Page 36 of The Shadow of Breninsol
Eleanor floated around the large room that almost mirrored the ballroom, although this room was smaller and the floor to ceiling windows lining one wall looked onto the purple twilight of the palace gardens. The courtiers were gathered in sumptuously colourful groups, some standing, some sitting on the gold-edged sofas and chairs, which were clustered behind the great white columns lining the room. The chequered marble white and bronze floor remained empty, except for a white grand piano, inlaid with gold detailing, just as ornate as the surrounding gilded walls. Above, the ceiling's peaceful painted sky was a serene wash of blues and soft clouds that starkly contrasted with her turbulent emotions.
Eleanor tried to focus on the way her gauzy, new dress billowed as she walked around the room, rather than the way some courtesans had already attached themselves to the aristos. The courtesans were trying their best to join in with the nobles, smiling and giggling at all the inane remarks the aristos were spouting out. But the opulent jewels and luxurious silks worn by the courtiers made a contrast, serving as a constant reminder of the courtesan’s identity and purpose. She saw some of the courtladies glare disapprovingly at the lords paying attention to the courtesans.
Eleanor felt an unexpected pang in her chest when she realised the courtesans were demonstrating to the courtiers that they could be a part of this world. They too could live among them, in all this wealth and luxury. They wanted to belong. A sentiment Eleanor was intimately familiar with, but she wasn’t blending in, not tonight.
Her deep red dress was gauzy and clung to her body, leaving little to the imagination. The dress not only plunged to her waist but also had long slits on either side, revealing both her peachy, freckled legs as she walked. The choice had made Madam Grace break out in a smile when she’d passed by for their evening inspection. A smile that had given Eleanor a disturbing shiver. The dress had been enough to distract the madam from the real reason behind Eleanor’s red-painted lips this evening: to hide the split lip that’d been an unsavoury souvenir from last night’s thug.
Tonight, Eleanor's usual veil of magic hid her marks, but not those on her back, where her dress hid the dark purple bruise blooming on her side. The subtle shimmer of her magic was cool against her skin, but it didn’t mask the dull ache. Her magic was so diminished that a bruise lingered for days, unlike before the Witch Wars when the slightest impact would disappear instantly, leaving no trace. She hadn’t even eased the lingering ache she felt in her arms after her back-alley fight and then dragging the weight of Gary’s dying body. It was a bitter realisation that her body wasn’t as strong as it had been.
Although, when Eleanor had gone to the king’s awaiting carriages, she hadn’t missed the snide gibes from the Bellas of “suck-up” and “boot-licker.” The ladies at The Ladies Grace could call her whatever they liked, she’d been called worse names before. When Iris had seen her, the woman had tried invain to convince her to change into a different dress. One that was a bit more reserved for the more modest courtier tastes, which was ironic considering what they’d already seen at the party palace. Eleanor had pointed out that would be “trying to be something they’re not.” The others were all busy trying to blend in with the court ladies by selecting dresses in as muted a colour as they could find and adorning intricately braided and weaved hairstyles. Some courtesans had taken to wearing jewellery or hair decorations, that they’d either been given or stolen. Eleanor had even spotted a few shiny pins peeping out from the courtesan’s dresses, in an attempt to achieve modesty with their revealing dresses.
Eleanor thought it futile to pretend to be something else, when everyone at court knew they were courtesans. Why pretend otherwise? Whether it was Eleanor’s stubborn expression, or the argument itself, Iris had rolled her eyes recognising the futility of arguing further. Eleanor internally scoffed that this was her rebellion. If it was, then it was a pathetic and an insignificant one.
However, this outfit had presented a significant challenge for concealing a blade. But she was resourceful and had sewn together some red scrap fabric she’d found at the back of Worth’s. After extensively washing it, she’d made a small and thick sheath for her smallest blade and fashioned some thin undergarments that sat high on her hips and wrapped between her legs to further secure it in place. Eleanor hoped she didn’t have to draw the bloody thing.
