Book 1: Chapter 8 - The Tea Party
“Let them eat cake.”
- attributed to Marie-Antoinette
Her Floriettal, the glorified coming of age cum tea party, was being held in the gazebo on the castle grounds, set deep within its well-tended garden. Around her, the famed wisterias cascaded like waterfalls of color. They hung low, some tendrils nearly brushing the manicured lawn, their shades of purple and pink painting an idyllic scene. These wisterias were not just any blooms; they were a symbol from the game this world was crafted upon, and they filled the air with a fragrance that was both sweet and faintly melancholy.
Seraphina waited for her so-called peers, attempting to close her mind and settle into a near meditative state—a feat she managed for all of two minutes, a personal record. Bored beyond endurance, she broke off a corner of her biscuit, scattering the crumbs across her gloved palm.
As if summoned by some silent invitation, two birds, their feathers mirroring the deep purples of the wisteria blooms, fluttered down to her open palm to feast on her impromptu offering. She grinned, savoring the simple delight of watching their greedy pecking. In their eagerness, she saw a reflection of the common folk and the less fortunate—always quick to snatch up the scraps left by the privileged. It was, after all, the nature of the world.
As abruptly as they had arrived, the birds took flight, startled by a burst of girlish laughter and the sudden clamor of approaching voices. It seemed, she mused, that birds shared another trait with the common folk: a readiness to flee at the first hint of disturbance or trouble.
Three daughters from the kingdom’s most powerful families had chosen to attend—though they had all decided to arrive fashionably late. A subtle insult, no doubt orchestrated by one particular thorn in Seraphina’s side, Eloise de Laney.
This minx hailed from a family only recently raised to the peerage. When the late Baron de Crecy had passed without issue, King Elidion, in his foolishness, handed control of the barony to an upstart merchant house, lured by their promises of grand reforms, higher productivity, and, ultimately, increased taxes. Thus, the de Laneys had become freshly minted nobles. Added to this, the new Baron de Laney’s wife was harlot hailing from the lands of the Empire-the on and off enemies of Aranthia.
The old Seraphina would have seen it as a near scandal—a disgrace, tainting the noble blood of Aranthia with that of common merchants and foreign whores. But the new Seraphina found herself disliking Eloise for a very different reason: she would be in the way of her ambitions.
Eloise, at the head of the party, swept forward with a small curtsy, her lips curved in a smile that held just a hint of mockery. "Blessed days, a good afternoon to you, Seraphina," she intoned, her voice a sweet, lilting melody that to Seraphina’s ear sounded closer to the grating whine of a mosquito.
The two girls at her side echoed her greeting, each with a slight dip of the head. To Eloise's left stood Michelié de Montan, daughter of Marquess de Montan, whose rugged lands stretched up against the Sarien duchy and the Empire’s own border. Michelié’s coming with Eloise was odd, a statement of unity between hers and the upstart merchant house. After all, her family had been allied with the de Sariens for generations, a bond forged in shared blood and conflict. But loyalty was a fickle thing, and there she was, standing beside Eloise like a loyal pup. Michelié cut a far less graceful figure than her companions; her build was soft and plump, her dark auburn hair gathered loosely, more akin to the daughter of some prosperous innkeeper than the heir to a marquessate.
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Seraphina gave a slight nod, omitting the usual formal greeting between host and guest. "A good afternoon to you all," she replied, her voice coolly measured, its warmth carefully calculated as she directed her gaze at Eloise.
Eloise reminded her, to a limited degree, of her old self, which was not surprising; rumor had it that Eloise’s design had been modeled after her own appearance. Lies, Seraphina thought, for she had been far more striking. For one, Seraphina distinctly recalled herself as being far more endowed. Still, she had to concede that Eloise was beautiful in her way—raven hair that spilled just past her shoulders, a slender, almost waifish frame, with grey eyes that gleamed with a hint of mischief.
"May the eyes of the hallowed gods lay lightly upon you," said the last of the trio, Rashana, her voice smooth and honeyed. She was exotically lovely, a year older than Seraphina, and the embodiment of her Al-Lazarian heritage. Rashana’s skin was a rich olive, her features dark and elegantly sharp, her proud nose betraying her noble lineage. Her grandmother had been a Holder princess from the golden desert city of Al-Lazar. Today, though, Rashana wore a frilly dress in deep red, not so different from Seraphina’s own attire. Unlike Seraphina, she wore three gold bangles at each of her delicate wrists.
It was meant to be a gathering of friends, a celebration of one among them taking her first steps into womanhood. Yet, as Seraphina cast her eyes over them, she felt their eyes upon her, assessing, scrutinizing. All save Rashana. Rashana, at least, met her gaze with a quiet understanding, untouched by the veiled calculation and hostility of the others.
This was the opening skirmish in a much larger campaign.
“Forgive us for being late,” Eloise began, her voice sweet with a hint of venom. “The roads in de Sarien lands are quite difficult to travel. I did tell my father that we spend far too much on our roads, but he insists that roads are the lifeblood of the barony. In de Laney lands, we build them as they do in the Empire—smooth and built to last.” She settled gracefully into the chair an attentive servant had provided, her words the first salvo.
Seraphina's emerald eyes glinted with a sly amusement as she set down her teacup. "It is a shame that you and your men would find travelling upon our roads a challenging task, Eloise," she said smoothly.
Eloise's smile widened ever so slightly. "Ah, but challenges make the journey all the more memorable, do they not? Traversing your rough roads was like stepping into an old tale, a charming relic of the past. Perhaps one day you'll experience the ease of our roads and see the future we are building. You see, even the most secluded lands must eventually embrace the future."
Seraphina had to fight a spike of irritation, she could not help but feel that she had lost a point.
"Indeed," Rashana interjected softly, her dark eyes observing the exchange with quiet interest. "Change is the only constant in our world."
Michelié leaned forward, almost spilling out of her dress and nearly upsetting her cup. "Oh, Lady Seraphina, I heard that in the Empire, they have roads made entirely of stone, cut with such skill and precision that they last for centuries! Straight as an arrow, imagine that!" She giggled, blissfully unaware of the tension simmering around the table.
As Seraphina observed Michelié's carefree laughter and her near mishap with the teacup, she began to question whether the girl had truly aligned herself with Eloise. It seemed more plausible that a slice of cake and a kind word had temporarily swayed her allegiance for the day. Delving into her memories of Michelié, Seraphina mused that the girl likely had no grasp of the subtle games being played around her.