Lizzie of the North (Yrsoreth Chronicles 2)

13 ◦❀◦ Torture at Lunch

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As opposed to her expectation  Lizzie was not immediately thrown into the nobles whose curious gazes almost burn her back while entering the fort with his brothers.

Unlike the nobles who had their luxurious tents as big as houses, the Norvillons had the privilege of accommodation of the Second Frontier. And for a fort mainly for defense and monitoring of the border, her room was less extravagant compared to the castle, but nonetheless beautiful.

It doesn't matter anyway. Sleep is sleep. Though difficult, she had fought to get used to being pampered. The story is changing, so probably hers too. And if one day, all will be taken away from her, she is more than prepared and unattached.

But... but Fay's scalp massages are just too good, she thought, closing her eyes as Fay massaged her scalp before attaching glittery strings to her hair for a braid.

For a fifteen-year-old, she was more than capable of Lizzie's standard, not that she has something to compare.

"Fay, I'm sleepy."

"You must not, my lady. You will join the Duke and everyone for the luncheon."

She knows, that's why her maids Fay, Orna, and Blinne have been in high tension while fixing her braids, matching her dress to the silver hair strings, and even repolishing her shoes.

Lizzie understood the need. The luncheon is her first introduction to the Northern noble society.

Traditionally, women had separate tables with men, and no matter how much she wanted to beg her brothers or even the duke, she restrained herself from dining with them. No one wanted a clingy lady, was what Rosalia said in one of the lessons. It was ironic for someone who almost rubbed her chest for a younger boy she had been acquainted with for the first time.

But Lizzie did agree with her. At least, to the duke, she must show him her backbone of socializing with people she never met.

At eight? She sighed at the responsibility she put upon herself. Under the shades of humongous trees, twenty wide tables were set up with four to six people each. But for children who were few compared to others, five girls were put together while six boys were put to the next table. Though Erdan and Garth were considered children and had peers with the boys their age, they sat each side to the duke.

As for Lizzie, she was one of the youngest of the girls with the oldest as fourteen.

The duke, who had no way with words of pleasantries appointed Erdan to make a speech.

In a nobleman's flowery language, he welcomed the guests, reminded the aim of the meaning behind the Hunting Ceremony as to honor the monsters that despite the dangers they impose, were the lifeline of the North and that they should hunt the beasts with integrity.

Lizzie was lost in his meaning. Either a hunter or prey, there was no such thing as killing with integrity. You kill or get killed, steal or be stolen, that's was the law of the slums and it was the same for everything.

But what do I know?

She was just eight years old. Although she had the vague maturity of thought from the hazy visions of a past life, somewhere deep within, she does not consider them as their own.

As if they were someone else's.

Additionally, nobles had their own mazes of thoughts to view things. So she just smiled at Erdan even though she stopped processing his words to observe.

Fat ones, thin ones, old, beautiful, and bearded ones. They all listened to Erdan, even Garth, who had interests in nothing but pinching her cheeks and strategies of war and angles of slaying the enemy, had poised himself with integrity.

Marquess Davitt and his stiff son beside him were present as well.

Oh? Well, aren't you popular, Erdie? Glancing at her table, the two oldest girls blushed. She glanced at the table next to hers.

Why are you blushing too? She wanted to ask the three boys, but realized they were looking at her. The boys quickly looked away.

"...ziia."

"...Feliziia."

She perked up by the mention of her name, only to find out that all eyes were on her and Erdan was standing beside her now.

"Although her debut is far off, we have brought the joy of the Norvillons, our Feliziia."

Lizzie squeezed a smile of the guilty. As a child vertically challenged, Erdan lifted her down from her seat before she could expose the struggle of coming down alone.

"Please treasure her a daughter of the North."

Lizzie curtsied, and thankfully, bent just enough without struggles. There were words of praise and mentions of her gratefulness that she couldn't even find.

But at least, all those days of hard work were just for this moment. And she executed well. She was just almighty glad that a show of talent they had told her before was a joke.

Erdan had always worn a gentle smile, but as he picked her up and returned her to her seat, his words weren't as warm as his face. "You are too young to choose a groom, Lizzie," he whispered.

Even when the luncheon commenced, Lizzie could not understand what he meant. What worried her was that she was caught not listening to his speech and her Adorable Points subtracted.

The place buzzed with calculated laughter and talk. The servants lined on the side and only approach the tables to refill glasses and change courses. Even Fay and her other maids were on standby in case she needed something.

Lizzie was just thankful that meals for children differed from the adults. If not, any of her seatmates would be unfortunate by a lump of flying meat she could not cut. Thankfully, she was not the only one uncomfortable. The girl on her right looked worse, with a straight rod posture and itching the ruffles of lace choking her neck.

During desserts, the oldest of twelve, who introduced herself as Lady Ebigail FleuDela, broke the lack of words in their table. "It was an honor to finally meet you, Lady Norvillon."

Lizzie, who just gulped her juice, was burdened by the formalities. "So am I..."

A quiet girl called Lady Luppe presented herself next. The other girl on her right introduced herself as Graciebelle. Opposed to her feminine name, she spoke gruffly like a knight on a drill. Then the introduction rounded the table and by the time majority of the graceful words ended, Lizzie was in torture.

Do noble children know the way with words at birth?! She screamed in her head. They had been calling themselves with their family names. They talk about flowers, wish for a safe hunt that they wouldn't even participate and the new trend of stitching gold in black clothing.

It was definitely worlds apart from the streets, where friends call each other vulgarities and laugh. And somehow, Lizzie earned respect for aristocrats and their rigid and miserable lives.

This luncheon is torture.

"...this is boring."  The words slipped her mouth, too late to take back. The other girls paled and froze beside her.

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