Court of Conquest

Chapter 25

The grandeur of the ballroom masked the underlying tension, like an ornate mask concealing a complex dance of power and politics. The swirling colors of elegant gowns and finely tailored suits couldn't disguise the stark division that cut through the festivities.

Malachi's men, a diverse assembly representing nations far and wide, seamlessly blended into the lively celebration. Their varied fashion choices became a testament to the unity fostered among them, forging bonds beyond borders. Laughter and camaraderie echoed among them as they reveled in the opulence of the ball.

Contrastingly, the Stelarans, clad in garments mimicking the local style, stood out conspicuously. They formed a tight-knit group, a solitary island in the sea of mingling guests. My vision for the night, a hope for alliances and camaraderie, shattered as they stuck to their own, creating an unintentional but palpable divide.

After Malachi's commanding speech resonated through the ballroom, and the first dance commenced, he and I retreated to the designated spot for his majesty. A pair of grand chairs awaited us, his towering throne overshadowing my more modest seat that I had picked out. Positioned there, we became the focal point of the gathering, subjects weaving through the throng to greet their king and engage in conversation.

As the night unfolded, I couldn't escape the feeling that despite the outward splendor, the true drama of the evening played out in the subtle dynamics between factions, hidden beneath the veneer of festivity.

The air buzzed with loyalty as Malachi's steadfast supporters approached, each one eager to demonstrate their unwavering fealty. Among them, Minerva, with her stoic demeanor, unnerved me. She didn't spare a glance in my direction, speaking in a mysterious tongue that left me feeling like an outsider in my own kingdom. I dismissed the unease, refusing to let it linger, focusing on the bigger picture of the night.

A rare few Stelaran nobles extended kind words, their presence a fleeting balm in the midst of a sea of distant gazes. My brother, catching my silent plea for him to say some kind words as well, finally approached, accompanied by my sisters. As they bowed gracefully, the little ones, Gwen and Arya, couldn't contain their excitement. They dashed towards me, and I enveloped them in warm hugs, laughter bubbling between us.

"You have such a pretty chair," Arya whispered in my ear, her innocent observation earning another bout of laughter. Gwen chimed in, "You look like a princess." Their words wrapped around me like a comforting cloak, momentarily shielding me from the complexities of the night. I kissed their cheeks, a playful gesture to match their candid affection.

Maeve, ever the stern sister, began to scold the young ones for their lack of decorum, but Malachi, ever the indulgent king, merely laughed in amusement. His mirth echoed through the grand hall, a counterpoint to the formality that surrounded us. In that moment, the weight of royal expectations faded, replaced by the genuine joy sparked by the whimsy of children.

Gareth's formal address echoed through the hall, his words tinged with a tone that grated on my nerves. "Your majesty, Elara, thank you for having us tonight. The Emberlyns are honored," he intoned, a subtle exclusion wrapped in his formality, as if my own identity as an Emberlyn was secondary in Malachi's presence. I couldn't help but bristle at the implicit dismissal.

However, Malachi, with the grace befitting a king, responded warmly, acknowledging the Emberlyns as an extension of his own family. "The family of my betrothed should be considered family of my own. I am pleased to have you here before your departure," he declared, his words reaching into the depth of my heart, momentarily overshadowing the discord.

Yet, Gareth's response shattered the fragile harmony. "Yes, well, it is not like we have much say in that. I know for a fact that you did not receive our father's approval for this engagement," he spat, venom lacing his words. The revelation hung in the air, a shocking truth that cut through the celebratory atmosphere.