Winter had passed some time ago, so it puzzled me why the Winter Fest was happening now. Perhaps there had been delays or miscommunications. Whatever the reason, the main hall was unrecognizable from the first time I’d seen it.
The floors, already polished to a mirror-like sheen, somehow gleamed even brighter under the light of the grand chandelier. Long tables stretched across the room, set with elegant chairs. Upon the tables stood pitchers of ale, wine, and juice, alongside trays of bread and fruit. No main courses had been laid out yet, but the air was already heavy with the faint aroma of roasted meats lingering from the kitchen.
The grand fireplace, which had been dormant during my first visit, now blazed with life. Its warmth radiated throughout the room, softening the chill that seemed to cling to the castle’s stones. For the first time, the space felt almost welcoming, as though it could belong to a different world entirely—one of celebration, not scrutiny.
I had counted twenty-five servants bustling about—some cooks, others errand boys or cleaners. In time, the main doors groaned open, and the first guests began trickling in. They wore suits far better tailored than mine. Most were older gentlemen with stern faces, though a few younger men moved among them, and about a quarter of the crowd were women.
As the hall filled to a light hum of conversation, the doors closed, cutting off the seeping cold. All attention turned to the head table, where King Prance now stood, holding a glass. He clinked a silver spoon against it, the sound sharp enough to quiet the room. A practiced smile spread across his face as he began to speak.
“I’m happy to see so many faces today,” he said, gesturing across the room. “Axel of the Agatha family, General Cook…” He listed several names and titles, none of which held much meaning for me—until one caught my attention. “…and, of course, Queen Alda of Terulvik. We offer our condolences for the loss of your husband and trust your son will rise to his new responsibilities.”
The room seemed to tense. While most of the guests avoided staring, their glances subtly shifted in Alda’s direction. Etiquette had not been drilled into me, so I shuffled around a tall man to get a glimpse. Queen Alda was surprisingly young, perhaps in her late twenties, wearing a flowing purple dress that seemed overly extravagant for the occasion.
Before I could get a better look, a hand yanked me back roughly. My chest heaved as Egon’s arm crossed over me, and his stern expression warned me to stop. He mouthed a single word: Don’t. With reluctance, I turned back to the king, forcing my attention to his speech.
“…as we all know, Terulvik and Chaluk have had our share of skirmishes,” Prance continued, “but it’s time to bury those conflicts.” His eyes remained locked on Alda as he stepped down from the table, his movements a little unsteady. Raising a fist, he declared, “Chaluk would like to extend its support to Terulvik in the coming war against Saaorn, the barbarians of the southern peninsula.”
The room remained silent, though the expressions in the crowd shifted. Some nodded approvingly, others furrowed their brows, and a few maintained carefully neutral faces. It was clear not everyone saw this as good news.
“We’ll provide weapons, food, and even people,” Prance went on. “All we ask in return is access to the sea for trade routes and an end to the destruction of our vessels.” His voice dropped, growing quieter, as he leaned toward Alda. “What do you say, Your Majesty?”
I couldn’t hear her response, but whatever she whispered must have pleased him. Prance nodded with a smile, then waved his hands dismissively, signaling the end of the formalities. The room erupted back into conversation, laughter, and the clinking of glasses.
“Don’t draw attention to yourself unless I say so,” Egon muttered, releasing his grip on me. I nodded obediently, and he sighed, brushing past me. “Come along. There’s someone you need to meet.”
Following him through the crowd, I initially squeezed through gaps, trying not to bump anyone, but Egon quickly insisted I move more politely. I muttered quiet excuse me’s and pardon me’s as we weaved through the throng. The smell of bitter drinks hung heavily in the air, overtaking the faint aroma of firewood and roasting meat. It caused my nose to twitch.
We stopped near a table stacked with food, where Egon leaned in and whispered something to a stout man with short, bristly hair and a poorly shaved beard. The man wore a leather vest beneath his formal black suit, and his sharp eyes darted toward me as Egon gestured in my direction.
“Mm. This is him?” the man asked, nudging Egon lightly before crouching slightly to meet my height. His eyes narrowed as he studied me. “His eyes certainly match. Don’t they?”
“Because they’re silver?” I asked flatly.
The man chuckled, “Color means more than you realize, kid.” He extended a hand, and I shook it cautiously, feeling the firm strength of his grip. “I’m Hamlin John.”
There was something about him I instantly liked. Maybe it was the steady way his eyes met mine or the way his voice carried above the noise around us.
Egon gave a brief smile before addressing me again. “Hamlin will be your mentor. You’ll work under him, train under him—everything. Hamlin is a master of many crafts, and you’ll address him with the respect that title commands. Understand?”
I nodded, though my thoughts briefly flicked to Prance’s earlier remark about Egon thinking I was daft. Perhaps it had been a tactic to throw me off. Whatever the case, I chose to stay silent, focusing instead on the man who would now shape my future.
