse.
It was smart.
Humiliating.
But smart.
Mary hated that too.
"You put me in a position where refusal would have cost more than silence." Said mary quietly.
"Yes." Said mordred calmly again.
Mary nearly laughed from sheer disbelief.
No shame.
No denial.
No social excuse.
Just yes.
Good.
At least he was honest enough to be hated cleanly.
"And you're pleased with yourself." Asked mary nonchalantly.
"No. Pleased with the timing. There is a difference." Said mordred calmly.
Mary's grip on the fan tightened.
The room around them moved and breathed and watched from a safer distance now. Too many people were pretending to converse while listening in all the same.
Mary spoke lower.
"You do understand that if I decide to ruin you later, this will have made it easier and not harder." Said mary nonchalantly.
Mordred's lips curled by the smallest degree. And said calmly "Good. I'd have been disappointed if you only planned to sulk about it."
Mary stared at him.
God.
He really was the most exhausting man in the room.
That was almost impressive.
And then the most irritating thing of all happened.
A part of her that had no business existing in decent society felt awake.
Sharp.
Interested.
Alive.
Disgusting.
She hated that immediately.
"You really are rotten." Said mary softly.
"I've been told." Said mordred calmly.
Mary turned toward the crowd slightly, just enough to let the room think the exchange had ended.
It had not.
Not even close.
"If I'm going to be forced into a war beside you, just know this now, mister moron. I do not follow quietly." Said mary with her eyes fixed on the crowd.
"Good. Quiet things are easy to misplace." Said mordred calmly.
That was not romantic.
It was not kind.
It was also the closest thing to truth she had heard all night besides the first moment he looked at her like a puzzle instead of damage.
Worse.
Much worse.
Mary hated that too.
Behind them, she could hear the approaching sound of family and consequence.
Which meant the next battle would begin shortly.
Good.
Let it.
The room had changed.
And so had the game.
…
THE END…