Tale of Four

The moon slowly rose into the sky, and once it hit nine o’clock, Tristan and Edmund stepped into the grand Hall, prepared for the final feast held for Anton, the remaining one prepared for the winner of the tournament. Sharing a nod, Edmund walked off towards Mary and Lord Wells, taking a seat between them.

Tristan looked around and saw Cillian sitting away from his father, beckoning Tristan to take a seat with him. Although he was tempted, he shook his head and sat elsewhere, knowing he had to dance with Mabel at the feast. If she were all he had to worry about, he wouldn’t have cared, but with Elias around and unsure how his summon would affect his personality, he didn’t want to risk it.

Cillian shrugged and stood up, going over to his sisters and sitting between them, happily starting a conversation, instantly regretting it as the two teamed up to make fun of him, without leaving a chance for him to get a word in. Over the next half hour, guests arrived; the more important they were, the later they came.

Despite the mass influx of people, Tristan noticed the difference between the Lords of each area of Veston; the colours and outfits they wore all differed. Ladies from the Flatlands wore colours like the earth, browns and greens, whilst wearing modest clothing that left the bare minimum of skin free. Even with the Clover twins’ influence, there were limits to what Ladies were willing to wear, with very few of them willing to experiment with their outfits. The Men were similar, wearing loose, long robes, like those of an outfit comfortable for working in a field. The only clear indication that none of them had ever done so was how clean their outfits were, as well as the luxurious amount of jewels they plastered over them.

Turning to the Lords and Ladies of the Artlands and Hampton, they all wore vibrant colours that competed with one another to stand out. Weird and peculiar additions were made to their clothing, such as feathers stitched on; some had seashells stuck to their faces, creating patterns that ran down their cheeks despite the land having no connection to the sea. Narrowing his eyes, Tristan even saw one Lord and Lady, who obviously had more money than they knew how to spend, have a pair of wings sewn into their outfit that would move as they lifted their arms. They were the most explorative and willing to push the boundaries for what was expected, but no one could say their outfits were ugly, all making sure to prioritise beauty over trend.

Next were the Lords and Ladies of the Hilllands and Helios. Unlike their Lord, who would dress more like a Lord of CrownLands, both Lords and Ladies dressed as if they were ready for war, their outfits all loose-fitting, clearly meant to be worn over armour. Some did wear chainmail in certain places as a fashion piece, whilst all the men carried scabbards without their weapons, instead placing finely crafted, designed wooden sticks in place of their swords, only noticeable on close inspection.

Finally, there were the Lords and Ladies of the Bridgeway and the Twin Peaks. Much like their Lady had dressed throughout the day, most wore black as if they had prepared for a funeral, only being more reserved than their Lady and adding slight colour to show the bare minimum amount of respect. The more support they had for the Blackwells over the Cosmatons, the more they leaned into the funeral attire, with a few black veils sprinkled throughout the sea of people. The less they supported their Lady, the less the influence was. But even with having split loyalties, they had to follow the dress code the Lady set.

Tristan leaned back and finally looked at the Crownland lords, the standard dressing like royalty, only less pronounced. With a deep breath, he accepted the wine handed to him by a servant and waited for Anton to arrive. First of the Great lords to arrive was lord Clover, dragging Sandra in, already half drunk, dancing to a tune he hummed, stealing everyone’s attention.

Next, Isaac walked in alone, sharp like a sword, marching towards his seat and leaning back once he sat. Next, Lord Andre Makepiece, his cane echoes signalling his arrival, his outfit a vibrant array of colours adorned with numerous decorations that all fit together perfectly, making the rest of the Artlands Lords look reserved in their attire. Finally, Lady Blackwell, with her usual black dress and veil, only showing her seductive red smile, gracefully walked forward towards her seat.

Not even a minute later, Anton walked through holding his wife’s hand, Karina Fox. Around them, their children took their seats as the two took to the centre and held one another’s hands. As soon as the Royal children sat, the King and Queen began a dance, one that was graceful and elegant, not a movement spared. Anton dressed like a soilder having come home from war, wearing the ceremonial uniform he wore after the battle of the Silent Hills, his wife dressed in a beautiful outfit that blended attributes of her home, the Hillands and the Crownlands, with her blond hair crafted so one side was braided, and the other side left free flowing. For some, it created a mystical look, her tighter-fitting dress sparkling when catching the light with the jewels embedded in it. To others, she was a lady from a story who had just seen war, the two making the perfect image of a fairy-tale warrior king and his wife from the battlefield.

No one spoke, no one made a noise, only the sound of vibrant music filled the hall as they led one another around the large dance floor, getting lost in their own world. Anton had what could barely be considered a smile on his lips as he stared deep into his wife’s eyes, Karina, the stark opposite, letting her happiness be clearly visible to the rest of the hall. For two minutes, they danced, not letting anything interrupt them before the music came to a gradual stop. Once it did, Anton stepped back, holding her hand and lowering his head, kissing the ring on her finger, before looking at the guests and taking his seat.

With a light round of applause, the music started once more, being the first round of dances, a more romantic set of songs, as the hall still hadn’t had time to get drunk. Tristan looked around and met Mabel’s eyes, the woman shooting daggers at him, daring him to try and ask her to dance during the current atmosphere. With a slight smirk, he turned to Edmund, who rose and walked across the room, towards a Lady a year older than him. Reaching his hand out to the slightly chubby girl from the Crownlands, he brightly smiled when she took it, the woman herself hiding her excitement behind refined movements.

Lord Wells did his best to help Mary to the dance floor, the two dancing more slowly than anyone, as Lord Wells perfectly attended to his damaged leg, leaning into his wife for support to stand. Cillian moved towards Sandra and shot her a playful smirk, the Lady of Clover, happily taking his hand and dragging him out, going at her own pace that didn’t completely match the music, Cillian sighing but going along.

”Tristan.” Annabell spoke from his shoulder, ”I’m going to play.” Flying off before he could say anything, Annabell flew around before landing on Lord Clover’s head, finding the power that came from his body refreshing and calming. Lord Clover didn’t take offence, instead laughing and using the bird as a chance to approach a Lady.

For twenty minutes, the slow dances continued on the dance floor, growing livelier with each new song as the mood lightened with drinks. Sensing the shift in mood had reached its limit, the musicians changed the music to soemthing more upbeat during the gap between songs, perfectly slipping it in so it wasn’t a sudden shift.

Tristan sensed his chance and looked to Mabel. Mabel thought for a moment and nodded towards him. With a perfectly created smile, he stood up and walked over to her. ”Princess. Will you honour me?” Tristan felt the gazes on him from the Lords and Ladies around, wondering who he was and how he could boldly ask the princess to dance despite being no one. Ignoring it, he waited as Mabel rose and took his hand.

”Gladly.”