Jameson stood on the terrace.
A wine glass in his hands, twirling it, as he rested on the coping of the stone balustrade.
He had a lazy look in his eyes, his walking stick leaning beside him.
'How many more hours do I have before finding the person?' He thought to himself, pushing the rising thoughts of the consequences to the back of his mind.
Castella walked out of the shadows. "Brother Jameson," she called out softly.
Her clothes were different from what she had worn during the day. She would've passed for nothing more than a middle-class commoner.
Her hair was cropped to her neck, with some strands touching her back.
She wore black leather pants, coupled with a black linen top.
A dagger was strapped to her inner thighs, the silhouette of it barely seen, except if one looked hard enough.
Jameson hummed softly, "hmmm."
"I finally got a lead on her," Castella reported, dropping a folder beside Jameson. His eyes shifted to look at it for a brief moment as his sister placed it beside him.
"You've done well." He praised her, placing the wine glass on the coping.
Picking up the file, a bright fire engulfed his hands and the file. Castella's eyes widened in panic; she was about to speak up, as her muscles twitched in her hand.
Jameson turned to look at her fully, his eyes sparkled, chuckling, "Don't worry, Cassy, I didn't burn it, I sent it somewhere safe."
Castella's muscles eased up; she knew her brother was more capable than he looked, even if she sensed something was slightly wrong with him for a few days now.
This recent mission he had sent her on was what confirmed her suspicion.
"Go and get ready for the ball, we wouldn't want Father nor witchy Stella getting suspicious, don't you think?"
A smile rested on Castella's face before walking back into the shadows.
Jameson's eyes lingered for a while, where his little sister was just standing, letting out a sigh and stretching his limbs. He picked up his wine glass, drank the last wine in the glass, and dropped it back on the coping of the balustrade.
He took his walking stick, sliding his mask back to his face, and he ran his hands through his hair, "May the hunt begin."
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Back in the ballroom, Prince Randolf's eyes landed on Lillian, not missing the way the court had gone silent when Lillian had walked in, his breath hitched. She truly was beautiful.
He hadn't expected it, despite the mask covering her face, giving him the slight thrill of wanting to get a glimpse of her face.
Just like Lord Harold had said in his note earlier, he matched her gown to his, and if he needed to win the throne to make his mother proud, then Lord Harold was the right ally, since he was his mother's most trusted aide since she became the queen.
He was seated beside his mother and father, waiting for his siblings and the other remaining debutantes to be ushered into the ballroom, not taking his sights off Lillian.
He sat perfectly still, with a rugged smile on his lips.
His mother had laughed at something his father had said when Jameson walked into the room, his hair not well kept, with his coat hanging on his solidly built frame.
His mask covered only one side of his eyes, leaving an intrigue. As he walked towards his seat, murmurs began to rise as women eyed him, while others quickly opened their fans and began to fan themselves.
Others adjusted their positions, all eyeing the first prince, since the King's announcement, wondering what this prince was like, since no one ever got a glimpse of him.
His walking stick made a light tapping sound on the polished tiles of the ballroom.
The rising murmurs snapped Randolf out of his thoughts as his eyes came to rest on Jameson, narrowing.
"Has he always been so jacked?" Randolph muttered to himself, remembering the last time he saw his brother, he looked lean and somewhat sickly.
"Long live King Cedric and Queen Estella," Jameson greeted, taking a brief bow.
His parents looked at him. King Cedric patted his shoulder in response. He wore a tight, unreadable look, not quite a full grimace, but far from happy, taken aback that his eldest son heeded to his announcement.
Jameson walked over to his chair and took his seat, resting all his weight fully on it, selling the point that his legs were still no good.
Queen Estella turned to Jameson, "Where is Castella?" she asked sharply, her brows furrowed in anger and worry.
"She's on her way," Jameson replied, looking at his nails, like he was already bored with the ball before it even commenced fully.
"Why is she so determined to follow in your footsteps?" she grumbled. Angry that her step-daughter still wasn't here.
Estella looked at her maid, who stood at the far left side of the hall with the other servants. The maid sensed her lady's eyes on her; she looked up slightly at Estella before nodding her head, getting the message the queen had sent.
"I'm here, mother. You can call back your maid," came Castella's small voice.
There was a cold air around her, different from how she was with Lillian. She sat down beside Jameson, smoothing her dress.
She wore a cream coloured gown that hugged her waist, with a fitting bodice, giving a mermaid look downwards.
Estalla's cheek puffed, before composing herself, her voice dripping with honey, "I was just worried that you might miss out on all the good matches if you didn't come on time."
Castella's eyes fell on Estella as she took her seat beside Jameson, "Since when did choosing a suitor for me become your utmost priority, mother?" She asked.
Her eyes narrowed at Estella, wondering what her motive was this time.
The King didn't pay much attention to Castella; he couldn't stand looking at her, due to the one fateful event that had occurred.