Hamlin exchanged a look with Egon before shifting his gaze back to me. “You’re a quiet one, eh?”
“Unfortunately, so,” the duke replied on my behalf, his tone flat. “I doubt this ball is helping either. There was no real point to holding it this year if all Prance wanted was a private word with Alda.”
“Maybe not,” I muttered under my breath. The two men turned their eyes on me, making me shift uncomfortably as I instinctively dropped my gaze.
“What was that?” Egon asked and raised a finger, gesturing for me to look at him. I swallowed hard as his sharp eyes bore into mine. “Speak, boy. Why do you say that?”
Hesitating, I forced myself to answer. “With so many people…and in foreign land…uhm…” His finger twitched slightly, urging me to continue. “She was forced—or, I mean, more inclined to say yes.”
Egon’s expression softened and I braced myself for scorn, but instead, he gave a thoughtful hm of approval. “That’s a sharp thought. Naïve, perhaps, but no less insightful for it.” He withdrew his hand, letting me breathe easier. “Still, you’re mistaken. The queen would have agreed regardless. Terulvik is losing the war. They need Chaluk’s support to survive, and Prance knows it. This ball? Pure theatrics, a stage for his generosity.”
“It does seem that way,” Hamlin agreed, his voice quieter than I had expected. “The king loves a good performance, but so do you, Egon.” He shot the duke a wry smile. “I’ll speak with him first thing tomorrow, eh?”
Egon nodded in acknowledgment, and Hamlin turned, grabbing a few pastries from the nearby table and stuffing them into the pocket of his suit. “Good. I’ll best be off then. These kinds of gatherings aren’t for me.” He ruffled my hair as he passed, the gesture surprisingly gentle despite his imposing frame.
“Goodbye,” Egon said simply, his tone indifferent. Hamlin gave him a small nod in return before disappearing into the crowd, leaving me alone with the duke once more.
I stuck by Egon’s side as he mingled with the crowd, feeling out of place and unsure of what to do with myself. The room grew stuffy quickly, and on the far side, a group of gentlemen began playing instruments. The music wasn’t lively or engaging—it was slow, overly elegant, almost suffocating in its refinement.
Egon had told me to wait before eating, but even when the food was free to take, I barely touched it. Something about the people in the room made me hesitate. Their polished appearances and sharp gazes unsettled me, though I couldn’t say why.
The ball passed in a blur. By midday, the hall was nearly empty, save for servants cleaning up the aftermath. I overheard grumblings as they scrubbed and tidied, complaining about the mess the guests had left behind, calling them pigs who dirtied everything they touched. Feeling drained, I slipped away unnoticed and found myself wandering back to the library.
I stood at the window where I had seen the girl. The sunlight poured in, casting a warm glow on the floor, but she wasn’t there. I stared out for a moment, hoping to catch a glimpse of her amber eyes, but all I saw was the stillness of the outside world. She fascinated me in a way I couldn’t explain, a fleeting distraction from everything happening around me.
The sound of a chair scraping against the floor pulled me from my thoughts. Turning to the right, I noticed a boy sitting at one of the tables, hunched over a piece of parchment. His short black hair and lanky frame looked familiar. As I moved closer, realization dawned.
“Achim?” I said softly. He didn’t look up but gave a small nod.
A smile crept across my face as I sat down beside him. “It’s me…Roderich.”
“I know,” he said simply, glancing at me briefly before returning to the parchment.
“You know?” I asked, confused. “I haven’t seen you around.”
“They had me running errands in town. I came back today.”
I soon learned that Achim was the boy I shared my room with, though I hadn’t seen him since my arrival. I tried to talk to him, but he remained as quiet as ever, answering with short nods or one-word responses. His reserved demeanor frustrated me, but I could tell he wasn’t trying to be rude.
With a sigh, I let my eyes drift to the parchment he was reading. It was short, the writing barely filling half the page. My stomach twisted as I scanned it—it was about Adam.
After I left Widowskeep, Adam had run away, slipping past the sentinels. No one knew where he had gone. I glanced at Achim, whose expression remained neutral. I could sense his worry, even if he wouldn’t show it.
I didn’t press him further. Instead, I left the library and returned to my quarters. Strangely, I didn’t feel much worry for Adam. Perhaps it was the overwhelming weight of everything happening around me, or maybe it was the thought that Adam had always longed to leave Widowskeep. He stayed for Achim and Lily, and now that they were gone, it made sense for him to follow suit.
That night, I slept uneasily. The wind rattled the window, and at some late hour, Achim returned, undressing quietly before slipping into his bed. Sharing a room with someone else was new to me, and I didn’t particularly like it. Still, after some tossing and turning, I managed to drift off into a restless sleep.
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