“Can I wear a bow?!” Trivask shakes her head at the little girl as she finishes brushing out her golden ringlets. Taking a step back, she looks at the full picture, and in that moment, she knows that this girl will become a force that is almost impossible to oppose when she grows up.

Liontha is gorgeous. From the hue of her eyes to the shape of her chin. All eyes will be on her when she comes of age, and some will trail her well before that. “You are not old enough to wear bows yet, little Lion.” Trivask fixes the girl’s left sleeve. Hair bows are reserved for girls of courting age. “Perfect.” Liontha smiles up at her. “Do you remember the dances Siona taught you?”

Trivask receives an elated nod in response. “And you remember the order?” Again, she nods her pretty little head. “Then, you’re all set to go, little Lion. Here are your slippers.” Trivask hands the girl her shoes. She had scuffed the bottoms of them yesterday night, so that she might have a bit of grip on the freshly waxed dance floors.

“Go on now. And be careful.”

“Of course!” She child screams over her shoulder as she rushes from the chambers, her little feet barely stopping long enough for her hands to attach her shoes. A small smile takes over the woman’s face.

How anyone could ignore such a child is something she just can’t understand. Sighing, Trivask looks back at her own reflection. She watches as her head tilts to the side, her facial chains dangling.

Tonight, she looks just as her Lord wants her to look. Her dress, possibly made from pieces of the night sky, is thin and gauzy. Its back is open, exposing some of the flesh colored script covering her skin. The straps are thin pieces of tulle that hang off of her shoulders. A slit runs up both of her legs, restricting her movement, should she wish to not expose herself.

She is every bit the spectacle that Lord Alijah expects her to be. She blinks at herself, almost expecting to see something off with her reflection. Trivask’s hand floats up to the strip of fabric wrapped around her neck.

It’s so soft, that it almost feels as if it caresses her back.

“Ma’am,” A soft knocking on the frame of her door draws her attention. One of the formal’s many temporary servants stands, his hands immediately going to clasp behind his back. Breaking himself in half, the servant folds into a bow. “Lord Maelegori has requested I escort you to the gathering room.”

“Of course,” Trivask responds. Her master has called, so it is time for her to make her appearance. After wrapping her arms around the servant’s extended one, the pair begin their travels. “If you had to guess, how many attendants would you say are here tonight?”

The man stiffens at her side, clearly not expecting her to speak to him further. Clearing his throat, he states, “I would guess there are a few hundred people here tonight, Lady.”

Trivask pats his arm, her head going to lean on his bicep. “I am no Lady.” They approach the grand arches, which have been decorated to fit the theme: woodland. Those terrible living veins have been secured in tumbling patterns along the top of the entryway.

Already they hiss, craving some type of sustenance. Her eyes narrow. When Alijah had asked her what foliage should grace the arches, she had said anything but those terrible vines you have in your bedroom . It seems he asked for her opinion solely to disregard it.

Her face loses its expression when she notices the first person look at her. Turning to the servant, she thanks him, giving him a quick tilt of her head, then she heads off. It doesn’t take her long to spot the Lord of the manor. He stands in the middle of a large group of people, his feet nearly covered by the skirt of all the ladies that surround him.

Upon reaching the group, she clears her throat, though she does so only for the benefit of those around her. Lord Alijah had no doubt felt her presence as soon as she entered the gathering room. The small crowd turns at the sound of her, and they all but freeze. “Ah, finally. Tonight’s Lady of honor has arrived.” He claps his hands together.

He parts through his chatting partners, his arm extended towards her. Trivask, of course, takes it, pulling on a small smile. “Allow me to introduce my Loinel, Trivask.” It becomes increasingly difficult to ignore the path that their watchful eyes take. She is by far, the least dressed in the room, and she supposes it is for good reason.

Tonight is Lord Alijah’s night to show her off. Trivask just barely catches the gasp that falls from a nearby lady’s mouth as her uncovered leg peeps through the slit of her dress. The group is silent only for a moment. “She… She has no last name?”

