𝖝𝖛𝖎𝖎. Slow Dancing In the Dark

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𝖝𝖛𝖎𝖎

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𝖝𝖛𝖎𝖎. Slow Dancing In the Dark


WHEN MAEVE gets back to the comfort of her room, her maids are already there, waiting silently, another gilded dress laid across their arms. While one slips her into the spectacle of silk and purple gemstones, the others fix her hair and makeup. As usual, they don't say a word, even though Maeve looks frantic and harried after such a morning.

Lunch is a mixed affair. Usually, the women eat together to discuss the upcoming weddings and all the silly little things rich ladies talk about, but today is different. They're back out on the terrace overlooking the river, where Maeve's first luncheon she attended was held. The red uniforms of servants float through the crowd, but there are far more military uniforms than ever before. It seems they're dining a full legion today.

Matt and Chris are here as well, both glittering in their medals, smiling throughout pleasant conversation while the king himself shakes hands with the soldiers. All of them are young, in grey uniforms cut with silver insignia. Nothing like the ratty red fatigues Maeve's brothers and any other Reds get when they're conscripted. These Silvers are going to war, yes, but not to the real fighting. They're the sons and daughters of important people, and to them, the war is just another place to visit. Practice. Another step in their training. To the Reds, to Maeve once, it is a dead end. A doom.

But she still has to do her duty, to keep an unwavering smile upon her face and to shake the soldier's hands, thanking them for their brave service. Each word tastes bitter, until she has to duck away from the crowd to an alcove half hidden by plants. The noise of the crowd still rises with the midday sun, but at least she can breathe again. For a second, at least.

"Everything OK?"

Matt stands before her, looking worried but strangely relaxed. He likes being around soldiers; she supposes it's his natural habitat.

Even though she wants to disappear, her spine manages to straighten. "I'm not a fan of beauty pageants."

He frowns. "Maeve, they're going to the front. I'd think you of all people would want to give them a proper send-off."

The laugh escapes her like gunfire, bitter as she shakes her head. "What part of my life makes you think I'd care about these brats going off to war like it's some vacation?"

"Just because they've chosen to go doesn't make them any less brave."

"Well, I hope they enjoy their barracks and supplies and reprieves and all the things my brothers were never given."

Even though he looks like he wants to yell at her, Matt swallows the urge. Now that she knows what his temper is capable of, Maeve is surprised he can keep himself in check at all.

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