During a recess in the final day of the High Conference, Zelia Chatelaine had decided on taking a stroll through the Emperor’s marble palace, as many others chose to do at that time, Cartwell following closely behind her. His hands were tucked behind his back. His light-brown long coat had been draped over a buttoned white robe, and his yellow-white hair had been tied neatly behind his head, several strands of hair falling across his ears.
Zelia’s appearance had always been neat, but to attend the High Conference, a nobleman or lady was expected to take on the appearance of perfection, and so all measures were taken by her attendants to ensure her prime beauty. Her eyes had been sharpened by black ink, and her lips were bright as roses. Her skin was pale, like a doll’s, and her cheeks were lightened by blush. Cartwell’s appearance had remained simple to contrast and exemplify his Lady’s beauty just by standing beside her.
“My Lady, will we get lunch while we’re out?”
Zelia sighed. “Stop trying to get me to eat, my dear Servant. I’ll eat when the conference is over. Until then, I must maintain my figure so I’m not gossiped about. I still have the Chatelaine’s name to uphold.”
“I don’t think your father would be angered if you kept yourself healthy.”
“Then you clearly do not know my father.” Zelia chuckled. As they walked down the ornate halls of the marble palace, illuminated by the glistening sunlight reflected off of the marbling, Zelia’s gaze froze, her brows furrowing. Cartwell stopped as she did, his hands hovering over his waist, where his blade remained.
Three women wearing bright-blue robes followed behind one another, approaching the two. They belonged to a family that Zelia had grown quite close to in her lifetime, the Argyle family. Due to their Head of Family being the Consul Laevus, Gallian Argyle, they had grown extremely powerful within the political landscape in such a short time. Due to the Chatelaine family’s control over the Iyasul crystal market, they had been seen as a prized ‘possession’ by the Argyles. To secure a constant supply of crystals for their industry, Zelia had been offered by her father to the eldest son of the Argyle family, Casimir Argyle.
This wasn’t such a bad position for her to be in. She had known Casimir since childhood, and they had grown up together. He had been a kind man, and she had grown to love him, if only in the greatest way a friend could. Now, he was dead, and so the Argyles had no reason to pretend they cared for Zelia Chatelaine. Only the malice and pettiness that came from their high position remained to be directed towards her.
‘The Argyle family?’ Cartwell’s expression furrowed. ‘This can’t possibly turn out well.’
Zelia was unable to move in the face of her ex-family. She, who had entered the world of magic to such an extent, was frozen in fear.
One of the women stood before her, the others sneering as she spoke. Cartwell stepped in front of Zelia, bowing to the three woman before greeting them. “Your Royal Highness, Duchess of The Divide, it’s an honour to be in your presence.”
“Can your Lady not speak for herself, dog? Is she still so distraught by our brother’s death that she would flounder around like a dead fish, unable to talk for herself?”
Zelia failed to respond. Her eyes began to tear up. She looked away from the three, and Cartwell was forced to laugh off the ordeal. However, he suddenly became distracted.
“Mr. Callister! Don’t just go running where you want! This isn’t your estate—— this is the home of the Emperor, mind you!” A voice suddenly called out.
As Zelia, Cartwell, and the three women turned towards the voice, they suddenly realised that a figure had appeared before Cassandra Argyle, eyeing her with curiosity, a blissful grin on his face. He had red-orange locks that fell down across his shoulders, and wore clothes that were far too feminine, yet fit his overall-pristine and attenuated form perfectly.
“Pandora Callister, what business do you have to stand between us so rudely?” Cassandra chided.
Zelia and Cartwell were surprised by the man’s sudden appearance. It put them on edge, and Cartwell retained his grasp on the hilt of his blade.
‘I didn’t even see this man approaching, even though I kept an eye on the distant edge of the hall. How did he get here so quickly, and why does he emit a terrifying aura?’
“Ms. Argyle, isn’t it the case that you make many visits to the red district? You must be quite interested in expanding to that industry, it seems, as you visit every weekend without fail.” Pandora noted, smiling mischievously.
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Cartwell and Zelia’s eyes widened, not expecting such an occurrence. They didn’t know the man standing before them, nor why he was dressed like a woman, but he piqued their interest.
“That’s none of your business.” Cassandra Argyle’s gaze averted slightly, embarrassed. “I don’t want to hear it from the shame of the Callister family. Shouldn’t you go run around in dresses and makeup instead of being here? Where is your brother?”
Pandora smirked, knowing. “He’s away on business. Let’s not speak of someone that isn’t here. Rather, why is it you’re so averse to be seen in the red district? It’s not as if its uncommon for us High Nobles, in comparison to Lower Nobles. If it’s not that you’re doing business or buying… is it that you’re selling…?”
Cassandra’s face immediately lit up a bright red hue, angered and embarrassed.
“But why would a woman from such a prominent family, the grand-daughter of a Consul, no less, selling herself in a common brothel?”