Trivask takes it upon herself to answer this question. “I have no other names that you should worry about, sir.” She dips her chin as he attempts to hold in his scoff.

“Right. Well, it’s time to let everyone into the ballroom now. Please keep my guests company for a moment, my gem.”

“Of course,” Trivask softly replies. The most effort she will put into this interaction is responding to conversation directed to her. She will otherwise keep her mouth shut, like a good little girl. Lord Alijah gives her a quick pat on her exposed back, before he pardons himself from the group.

Five men and their ladies remain. Three of the latter have opened their fans so that they might openly gossip about the spectacle that is Trivask. She looks at the other people in the group, and is just starting to inspect the strand of gray in the male at her left’s head when she hears a throat clear.

She turns, and finds that the sound came from a man at her right. He stands a least a foot taller than her. His broad shoulders are covered by a black velvet vest that is settled nicely over a deep purple tunic and tucked into nicely fitted breeches.

Trivask looks to his ears, which are left uncovered due to his haircut. She only has sight of his left. He has four rings in his ear. And he also has her interest now. The man smiles when her eyes finally travel to meet his own. “May I ask where you are from, Miss Trivask?”

His gaze is friendly, perhaps a little too friendly, if the way the lady on his arm stares around her fan means anything. “You may call me Trivask, or Lionel, if you wish to use honorifics,” is how she starts.

“As you wish, Lionel,” The stranger responds, awaiting her answer.

“I am not from any place you have heard of. Ask a different question and you may receive a far more interesting answer.” Her eyes begin to wander again. It seems her Lord has gotten pulled into another conversation.

She may have to entertain for longer than she thought. “Alright. Since I cannot know where woman like you are made, can I at least know how you came to become Lord Maelegori’s acquaintance ?”

That is an innocent enough question, but is also one that she can’t answer. The smile that takes over her face says enough. “Really?! Then why don’t you tell me what questions I am allowed answers to?”

She’s saved from responding. A clang, loud and metallic, vibrates through the gathering room, claiming the attention of all its occupants. It’s time for the formal’s formal beginning. “Evening everyone.” Alijah has taken to standing on an accent table to elevate himself. “I’m delighted that everyone could make it here.”

There are a few whoops from the crowd, mostly from those excited for the night’s festivities. It’s been a while since Alijah has hosted an event of any kind. The man that has been speaking to her, gives her ribs a little nudge. “Do you know the occasion? Lord Maelegori hasn’t hosted a party in so long, there must be a reason why?”

Yes . There must be a reason why. Trivask brings her finger up to her glistening lips to silence the man. “In just a few moments, I will allow everyone into the ballroom, and I will introduce the night’s main entertainment. Until then, I ask that each of you take a glass of shimera to enjoy.” He steps down from the table, just as servants dressed in bright yellow attire begin to step forward.

As a woman in a floor length yellow pinafore steps towards the group, Trivask waves her towards the other. She doesn’t enjoy the taste of shimera . She much prefers sweet drinks, and shimera is known for its sourness and acidic after-taste. Faeries, Trivask had come to know, don’t like sweets.

“Do you not drink?”

Trivask’s brows frown when she looks back to the man. “You ask a lot of questions for a man that has never properly introduced himself to me.” She looks over his shoulder. “You also have yet to introduce your companion.” She waves her fingers at the woman, who has finally dropped her fan to sip her drink.

Trivask can see the tips of her rounded ears go pink under her scrutiny. “In fact. You all have been quite rude as to not introduce yourselves.” This time, she addresses the group as a whole. “I like that you all seem to think you’re above me, yet you seem to lack the basic manners your kind are always rambling on about.”

Eyes that never fully left her now give her their full attention. Some faces turn embarrassed, while others go red with anger. They must be wondering what gives her the audacity, but it seems they recall her title. She is the Lionel of the Maelegori family. And while they might not know exactly what she is and how she came to be in their nation, there is still a certain decorum they must abide by.

