Page 53 of Cursed By Gold

Of course. They all have bets placed, viewing this entire spectacle through the lens of their own greed. Gritting my teeth in a polite rictus, I incline my head. "You are most generous, my lady. I shall endeavor not to disappoint."

As she sweeps away in a waft of cloyingly sweet perfume, I feel Lord Greystone's arm tighten around my waist, his fingers digging into the pliant silk. "Well handled, pet," he purrs against my ear. "But don't make too many missteps. We've appearances to maintain."

I open my mouth to retort, but a fresh wave of well-wishers descends, eager to ingratiate themselves and press me for details about the upcoming trials. Plastering on my most practiced smile, I wade into their midst, holding court and sprinkling just enough vague promises of entertainment to whet their bloodthirsty interest. All the while, I keep a watchful eye on the man who will torture me this evening, his glass never remaining empty for long as he drifts from group to group, shamelessly flirtatious smiles and wandering hands following in his wake.

Between the ingratiating and the subtle digs, the weight of maintaining my composure grows heavier by the moment. I catch glimpses of furtive movement from the servants drifting through the crowd, their mannerisms and positioning too calculated to be mere chance. Members of the guild, no doubt here on an assignment. This is a high risk event to try running an operation during. What could be worth that risk?

My thoughts are broken by a hush rippling through the crowd, every head turning in unison. My gaze follows and lands on the unmistakable figure of King Remme descending the grand staircase, his golden crown glinting in the candlelight.

The king moves amongst his subjects with regal poise, offering greetings and small smiles, though he keeps a careful distance,never quite making physical contact. His usual bodyguard close behind, whispering in the king’s ear from time to time. I notice his hands remain firmly at his sides, the golden gauntlets of his armor precluding any chance of an accidental touch. When a server offers him a crystal flute of chilled wine, he demurs with a polite shake of his head.

Before I can ponder his peculiar behavior further, a booming voice cuts across the din. "Lady Marheart! A moment of your time, if you please?"

I turn to find Lord Percival Avery bearing down on me, his ample girth straining against the seams of his burgundy velvet doublet. His florid face shines with an excited gleam as he leans far too close for propriety.

"I simply must hear your thoughts on the upcoming trial. The people are positively buzzing over the possibilities!" He lets out a hearty guffaw, bits of spittle flying. "Gave quite the performance in that last bout, you did. Had half the noblewomen in tears at the drama of it all!"

Smothering an inward cringe, I paste on my most polished smile. "You are too kind, my lord. I can only hope to continue providing ample entertainment as the tournament progresses."

As I feed him artfully vague responses about the challenges ahead, my gaze drifts over the crowd once more, searching for that unmistakable golden figure. But the king seems to have vanished amongst the glittering throngs of attendees. An odd sense of disappointment settles in my chest that I can't quite place.

Giving myself an inward shake, I refocus on Lord Avery's rambling monologue. One distraction at a time - first I must maintain this facade long enough to cultivate what favor I can from the attendees. Keeping my courtly mask firmly in place, I politely extricate myself from his company with a few well-practiced pleasantries.

My gaze darts around the crowded ballroom, searching for an escape route. In the far corner, I spy a set of glass-paned doors leading out onto a balcony. Making my excuses, I slip away from the stifling press of bodies and weave my way towards that beckoning promise of fresh air.

Outside, the balcony is mercifully deserted, offering a welcome respite from the cloying atmosphere within. Ornate stone railings give way to a panoramic view of the estate's immaculately landscaped gardens below, the grounds bathed in a warm orange glow from the strategically placed lanterns. A light breeze stirs the gauzy fabric draped over trellises, creating a dreamlike quality to the whole scene.

"There you are." That rich, sonorous voice seems to envelop me like a warm embrace. Turning, I find King Remme approaching with his trademark easy grace, a playful glint in his eye. "I was beginning to worry you'd run off for the evening already."

I can't help but return his teasing smile, though heat prickles at my neck. "And deny myself your charming company? I think not."

He joins me at the railing, near enough that the subtle notes of his cologne - woodsy with a hint of citrus - washes over me. Up close, I can make out the finely etched detailing of his golden armor, candlelight gilding him in an almost ethereal glow.

"You seemed quite...cozy with that Lord Greystone earlier," he remarks, feigning nonchalance even as that piercing stare clouds with something darker. "Despite your public assertions of being unattached."

Is that jealousy I hear? Part of me thrills at stoking such delicious fire in the king. But pragmatism reminds me I must tread carefully - one ill-timed disclosure could see this fragile spark snuffed before it fully ignites.

Holding his weighted gaze, I offer an enigmatic smile. "My situation is...complicated, Your Majesty. That man represents an obligation I find increasingly difficult to accept, despite what circumstances may imply."

The king considers me a long moment, that uncanny perception of his no doubt parsing the deeper truth in my veiled admission. At last, he gives a resigned dip of his chin. "I see. Well then, Lady Scarlet, perhaps I can offer a welcome...diversion from your troubles this evening?" His voice lowers to an intimate murmur as that smoldering look returns.

Maintaining my carefully coy expression, I lean fractionally closer, holding his burning stare. "One can always make room for...diversions, Your Majesty, should the right opportunities arise."

I’m nearly knocked over as an arm plops across my shoulder. The smell of alcohol wafts over me.

"Your Majesty!" Lord Greystone’s feigned joviality grates on my every nerve. "So good of you to grace us with your presence." His grip on me tightens to the point of pain.

King Remme eyes him with thinly veiled disdain. "Lord Greystone. I was merely admiring your...companion's poise, given the circumstances."

Lord Greystone's gaze sharpens, but his smile remains smugly fixed in place. "Yes, well, my Scarlet knows her duty. Don't you, pet?" His fingers dig into the tender flesh of my arm in pointed warning.

I swallow hard, holding King Remme's stare as I murmur my assent. "Of course."

The king holds my gaze a moment longer, his eyes glittering with some indecipherable emotion, before nodding once and moving on to greet the next cluster of guests.

He waits until the king's out of earshot before leaning in close, his whiskey-scented breath hot on my cheek. "Get a grip on thattongue of yours, darling, before you go making trouble for us both."

I open my mouth – to argue, to lash out, I'm not even sure – but a deafening crash slices through the music and laughter, drawing every eye. Near the back of the room, a motionless liveried footman lies crumpled amidst the shattered remnants of a priceless porcelain vase. But it's the skittering of jewels across the marble floor that causes the guests to erupt into shocked exclamations.

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