Hurried footsteps scuffed across the tiles. A few heads turned, curious, but then as quickly, looked away, as if the disturbance wasn't worth their attention.
But for Adelheid and Sorae, it most definitely was.
Adelheid blinked. "Is that–"
"Yes." Sorae muttered through clenched teeth. "That is, unfortunately, my cousin."
Lord Julius Whitmore strolled in like he was the crown prince himself, though he definitely bore neither bloodline nor the decorum to claim the title.
Dressed in a flamboyant green velvet coat, his brown curls bounced with every rushed step, cheeks flushed from either excitement or the fact that he'd clearly run all the way to the courtyard.
The man grinned like a fool.
"Cousin!" He declared with theatrical joy, sweeping his arms open, ignoring the curious - and vaguely horrified glances following him from the other young nobles across the courtyard.
Before Sorae could duck away, his arm landed across her shoulders. "My dear Sorae." He demanded loudly with the petulance of a toddler denied a sweet. "Why in the world was I not invited to this delight of a gathering? Hm?"
He flicked a piece of lint from her shoulder. "You can't possibly have this sort of event and not include your favorite cousin!"
Sorae opened her mouth, likely to offer some sharp excuse for his exclusion, but Julius had already whipped around, eyes locking on a poor noblewoman across the courtyard.
"By the gods." He gasped, shoving off Sorae as though she were a thing he no longer needed. "What is that person wearing?!" He shook his head. "No, I refuse – how is that silk? That most definitely is not silk!"
And like that, he was off, leaving Sorae with a mouth dangling half open mid-sentence.
He stormed toward the noblewoman, launching into a dramatic critique of her color palette, hand gestures flying like a possessed man. A few people backed away, some ran.
Sorae sighed so heavily it practically rattled the roses beside them. "This." She muttered to Adelheid. "Is exactly why I didn't invite him."
Adelheid had covered her mouth with her hand, not to hide a laugh - heavens no, she was choking it back very inelegantly.
Sorae's eyes narrowed as she watched Julius accost her poor guest with the tact of a drunken tailors man.
She rubbed her temple, now genuinely embarrassed. "I told my parents not to extend an invitation to his family."
She hissed. "But evidently, my father cannot refuse his brother. I warned him, but noo, 'He's changed' he said. 'He's maturing' he said, 'They're family, Sorae, show some grace' Grace my arse! Look at him. He's threatening a woman and embarrassing me!"
Julius, meanwhile, had now climbed halfway onto a garden bench to make his point more visible. His voice carried across the courtyard like he was on stage at a Grand Royale Theatre.
Adelheid glanced sideways at her friend with a smile. "Do you want me to pretend to faint?" She offered. "It might create enough of a distraction for him to slip and fall off that bench."
Sorae gave her a sideways glance, a small grin tugging at her tightly pressed lips. "Don't tempt me."
Adelheid chose silence over laughter, watching as Julius now attempted to critique a guard's armor. But after an immediate stern glare from the latter, Julius immediately bolted backwards, though not before shooting the man a sneer.
Now finished with his fashion critique, Julius bounded back toward them, and he threw his hands wide.
"Now then, where is the wine? Surely you haven't been drinking without me—Heavens, Adelheid?!" His eyes lit up like stars as he'd only just noticed the latter. "You look positively ethereal today!" He reached for her hand, and she instinctively pulled it slightly back.
"Thank you, Lord Whitmore."
Julius clasped his chest like she'd stabbed him. "A thank you, but no smile? Tragic, utterly tragic." His tone was playful, but there was an unmistakable shine in his eyes – adoration, curiosity, perhaps even love.
Wait. Love?
Haha.
Adelheid offered a faint smile. Sorae, however, looped her arm firmly through her cousin's and began to drag him away. "Come, Julius. Let's grace the refreshment table with your presence. Far away from people who definitely do not matter."
She would say anything to get him far away from here!
Julius laughed, utterly unfazed. "Oh, little Sorae, they all matter. Especially the ones with terrible taste. They need me the *most*."
Adelheid's lips twitched as Julius disappeared into the crowd like a gaudy peacock set loose in a field of swans.
She still found it hard to believe such a person was anyway related to Sorae at all. Sorae had spoken of him sparingly and always with the same tone one used to describe an unruly pet.
Heavens.
Julius Whitmore was too loud, certainly unruly, and demanded too much attention. He was, in nearly every way, the antithesis of everything she valued.
She clasped her hands by her sides and breathed in. Oh, how she wanted this evening to come to an end already.
Across the garden's lawn, Lady Mireille Whitmore crossed one leg over the other, her fingers plucked a single grape from a crystal bowl between she and her husband. Her brows were furrowed tightly.
"I hadn't expected you both to visit."
She gave a faint smile, eyes never quite meeting her guests.
Lord Edgar Whitmore laughed, dropping into a chair across from her. "Oh, come now, Mireille. How could I possibly not come? Your husband's invitation was far too generous to pass up." He motioned grandly toward his brother, who sat beside his wife looking like a man sentenced to execution.