“Right, my apologies, Lionel.” It is the man that stands directly across from her that speaks. He stands no taller than five feet and a couple of inches. His shoulders are wider than a bull’s, and his ears are just as pointed as one’s horns. “You are… shock instilling. If I may introduce myself and my companion?”

She nods and waves him on, her hands falling together after. “I am Revonad Jaetrer, the current diplomat for the Jaetrer family. This here-” He waves his hand to the small woman cuddled up to his arm. “-is Revonad-Smitha Jaetrer, my companion for the evening and for the rest of my life.” The smile that takes up residence on the couple’s face is almost too much for Trivask to bear.

The air thickens as their eyes connect, the link between them twisting and writhing. She almost wishes her abilities weren’t as refined as they are. At least then, she wouldn’t have to see what passes between the couple.

The man to her left speaks next. “I also wish to give my apologies. It was never my intention to be rude, Lady Trivask.” She doesn’t bother correcting the man. What would be the point? “I am Youlin Larna. This is my companion, Eurlien Yettier.” She needs to hear nothing else from this couple.

Their names are enough.

The man to her right finally opens his mouth to introduce himself, but he is swiftly cut off. The curtains have been pulled open and guests have begun entering the ballroom. “Another time, I suppose,” Trivask remarks before she begins to walk through groups of people.

She searches for her Lord, and quickly latches onto his arm when she finds him. “Did you enjoy the quick chat?” He asks her before taking a sip from his flute. Her eyes roll.

Stolen novel; please report.

“Oh yes, it was quite the revetting five minutes.” Her tone is infused with such sarcasm, Trivask fears she might slip on some that had fallen from her mouth. “Your friends are lovely.”

Lord Alijah bends down, his mouth stopping just before her ear. “Make no mistake, my gem. No one here is a friend.” She figured as much. Who could make friends with a man like Alijah? Someone as domineering and conniving as him could only have business partners, and even those are just servants in nicer clothing to him.

They enter the transformed ballroom.

In two days time, they had managed to completely re-wallpaper the place. The walls are a forest green, with spots of brown, likely to represent actual trees. Dangling from the ceiling are a variety of foliage. Dark green vines and sparkling yellow flowers hang low enough to tickle the heads of particularly tall guests.

Trivask even spots- “Morning glories,” Her breath catches as she looks at them masterfully arranged against the wall opposite of them. They form a deceptively beautiful portrait.

“Do you like it?” Trivask continues towards it, her arm still entangled tightly with her Lord’s.

“Is this me?” She asks, her fingers reaching out to touch the petals. She pulls back just before she feels their soft skin. The portrait is made of up at least twenty different species of morning glory. Her skin is made of the darkest petals, while her hair is made from the species that blooms at night.

The Lord separates their arms, his hands going to hold her own. “It is.” He seems to be confused by the surprise that lights up her face. “Do you not know what today is?” She doesn’t know. “It’s the anniversary of the day you decided to stay here… with me.” Trivask swallows.

She doesn’t own a calendar, so she has no way to track these things. But even if she did, she wouldn’t have thought that this would be an occasion to celebrate. It would merely mean that she’s been working for her Lord for a year now. “The portrait is lovely. I only wish that I could keep it.”

Alijah smiles. “Come, it’s time to introduce the main entertainment.” Reality comes back to her in that moment. Trivask nods and allows him to pull her up the main platform. The stairs have been decorated with pseudo-grass, which is admittedly, a lot easier to walk on.

The Lord lets go of her hands as he greets his guests. “Thank you all for coming. I would like to introduce Trivask, the Lady of the night, and the main entertainment.” A soft round of clapping ensues as Trivask gives a small smile and even smaller wave.

“This party is being thrown on her behalf, actually. I have never known a more loyal second in my lifetime. And I have never known a more beautiful or powerful woman. I thank you for standing by my side.”

He plants a kiss on her forehead, then walks off of the platform to stand with the crowd. The strings begin to play behind her. A soft and melancholy cry falls from over her shoulder.

