The Age of Undeath

1. Subterfuge - Stariel

One would think, after a lifetime of being waited on, that imitating a servant was easy. And Stariel thought she was doing rather well.

"What do you think you're doing? Get back to the dining room," barked the butler. Stariel fought not to sneer at his Imperial accent. Elves shouldn't sound that way. It should flow like the rivers coursing throughout the city, susurrate like the ever present whisper of waterfalls.

"Dusting." She curtsied, the answer short, aware that an elf as young as her should probably have mastered Imperial by now, which of course she had – but the accent. Ah, Stariel loved the music of accents, if only she was good at mimicry.

The butler's nostrils flared, accentuating his handsomely straight nose. "Get back. To your post. You were not hired to dust, you were hired for the party. Can you not follow simple instructions, halfwit?"

She clenched her fists and sucked her tongue hard against her teeth. If he knew who she really was... Well. Stariel glanced down the corridor behind her, the study a mere fifteen feet away. What was rightfully hers stashed just beyond that door.

"Now!"

Stariel jolted at the sudden shout. The butler twisted her arm in his grip and pointed in the opposite direction. "Do as you're told or I'll dismiss you before the champagne is even poured."

"Viaren gatta tal'quet, va pous!" The insult flew from her lips, wrenching her arm free.

"Pig, am I?" The butler stilled, radiating a cold calm that froze the breath in her lungs.

A familiar emerald cat materialised above the butler's head, casting phosphorescent light that only she could see. Stariel looked into the burning gold feline eyes, tensing for a fight, but the cat said, "You'll blow your cover, Princess. Do as he says for now, for goodness sake. I thought you said you could handle it."

As the butler raised his hand to strike, Stariel turned and fled.