The crowd was immense and Freyza wondered whether he would ever spot Katherine among its masked crowd. Ever since he had entered, he had drawn eyes for his flashy choice of costume, as its cloth of gold fabric was far too prestigious for a man of his status. The invitation had been innocuous enough: there was to be a masquerade, and aside from just a mask, a full costume of fancy dress had to be worn, the theme of which being the enchanted garden. The decor mirrored this: silk vines creeping up the curtains, drinks with edible flowers in them, as well as a diverse and magnetic cast of bands, acrobats, and other such entertainment.
Freyza had little eye for all of these priceless ways in which Katherine, as their hostess, had wished to woo her guests, but instead sought the woman herself. In his mind’s eye, he had imagined the night going much more smoothly than the awkward evening he had had so far. He had imagined that he would strut into the ballroom, dressed unmistakably like the only man who could possibly afford such a spectacle, and that Katherine would willingly present herself to him.
Alas, it seemed that she had other plans. His jaws were firmly clenched: to expect Katherine — the Queen of Ilworth, whom he had only had a handful of moments alone with — to come looking for him only occurred him as ridiculous when he was disappointed that she had not. He wondered what she thought when she sent him the first invitation he had ever gotten to a royal ball.
Hesitantly, after downing a few violet-ornamented drinks, he reluctantly made his way to the dance floor. If she was indeed still in the building, and had not scurried off with some knight, chances were that she would be dancing. Freyza, on the other had, would never dream of willingly subjecting himself to this torture.
He had come up to the edge of the dance floor where a crowd of men and women were waiting for a rowdy mixer to come to an end, while they were already beginning to make pairs for the next. Freyza had little interest in striking up conversation with one of the many masked ladies present among them and instead kept his eye on the dance that was happening, hoping to see a mass of red curls appear between the bobbing heads of the dancers.
He audibly sighed when he realized that none of the women twirling around were the one that he was looking for, and defeatedly walked off when he realized he was being followed by one of the women he had spotted beside him.
‘My lord!’ she hollered after him, hiking her skirts up to her calves so she could run his way, even if they were already shortened to ankle length for dancing. ‘Were you not going to ask me for a dance?’
Freyza blinked with disinterest. ‘My apologies,’ he said, attempting to appear sorrowful. ‘I happen to be no good at the volta. Might I add that you are simply radiant, my lady. If I had been any more refined, I would have decidedly asked.’
Rather than leaving as he had hoped, ashamed of the rejection, she stuck around and in fact came half a step closer.
‘My lord,’ she continued, her speaking voice far more familiar to her than her shouting voice, ‘Have we met before? I could’ve sworn we’ve signed agreements. Tin?’
‘Oh,’ Freyza said, looking her up and down once more. On a second look, it was indeed unmistakably Katherine. ‘My lady, would you have this dance?’
She chuckled and came closer. Indeed it could not be anyone but Katherine: her hair was neatly tucked away with an opaque veil, but her lashes which could only be seen through her mask in specific light were indeed a reddish blonde the way he remembered, and her svelte form and playful poise were nothing short of the sort of feminine grace Katherine had in common with the Sbaian odalisques.
‘I would love to,’ she cooed happily and took his hand.
There had been certain rules that he had been made aware of, the most important one of them being that it was not allowed to mention the identity of oneself or of anyone that would be present. Sharing the news of being invited to one of Katherine’s masquerade was equally forbidden for the same reason. The amount of secrecy that she upheld about these feasts was second only to the secrecy she maintained about their affair.
‘You have a rather princely look about you,’ Katherine said while they were walking back. ‘Certainly anyone who would lay eyes on you would assume that you were a southern king.’
Freyza smiled and looked down. ‘If only I were able to disclose my identity, my lady,’ he said. ‘But I am afraid I am no King of the Baradrans.’
‘I wouldn’t know,’ she cooed. ‘It wouldn’t surprise me if the King of the Baradrans wore something more humble than this to his coronation.’
He was unsure whether she was toying with him, or whether she was genuinely surprised to see him in head to toe cloth of gold like the rest of the attendees had been. Hoping that it would be nearer to the former, he said: ‘That may be so, but if I might add something, I imagine the Queen of Ilworth would have outshone me by a mile at her coronation.’
The band had left a few beats for the dancers to come up, leave, or change partners, and Freyza held Katherine’s hand, the familiarity of its warmth and the shape of her little palm and short fingers once again confirming that he was indeed speaking to Katherine even though he was not allowed to confirm it, as they came up. He felt himself grow anxious at the thought of spending the rest of the night in pretence of enjoyment rather than to be whisked away to quieter places.
‘Funny you should say that,’ Katherine said as she assumed her position in the dance, tilted towards Freyza in order for him to hold one hand over her waist and one on the small of her back so he could lift her. Her arm was placed over his shoulder.
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‘How so?’ he asked, in his head more occupied with counting the beats to orient himself as to when he should lift her.
‘I was considering gold too but I was afraid that’d be a dead giveaway as to my identity,’ she whispered between steps.
‘Hm.’ He carefully lifted her as she jumped and supported her on the way down. ‘Well, I imagined that cloth of gold would be the opposite of a dead giveaway as to my identity.’
She chuckled. ‘Well, I haven’t a clue as to who you are, of course,’ she said. ‘So I wouldn’t know.’
Freyza narrowed his eyes. ‘Really?’
She remained quiet, though began to grin from ear to ear. As he braced himself to lift her up a second time, the music suddenly came to an abrupt stop.