Beside Edgar, his wife, Lady Lunissa sat elegantly. Dressed in a lavender gown with pearl buttons, her raven-black hair swept into a masterpiece.
"Sebastain's always been generous." Lady Lunissa added sweetly, reaching for a glass of water. "What a kind man."
Lady Mireille slid the grape into her mouth, her gaze drifting to husband - who sat tight-lipped, sweat starting to form at his temples. Then she turned back to the couple opposite her.
"Indeed." She said finally. "He is a generous man." She paused, stabbing another grape. "But at what cost?"
Edwin raised his brows, still grinning. "Hmm? What was that?"
"I said–" Mireille's smile returned, but she just waved it off. "It's nothing." She plucked another grape.
Across from her, Sebastian shifted uncomfortably. His hand reached beneath the table, attempting to grasp hers in a plea for understanding, but she smacked it away as if swatting a mosquito.
Oh, what mess had he gotten himself into this time? Of course she was mad. She'd told him not to send the invitation. But his younger brother could talk a snake into wearing shoes.
It was almost impossible to say no.
Lord Sebastian cleared his throat and stood stiffly. "I'll, uh, I'll get us some wine."
Lady Lunissa Whitmore, Julius' mother, glanced up with a soft smile. "Don't forget something non-alcoholic for me." She batted her lashes sweetly. "You know I don't drink."
Lady Mireille's brow furrowed.
Sebastian halted, and he let out a brittle laugh. "Lunissa, how would I, of all people, possibly know what you drink?" He shook his head, already walking away. "Don't be silly."
Lunissa tilted her head and bit back her smile. "Oh, silly me," she said softly. "Must've slipped my mind."
Mireille's fingers clenched slightly around the grape stem in her hand.
Minutes passed, and Sebastian eventually returned, balancing a tray of crystal glasses filled with drinks. He handed Lunissa her lilac-toned cordial last, not meeting her eyes.
Lord Edgar sat straighter, clearing his throat as he set his untouched wine aside.
"Mireille." He began, leaning in. "About our last discussion.."
"No." Mireille didn't even let him finish.
Edgar blinked. "No?"
She met his eyes. "Sorae and Julius cannot wed. They are cousins."
"Nonsense." Edgar said with a chuckle. "They're not immediate family. It's perfectly legal, and honestly, wouldn't they be perfect together? Sorae with her brains, Julius with his charm–"
"They're cousins." Lady Mireille repeated. "That's an old tradition, Edgar. We no longer live in a time where bloodlines excuse everything."
Lunissa raised her glass. "Oh Mireille, don't be so rigid. You act like we're proposing a scandal. They wouldn't be the first noble cousins to marry for alliance–"
"No." Mireille said again, this time it was firmer. "And they will not be the last, because I will not allow it."
Lord Edgar leaned back with a huff. "You're being dramatic. Can you hear yourself? Julius is a catch. He's handsome and charismatic, perfect for our darling Sorae."
Meanwhile, besides Lady Mireille, Lord Sebastian sat like a ghost. Because his entire concentration was somewhere else. Specifically, under the table, where Lunissa's leg had just started rubbing against his.
Again.
He shifted, adjusting his seat, sending her a side glare, obviously trying to signal her to stop, but she only giggled softly behind her wine glass.
Lord Edgar, oblivious, gestured emphatically. "Mireille, think of the future. They'd make a great match–"
"–and Sorae?" He added. "With her sharp mind? They'd rule the social sphere in less than a year. Trust me!"
Across from him, Lunissaa's hand reached again, this time boldly resting just above Sebastian's knee, trailing her way slowly towards his thigh.
Sebastian nearly knocked over his wine. His brother and wife looked at him briefly, and he cleared his throat, forcing a smile.
Then, blessedly, he finally found his escape.
"Hah!" Sebastian shouted. "Why is the table so bare? I should go fetch us some snacks. Yes! Something to nibble on."
He sprang up from his seat like someone had lit a match under him.
Lady Lunissa blinked slowly, her lips curling with mischief. "Oh, I'll come with you." She set her glass down gently and rose as well. "I can't have you carrying everything yourself. The snacks must be so heavy."
Lady Mireille snapped toward her. "That won't be necessary, Lunissa. The servants can handle it. Stay, enjoy the air."
But Lunissa tilted her head. "I'll be back shortly." She said sweetly. "Besides, I've always enjoyed a good kitchen stroll. Reminds me of simpler times."
Sebastian opened his mouth, perhaps to object, but all that came out was a strange chuckle.
Mireille's fingers dug into the armrest of her garden chair. "Lunissaa–"
But the woman was already gliding away, practically skipping after Lord Sebastian.
Lady Mireille exhaled through her nose, setting her empty grape stem gently onto the table. She clenched her fists.
Across from her, Lord Edgar chuckled, and reached for his drink. "You know.." He said, swirling the wine in his cup. "I still say Sorae and Julius could make it work."