It was a Party, and Mace was a guest, but the Captain of the Pantheon Guard was always working.
Buttoned up into his dress uniform, freshly shaven and trimmed and bathed, Mace was a picture of both formality and professionalism...but he felt about as comfortable at a ball as a Turkey at Thanksgiving. It was difficult to appreciate the gorgeous decor and general feeling of excitement when his own stomach was in knots and his familiar, his anchor in times like these, was far from him. And, of course, he had come early. Nothing worse than being fashionably late to an event guaranteed to make you sweat.
He kept to the periphery as the crowd swelled and seethed. When the toasts were made, he raised his own glass politely (it would be his only drink, that night) and sipped when it was appropriate. He ate enough to sustain himself but not enough to be considered a member of the feast. He watched the dancing, but did not take to the floor.
There was only one woman in the room he wanted to dance with, anyway.
The idea that he would ask her, or maybe switch in when the partners changed, and spin her around the room as if he were a courtier, himself – as if he belonged in this place – was laughable. And yet, he couldn’t resist the fantasy. She was radiant in turquoise and silver, her wild hair tamed into braids, and Mace could not help but watch her and wonder. What was the stranger thinking, who cut in as Mordred released his sister to the crowd? What was she thinking?
Not of him.
His smile was wistful as he turned away. With unusual grace for one so large, he moved through the throng of celebrants to the hall, slipped between the guards with a nod. They knew him, here – no questions were required. His steps, directionless, brought him down one hall and then another, passing priceless tapestries and suits of elaborate armor and paintings and sculpture with barely a glance. They all paled, compared to her. A useless notion; he’d had as much a chance of seducing the Wolf’s mistress as the princess. But nonetheless, his thoughts were in the ballroom when he rounded a corner and came face to face with an unexpected intruder. He blinked.
“Erm. Good evening. Are you lost?” His eyes drifted over the girl’s ethereal attire, and the mule’s, and the mule. The only possible explanation for the latter’s presence was that he was the lady’s familiar, but even so, it seemed bizarre to encounter a pack animal in the middle of the castle. Mace’s mouth twitched, containing his smile. It was also surprising to see a familiar in such...unusual regalia. He couldn’t imagine Josephine tolerating any kind of clothes. “I’m afraid the guests are asked to remain in the ballroom or the gardens, miss. And your four-legged friend would probably enjoy himself better out on the lawn.” His voice was apologetic, but firm. Mace wasn’t sure what the protocol was in this strange situation, and sensed that it would be better to avoid coming across as threatening or rude. With so many originals running around Shaman, who knew who this young woman might be?
He offered the girl his arm. “I’m Captain Porter. May I escort you to the party?”
|
 |