It’s time for her to perform.

“Good evening all,” Trivask speaks softly into the air as her hips begin to sway along with the music. If she could do nothing but dance for the rest of her life, she would be content. The woman’s eyes close, refusing to stare back at those that watch her, those that mock her behind their fans.

The slit on the left side of her dress parts at the tips of her toes draw patterns along the smooth floor. The music hardens and Trivask pulls into a forward attitude , her back foot flat and her front foot pointed.

As her arms raise, the crowd gasps. Tendrils of living mist wisp from the points of her poised fingers, wrapping harmoniously around the length of her arms. Trivask sweeps low before bringing herself into a crisp croise devant .

Dark clouds form over the middle of her body and travel down to the points of her feet until nothing can be seen of her but her head and the point of her left index finger. She spins, the mist traveling with her, forcing the somber cloud to finally obscure her face.

The stringed instruments come to a startling halt.

The mist dissipates.

In Trivask’s place sits a sleek and proud black panther.

The crowd shuffles back as a single unit as claps ring out from between her Lord’s hands. “Marvelous.” Lord Alijah is breathless as he walks to the platform. “Just… marvelous.” His eyes travel along the length of the panther’s coat, stopping only once his meets the animals amber eyes.

The Lord holds out his hand, unsure if this animal still has the instincts of the woman that once stood in its place. When it leans its head towards him, he smiles.

“You’ve brought shifters into our lands?!” His peace is broken, just like that. Trivask, though mildly entertained with the thought of someone starting an argument with her Lord at his own party, decides that it would be best if she answers any questions about her heritage.

She lets out a low growl, a warning for the older woman, before her mist covers her body again. Her dress was easy enough to slip out of during her change, so it sustained no damage. Trivask assumes this was the reason behind Alijah’s choice in her costume.

She can’t help but feel a little silly that she was so quick to paint him as an egotistical pervert that wanted nothing more than to parade her skin around.

Trivask changes and clears her throat before responding to the woman. “Normally I would take such a statement as an insult. Shifters are such… barbaric and static creatures after all. But I will allow it to pass for now, as I know you’ve all been drinking.” She grabs her Lord’s hand and he walks her down the platform to stand in front of the woman.

“I am no shifter , woman.” Being a shifter would imply a certain level of connection with the skins she occasionally wears, but other than a small preference for her panther, there is none. From what she has read though, shifters only have one other form. “I am something much-” She releases her Lords hand, stalking around the woman. “Much-” Trivask takes a small sniff.

The woman, though she doesn’t tremble, smells of fear. In fact, this scent seems to be wafting from quite a few bodies. “More dangerous.” This triggers a shudder from the faerie woman and a feral smile from herself. “I will entertain myself until you call for me again, my Lord.”

Alijah gently grabs her hand and presses a kiss to it. “Enjoy yourself.” As she slips away, she hears him call for the music to start up. It doesn’t take her Lord long to get the party started.

Right as Trivask was planning to slip out of the ballroom, she spots a certain someone heading out to one of the small balconies. She can’t resist the temptation pulling at her chest.

Her resolve breaks easily, and before she knows it, she slipping between the slowly closing door to the balcony. His silhouette is brooding. It’s almost as if he aims to scare the cold night air away. “My, what a surprise it is to see you out here.” Trivask speaks into the night.

The man jumps, his body twisting to view her. When Trivask sees those striking blue eyes, she’s almost pulled in. The feeling of something unnatural begins to creep up on her, settling itself gently against her shoulders. It warms her. “I don’t believe we’ve ever been introduced.”

Trivask walks until she stands next to the lithe fellow. She too, leans against the railing of the ornate fence. The man doesn’t take his eyes off of her. “No, I don’t believe we have been.” His voice is not as she pictured it. She imagined from his looks, he would have the voice of a cold prince. Level and chilly. But his voice is warm and almost as low as Jona’s own.