“That’s- that’s not of your business…” her voice grew stifled, hushed. Pandora took a step forward, pushing her against the wall as he grinned.
“But I own that brothel you frequent. Doesn’t that make it entirely my business? Who do you think approved your hiring in secret, ignoring that you used a fake name and persona to pass by unseen? Of course, under my eyes, whether or not you use a fake name, backstory, or even change for face surgically—— it will all fail to matter.” Pandora put a finger to his lips, telling her to silence her rebuttal. Cassandra’s words choked up in her throat, unable to respond.
She let out a huff, and with her sisters trailing behind her, they left.
The red-haired nobleman turned to the two, his grin fading.
“Ah, thank the Goddess they left. I hate acting strong and confident.” Pandora began to twirl a strand of his hair.
Zelia remained silent, still shaken by the ordeal. Cartwell began to speak in her stead.
“What was it that you’re talking about? Cassandra Argyle in a brothel, selling herself? Are you making up strange tales or is this the truth?” Cartwell wondered, shocked, forgetting to greet the nobleman properly.
“It’s not uncommon, attendant of Ms. Chatelaine. The one thing that all Noblewomen lack is freedom, being pawns in a larger game. I know all about being a pawn, but not that certain perspective. Still, I can empathise. It’s even less rare for one of these Noblewomen to seek that freedom in the hands of men, usually wealthy businessmen and merchants who can afford to spend so much money on the company of women. So, they always end up in my brothels, high-end, and incredibly private. Some seek business, others offer it. In the end, it’s just another means for someone to claw at the sun. Not all are aware of their blessings when there’s the curse of shackles tying them down.” Pandora smiled genially. “I try to offer solace when I can. If it’s inevitable, I can make sure it’s at least pleasant. In the end, I can even offer them alternate avenues to seeking that ‘freedom’ they desire. It doesn’t always have to come at the cost of themselves.” His gaze was reflective, deep. It made Zelia and Cartwell confused of his nature, of whether he was a sly, cunning man, or a kind one.
Finally, the woman trailing behind Pandora caught up. She had a stern face plastered on her sun-bitten complexion. She had long black hair caught up in the white hood of her cloak, and bright-blue eyes that glimmered like sapphires.
Zelia and Cartwell’s eyes widened. Unlike the fiery-haired feminine man, they recognised the woman behind him instantly. She was the eldest daughter of one of the most powerful families in the Empire, the Faulkner family. They were the richest merchant family, and a direct branch of the Barron family, with a straight succession line to the throne in the event of tragedy, bypassing the families of the Twin Consuls.
As such, the woman standing before them was not just a noblewoman. She was twelfth-in-line to succession of the Imperium. She was Artis Faulkner, the Princess of the Faulkner Branch Family.
Zelia and Cartwell immediately fell to one knee, bowing their heads towards the Princess.
Artis’s face lit up a bright-red, her serious expression faltering, waving her hands to dismiss them. “No- no! That’s not necessary, you two! We’re equal here in the Capital. There’s no need for a show of deference.”
Cartwell was the first to respond, his head still bowed. “Respectfully, your Royal Highness, that may be true for my Lady. However, I am just a servant. I should at least do this much.”
“You speak for your Lady?” Artis posed, curious.
“Please forgive my impudence in speaking aloud, Ma’am. My Lady had been shaken from a previous correspondence. I would ask that for the sake of her health that you would speak with me if necessary.”
Artis extended her hand, smiling genially. “It’s no matter to bow, if it allows you to keep your honour. However, I would prefer that everyone remain equal here, especially in these times. This includes you, her dearest companion.”
Cartwell’s face brightened slightly, raising his head and accepting her hand, his cheeks flush. “I’m sorry to trouble you, Ma’am.”
Artis shook her head, looking over towards Zelia, who was still silent, lost in her thoughts. “It’s of no importance to me. Don’t trouble yourself with it.” She walked over to Zelia, who still remained bowing, and knelt down at face-level with her. “Are you alright, dearest Chatelaine?”
Zelia’s expression faltered, glancing up at Artis.
“Ah-,” her voice finally returned to her, responding to the Princess, “it’s all right, Faulkner. I’m sorry to trouble you.” She subsequently stood up, beckoning for Cartwell to follow her as Pandora and Artis watched on with curiosity and worry.
She had left the Princess because she could not bear to embarrass herself in front of such a powerful figure in her current state. The faces of each member of the Argyle family raced through her mind, stained with remnant memories of blood and flame.
She could not forget that family that she suspected stole everything from her. She knew in her heart that it had been the Argyle’s themselves that had killed their eldest son, Casimir, for some reason. It had been his final words that she had witnessed herself that brought on that suspicion—— ‘do not trust my name’.
It was for that reason that the idea of revenge burned in her mind. She wanted revenge against them.
Still, she feared them.