He looked around and noticed that it was Theo speaking to the band, convincing them to drop their instruments, after which he moved on to the crowd. It was quiet from the moment he had been spotted, wearing his dark grey uniform as well as a rain-soaked cloak.
‘Good evening,’ he said with his booming voice. ‘It is unfortunately time to reveal your identities.’
Freyza and Katherine intuitively unclasped from each other, imagining that their time together was coming to a close. Few took off their masks — certainly Freyza would not before he had been given an explanation.
Realizing that many of the attendees would not willingly give up their ambiguous presence free of identity, Theo sighed. ‘I’m looking for any guests of Baradran descent — including the Queen of Ilworth — at this point in time.’
Katherine rolled her eyes but stepped forward, untying the strap of her mask behind her veiled hair. ‘I’ll catch you later,’ she whispered to Freyza. Her irritation was palpable.
Now she had left, he walked back to the side of the ballroom and looked at the group of Baradrans softly trickle to perhaps a dozen people, including Katherine. He could tell Theo was speaking to them, and was beginning to escort them out, but the beginnings of chaos had already taken over the rest of the guests, and so he was unable to understand a single thing they were saying. Once they left, Freyza too headed out.
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When in the morning no statement had been issued, Freyza was beginning to feel the chaos of last night kicking in. His appointments had been cancelled, Henri did not show up at his levée, and it appeared that they had drawn up the bridge over the moat. He had not yet seen Katherine since she had been so rudely taken from him by Theo.
In the later hours of the morning, when it was coming up against noon, Freyza had completed all of the administrative tasks still before him in the morning, and followed the path to the Ilworthian wing so well-known to him. He was hoping to at the very least see Katherine, and hopefully gain some kind of understanding. He realised while he was going that the idea was a rather bold one, and yet he powered through the anxiety in his chest while he brought himself to their wing.
It was awfully quiet and heavily guarded. With the showing of his paperwork, Freyza made it past the initial line of guards, which he had never seen there before, but in the hallway advisers were sitting in an improvised formation a few doors besides Katherine’s.
He gathered his strength and poise in order to walk past them without being understood as an intruder. Freyza had his arms on his back and a scroll in one of his hands, and with confident stride walked past them. He did not immediately acknowledge them, but offered them a bow when he was already past, in order to then knock the Queen’s cabinet door.
No matter how carefully he listened, there was not even the sound of a chair slipping back to be heard, let alone did the door open. He knocked again, to the great annoyance of the advisers, until Richard stood up from his makeshift post.
‘May I just ask what you’re doing?’ he asked.
Freyza turned theatrically. ‘I have an appointment with Her Majesty.’
‘All appointments are cancelled today,’ Richard explained.
Freyza did his best to smile. ‘And why would that be?’
‘The Queen is in mourning,’ he said. ‘And there is a threat of national security concerning her safety.’
‘Is that why the bridge is drawn?’ he asked.
Richard leaned in. ‘Listen here, you arrogant Sbaian dishcloth,’ he began. ‘I know what you’re here to learn. The King of the Baradrans was shot in the head last week. The bridge is drawn because we haven’t a clue what a De Serra-run Baradrans will think of us. Her Majesty will not talk to you at this moment for she is mourning the death of her cousin and the demise of an upstanding Ginefort-run nation.’
Freyza took a step back. ‘I see,’ he said, genuinely shocked to hear this from Richard.
‘You should probably leave,’ Richard said.
‘I may at least leave a message for Her Majesty,’ Freyza protested.
Richard chuckled and shook his head. ‘Though I appreciate your insistence and I am sure you use that to your advantage often, I’m afraid I cannot sign off on such a thing.’
From Richard’s posture, Freyza could tell that things would take a turn for the forceful if he did not remove himself quickly. ‘I see,’ Freyza said simply. ‘I will return when the waters have calmed.’
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As information trickled in over the next days, Freyza noticed his workload beginning to grow. He had not seen Katherine, and as far as he knew, nobody had, but he did not write her yet for fear of interception, though ideas were beginning to form about how he would manage to get them alone once more, as really they should have been towards the end of the masked ball. As for his own work, the embassy opened again after a few days of confused closure, and with that, letters were beginning to come in.
There was one that intrigued him the most: a gold filigree scroll case, given to him by a perplexed Bayezid, who had just come in from the countryside amidst this new, locked-down Souchon Palace the same day as the scroll did.
He opened it swiftly and was immediately intrigued by the strong scent of incense that the paper carried, as well as the fine nature of the handwriting.
It was not a letter at all — rather, a list of quantities signed off by the Sword of the Sbaian Treasury. Not just tin, but certain types of wood, paper, weapons, wool, and in such quantities that it made Freyza uneasy. As he stared at the perfumed list of goods that he was being asked to supply to the Sultan, an idea began to roll out in his mind.
What had been coming out of the Baradrans since its government’s fall, aside from details about King Ferdinand’s murder, was sparse, though all communications with the embassies was forbidden or otherwise cut. Nobody had been crowned yet. The Castle Dos Lunas was likely still under siege, but nobody knew for sure.
At this stage, it seemed the Sultan was already beginning to grow agitated by the disrupted stream of goods. His solution was simple: to put it on Freyza’s plate and see if he could retrieve it from the Baradrans’ eloquent neighbors. However, Freyza knew not to take it through King Henri, but instead issued a request to be received by Lord Overleigh and Lord Milden Cross, in order to discuss trade relations between the Sbai Empire and Ilworth. Katherine, though more direct, would be too suspicious, or so he thought.