“Now, I’m no portrait for Khunese manners, but I think this is the part where you would introduce yourself.” His eyes search for something in her, something that she doesn’t believe he will find.

Silence settles over the two, and Trivask begins to think that the man will remain this way. “You may call me Keiran, Lady Trivask.” Finally, a name to match a face.

“What family do you hail from, Keiran?” He has no rings on his ears and he has decided to not give her a last name. This man is suspicious to say the least.

His booted feet cross behind him as he turns to stare off at the moon. Tonight is a great night for watching the stars. Trivask makes a note to slip off into her favorite place before the moon goes to sleep. “What family do you hail from, Lady Trivask? It certainly can’t be one of the Khunese empire.”

She doesn’t bother to act surprised. It’s as clear as day why this man is attempting to ignore her questions. “This is true. My family is, thankfully, far away from this place.” This, she does not lie about.

The day Trivask meets her family again, is the day when this world will fall apart.

She swallows. “You don’t come from this empire either, do you?” The silent blankets them again. As if debating the repercussions of telling her something she already knows, the man nods, ever so slightly. “And where you come from, it is polite to feed off of those that welcome you into their homes?”

Keiran goes stiff.

Behind them, a merry waltzing song begins to play. Trivask claps. “Oh, I so wish I had someone to dance with me. I love this type of dance.” She pulls away from the railing, positioning herself as if to dance with an invisible partner.

But before she can even take her first step, a cold hand is wrapped around her neck. The force of the attack pushes her back, causing her to nearly trip on her stupid floor length gown. She doesn’t stop falling until she feels the chilled stone of the wall pressed painfully against her bare back.

Trivask notices that the pair have moved out of the way of the glass door. No one can see them.

Keiran’s once bright eyes have darkened considerably, along with the skin under his eyes. At her neck, just above the velvet of her necklace, Trivask can feel something warm and sharp sticking in her skin. “What exactly do you think you know, Lady Trivask?”

Her expression has gone lazy. Truly, she expected a better show than this. Trivask expected at least a little bit of mind games before the man went full brute on her. She supposes she expected too much. “Truthfully, Kieran, I knew nothing but the obvious. Now I know a little more. These-” She leans into the talons clawing at her neck. “Are not faerie attributes.”

Blood begins to run down her neck, collecting at the band sitting around it. Trivask licks her lips. “You’re playing with Lady Helon, yes? Toying with her. Making her think that you’re satisfied with merely being her call boy. You’ve seduced the seducer, and since you’re almost finished with her, you’ve started to feed on her. What you take from the woman, I don’t know. But I can smell what you’ve been doing.” She laughs at the singsong tone she’s taken on.

“I can’t say I approve of mixing business with pleasure, but…” Her head turns to look back at the doors. “I can say that I understand it.” Keiran still hasn’t said anything to her, which is sad. “I won’t spill your secret, Keiran. I’m just curious. What are you? What do you want?”

Trivask watches as his eyes change from blue to red, the skin underneath them darkening with the appearance of bulging veins. The auburn hair on his head begins to shift as rounded horns seem to grow. Trivask’s head tilts. Interesting . He forces her to stare at him straight on, and before Trivask can guess his next move, his lips are on her own.

Certainly not expecting this course of action, Trivask’s eyes widen and her lips part.

The world begins to blacken and the ground beneath her begins to shake and shatter. More . Trivask finally puts her own hands to work. She pulls on the collar of Keiran’s shirt, pulling him closer and closer and… “Ow!”

Her fang scrapes against Keiran’s tongue, a small slather of blood falling from his mouth to her own. The fog that was once clouding her eyes rises as that coppery taste envelopes her tongue, and the realization that the ground actually is shaking beneath her smacks her out of her stupor.

Trivask’s foot flies out, sending a solid kick to the stomach of the man that had just assaulted her. Her ears open up to the sounds around her. And as Keiran’s body flops over the railing, the screams of the party’s guests come flooding in.

It seems that Maelegori Manor is under attack.