Working in a dead-end, post office job in the heart of a primarily-Human city, Arya Salcrest cannot let her secret out else she loses her rights and her safety. Norren Sterling, a member of the Council whom she met after a failed museum trip, is det...
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Eliott paced in his room, running today's event in his head for the millionth time. From the door, he could feel Sir Geoffer's agitation bleeding off his shoulders, feeding off Eliott's own. Today marked the start of the monarchy officially announcing that he was looking for a wife and the future queen of the kingdom.
As much as it was a lot of pressure to the young, unwed ladies who's going to show up today and in the succeeding galas in the following years, Eliott was under a greater force bearing down on him. Unlike the girls who only had to impress him, the court, and the King, Eliott was supposed to gauge a woman based on her wit, her intelligence, and her capacity to rule. And he's supposed to do it while dressed in stiff uniforms inside a ballroom filled with people vying for his attention.
But they had a plan. At least, Eliott and Geoffer had. This time, he thought it wiser to consult the affairs manager for this risky plan he's going to execute. Yes, they're going to proceed with today's gala but it would be the last one. Provided she showed up. Provided a number of things would go well.
He glanced at the clock slotted on the wall. The hands told him it was somewhere inside Four Pondiem. Just a few more minutes and he would be called to the ballroom, the doors to it would open, and the gala would start.
"Try to calm down, Your Grace," Geoffer advised from the door.
Eliott resisted to roll his eyes at the man. Of course, he could calm down at this rate. Only his future and the kingdom's were at risk here.
The door swung open and a black-coated soldier burst inside. He was red all over the face, like he ran all the way from the walls or the front gates. "She's here, Your Grace," he reported, straightening his spine and placing his fingers next to his eyebrow in a salute. "Shall I send her up?"
Eliott screeched to a stop before changing directions and striding towards the door. Sir Geoffer had already slipped behind the soldier. "There's no need for that, Officer," he said. "I'll go and meet with the ladies. Good work as always."
As they tore down the ornate corridors of the east wing where his rooms were, Eliott's heart thundered against his chest and pounded against his temples. This was it. If she showed up, then, already half of their plan had gone well. Now, it was up to Eliott to execute the rest.
Eliott swung into the stairs leading to the largest ballroom in the castle. His soles tapped lightly against the marble steps. By the time he reached the tall but thin doors leading to the ballroom, his chest felt like it was about to explode. His breathing was quite wrong.
"Okay," he heaved a breath in. And out. A shadow fell into step beside him. Must be Sir Geoffer. He was forever grateful for the man's quiet presence even though he could be stern and uptight most of the time. "I can do this. I can do this."
He glanced at the attendants flanking the door and gave them a brief nod. The sound of hinges cranking and creaking filled the room. Soon, he was staring down the spacious room filled with arrays of carts and long tables covered with pristine tablecloths, exquisite dishes and pastries from the best restaurants of the empire, and the smell of freshly-scrubbed marble floor.
