Oath of Steel

32 |Push the Pearls|

The House of Hastles was nothing Rosalynde had always thought off. She's heard the rumours, how the members of the club revelled in their greatness bound to the blood of their great houses.

She had no idea it would have been like that on the inside. The sumptuousness of the inside seemed to cloud her mind- the columns of granite, the high wooden arches fresco decorated by the most wanted artisans, the immense chandeliers hanging from the room, everything designed to appease the hunger of the gold-famished aristocracy of their land.

"Don't look to much at the chandelier, Lord Pryton will trap you in an endless debate about how his ancestor got it in the battle of Gereniè," said Grey in a subdued whisper as he nodded towards what Rosalynde thought was the most luxurious object her eyes had ever laid upon.

She tested the waters by throwing glances around her. "And that should be a bad thing?" Rosalynde returned the whisper the second Charles turned his head around.

"It wouldn't be if the story hadn't been longer than the battle itself," Grey said, raising his eyes as only reply.

Charles led them threw the crowd of gentleman talking in the foyers, each one with a sea of well-known members of the high Rowlian society.

"So, Lord Rodolphus, in what area of business do you specialize?" Charles asked as he showed them to another foyer.

Rosalynde side-eyed Grey before answering. "Nothing much for now. I specialize in textiles, still a small fish I'm afraid. Lord Grey was gracious enough to let me study under his wing," she felt her pitch falter at the end, and brought a hand before her mouth to cough a little.

They'd concurred in advance on how Sir Rodolphus from the North had landed before the capital's doors.

A new coxcomb trying his luck in textiles after the sudden death of the greatest magnate of their generation going by the name of Mary Clark.

Rosalynde had sonorously snorted when he'd told her that, earning a well-deserved light smack from the latter.

A single nod was all Charles seemed to give her in reply, meaning that he probably still hadn't assessed her completely. Meaning that she still had time to impress in some kind of way, to leave her mark in this world once out of her reach.

She turned to look at Grey, who, while passing from room to room had been saluted and nearly revered from a good number of gentlemen who'd waved between them as sharks assessing their prey.

But Grey simply nodded at them, a few rare smiles here and there, and a never-ending number of firm handshakes and pats on the back.

"If I didn't know you then I dare say that you're going to completely ignore them for the duration of the whole night," she murmured close to his ear.

"I take pleasure in selecting who I like to spend time with, Rodolphus." Grey went to brush a lock of hazel hair, no doubt to make sure the wig stuck, and yet a gentle shiver seemed to break free and ran down her spine.

"Then I better consider myself an exception to the rule."

"It wouldn't be the first time you overturned the tables at hand," he sounded strangely sincere to her ears.

"A compliment coming from you? Coloured me shocked, Lord Grey."

"It took you a while to become aware of them." He cocked his head aside and went to shake hands with a pair of old lords eagerly awaiting them.

They settled in a sober foyer with viridian dominating all other colours. Viridian walls, viridian carpets, viridian couches with different shades of greens for cushions and plush chairs the very same colour. The only thing that was not thankfully viridian was the suffused light coming out of the candles and the golden edges her eyes seemed to find as they settled down.