Eleanor felt bold wearing this dress, twinning it with red lips and leaving her dark auburn hair to fall in its naturally loose waves, and she would be damned if anyone made her feel any less just because of her choice of clothing. Eleanor quietened the small part of her that told her the other reason she’d decided on this dress tonight: thathewas going to be here…the Dark Star…the lord she’d brieflymetwhen she’d had to escape from the ballroom. Eleanor drained the glass of sparkling wine to drown how she felt when she thought of him.
None of the conversations were interesting enough for her to stop as she passed groups of gleaming courtiers, discussing upcoming parties and idle court gossip. Not that she was moving through the room to findhim,and the dark eyes that haunted her when she closed hers. No, she was finding a quiet spot away from the gossipers.
As she grabbed another sparkling wine, she recognised the mean lord from three nights ago coming towards her. She’d forgotten his name but remembered his penis had been roughly the size of her little finger, and she moved across the room to avoid him.
Eleanor passed another group of courtiers, resplendent in their rich silks and gems. A curly-red-haired man in a light green long-coat said something and the group made that fake laugh she’d become accustomed to at court. Standing proudly in the centre of their company was the blue-eyed, bored man who’d offered her a dance in the ballroom on her first night at the party palace. Instead of sapphires, tonight he was wearing an amber-coloured long-coat, with a matching waistcoat and cane. His skin, a rich brown copper hue, was made to shine by his astute choices for his clothing. Positioned around him were two equally attractive courtiers, as if shielding him from the clutches of the surrounding hungry courtesans. On his right stood a curvy woman with black hair, in a gown of burnt bronze. On his left, a slender blonde woman, wearing a lavender gown that accentuated her height, gave a tinkling laugh that Eleanor didn’t think was artificial. The trio were dressed in jewels of ambers and amethysts, and they epitomised courtly beauty.
Eleanor inclined her head to acknowledge the lords Riccie, Philip, Leander, and Alden, whose eyes all trailed along herdress with smiles that thought they knew what was underneath. Strangely, she found she liked the lords. They’d seemed arrogant and laddish at first, but from her first evening with Lord Riccie, he’d shown her that their little group might be the opposite of what they seemed. She mused about the possibility of taking one of them through the draped curtains tonight, having taken a quiet, unassuming lord through the curtains the other night after failing to find them.
Eleanor slid into an empty spot near a wide marble column to enjoy her refreshed glass of wine. The courtesans were still striving to blend in, but Eleanor thought it seemed futile. Across the room, a startled jerk from a Moonlight House courtesan caught her eye, the courtesan’s wide-eyed reaction telling Eleanor that a lord had slapped her arse. Eleanor groaned inwardly, already anticipating what tonight was going to be like.
To her right, a lord was staring into a young courtesan’s breast as if her chest could speak to him. He wouldn’t have been the first to think such a thing could happen if they stared long enough at some tits.
A light laugh met her ears. Someone had moved closer to the other side of the column, a welcome distraction from watching the leering courtiers. She heard a low murmur, but the column blocked the words. Eleanor shifted forward slightly to better hear the muted conversation.
“—this is to be the centre of the world, then,” a sultry voice purred.
“Was this not before?” a low, deep voice replied.
“Centre ofhisworld, perhaps. Not so for many of us,” a high voice said.
Whoeverhewas, Eleanor couldn’t be sure, but the speaker’s slight emphasis on the word made her think they were speaking of the king.
“Lord Forgen is getting nervous,” the sultry voice said next.
“Six hundred crowns in three days. Almost a third of our annual income,” the deep voice replied.
“Gambling away his fortune. Foolish man,” said the high voice.
Eleanor couldn’t make out much more between the murmurs and giggles rising in the room, until the owner of the high voice asked, “Do you think he would go for it?”
The deep voice replied, “We can only wait and see. Deric will find a way to make him go for it.”
“Of that, we can be sure,” the sultry voice said.
Hearing the three voices, Eleanor deduced it was two women and one man, although she couldn’t discern who the voices belonged to. She didn’t know enough people at court. Before she could decipher the meaning of their conversation, the pause in the trio’s conversation ended.
“How much longer must this charade go on for?” asked the sultry voice in a slightly agitated voice.
“You know as well as the rest of us. It will last as long as it needs to,” replied the other woman.
“Patience and caution, it’ll happen soon,” the man added.
