XI—Maximilian Silvanus of Lucia

The ballroom was a lively place. Of course “the ballroom” was a statement wholly in the wrong. The House of Gates had no less than fifteen large halls suitable to host balls.

This ballroom was called the West Wing Yellow Ballroom, for its decorative silk wallpapers and yellow-gold curtains about the massive windows overlooking the gardens from the second level. The decorations were not something that any Lucian caretakers had decided upon, but rather the House of Gates itself.

A strange thing, that. There were so many mysteries which—

But Max was distracted from his thought when Drenna said, “What are you doing? Why do you not enjoy the ball? Dance, man!”

Max lifted an eyebrow. “With whom?”

“With anyone,” Drenna said, sweeping the room with his arm. “Do you see how many nobles are attending? From here I can see the Ardovanis, two Desdemonas, and even Lady Caelestinius—no, not our lady empress, but her younger sister.”

The Duchess is here? That surprised Max, when her sister the empress was not currently in attendance.

“Indeed, there is much small talk to be had.”

“Gods man, do not be a bore!”

“I’m not,” Max said. “I think I see Lady Branthine. I should speak with her.”

“The widow?”

“The very one.”

They had to speak up to be heard through the music and the speaking and the laughing. On the ballroom floor dozens of dancers took part in a group dance where they stamped their heels down with the rhythm of the music. It made for a difficult conversation.

“You should find yourself a beautiful young heiress to court.”

“Perhaps I will.”

“Very good,” Drenna said. “Oh, lady Lirinni beckons me for another dance.” He laughed. “I must go my friend!”

And he left Max standing there.

He watched his friend rush back to the pretty young woman. Lirinni. She was an heiress, certainly. Her father had made large sums of money mining gold near the border with Florencia. He had almost been killed a number of times during their raids, which sometimes resulted in large sums of gold being taken.

From across the ballroom he spotted Hulio, his other friend. Certainly, if ever there was a chance for the man to find a good wife, it would be an event like this one.

Max didn’t know how he felt about it all. He wanted to join the ball—to dance and to have a wonderful time and to meet beautiful young ladies.

But this was a parley.

A parley with Florencia, their sworn enemy.

Part of me wants to throw up my hands in frustration and call everyone present a traitor!

And yet, the other part of me wants peace—even with Florencia.

Of course, just imagining being friends with that arrogant Lady Gabriela Farreli made him wince. Was that even possible? She had never killed any of his family members, like many here had lost to the conflicts with Florencia.

She was certainly insufferable and irritating, but surely many people in this very ball room would have a much harder time of it than he did.

As he made his way toward Lady Branthine she started making her way out of the ballroom. He followed, weaving between other nobles, then stopping as he realized within the group he was trying to get through, a small performance of jesters was taking place.

They blew fire as their monkeys jumped through hoops. Some of them were juggling, and small displays of magic burst forth, making some of the onlookers cheer with surprise.

The magical display did nothing to move Max. Half the nobles in this place possessed such deadly magicks that it was completely pointless to have everyone’s arms taken away.

And so just about everyone who regularly wore arms in their everyday lives, also wore them here at the ball. Often individual items were marks of prestige, either because of their reputations, heirloom status, or great value due to rare magical enchantments.

This parley was potentially a bloodbath waiting to happen.

He wished he knew what Empress Caelestinius had in plan, and how well she was working with Emperor Justin of Florencia to make sure that didn’t happen.

Thankfully, Maximilian had no family to bring to this ball.

Then he was suddenly taken aback. He was thankful for not having family? Perhaps Drenna was right. He needed to find a beautiful young heiress and begin a family. He was nearly thirty years old now.

Wading through the crowd, Max moved around the performance and made his way toward the doors. Even the halls were packed with party goers, all wearing fine dresses, coats and all manner of jewels.

He caught sight of Lady Branthine again, but she turned down another corridor.

Maximilian followed.