“You’ll be attending a ball next week. It serves as a cover for their operations apparently”, said Bertaut, turning around from the desk, holding a sheet full of planifications.

“I can’t dance. And how am I supposed to hide my ears in that situation”, replied Keela, jokingly trying to fold her ears in to no avail.

“You don’t. We make you a cover where you pass in that situation too.”

“Let me guess, you will fund this cover?”

“Not only will I fund the cover, I will be the cover.”

“Oooh, illegal marriage. I hate it.”

“Always so quick with the snark.”

“Can’t help it.”

“Well, in the meantime, you need to learn to dance.”

“Fuck.”

Keela soaked up good manners, dancing, proper etiquette, bourgeois talk, walking in heels and make-up as fast as she could, and as well as she could. With a steady hand and a bit of time, she could look the part. Pearly whites matching the multiple ear piercings, a red dress with an open leg and a deep cut, hair all brushed to one side, falling gracefully over a side of her face in messy but controlled curls, winged eyeliner accentuating the mischievous almond shaped elf eyes, bright red lipstick, shorts under the dress and a dagger strapped to a thigh with a small vial of poison; she was as ready as she would ever be.

The fated night had come, Keela was latched onto Bertaut’s arm, who wore a formal suit of the most royal blue, gold trimmed with silver buttons; lion shaped ones for the cuffs. He had combed his hair -- a rare sight from Keela’s point of view -- and actually looked like a nobleman, which Keela noted with a snarky smile that he shrugged off nonchalantly. They were walking together for the last few hundred paces left to the venue of the event, the cobbled stone streets slightly damp with a faint rain that had fallen earlier in the day. The fairgrounds almost seemed eerie at this time of night, lit by torches and parties under the soft moonlight.

“Remember, I’ll go around, presenting you as my wife, and near the end of the night you slip out and try to join the Ivory Razor”, he said, nervously fiddling with the newly added silver ring on his ring finger.

“Calm down, the more stressed you are, the more messy it’ll get. Just relax, I’ve got this”, she replied, looking at her own ring in slight amusement.

“You’re not the one who planned this for months.”

“Well, I’m also but a frail girl from the slums who suddenly gets to live a dream of attending a ball; I’d be more surprised if I wasn’t eager -- even if I’m going as a fake trophy wife. As an elf, there’s no way I could’ve ever hoped for this to happen.”

Awkward silence settled in for a few minutes, the noise of shoes hitting stone resonating in the empty streets.

“Even if this fails, I want to thank you”, said Keela, breaking the silence with a strangely somber look on her face.

“For what?” replied Bertaut, looking off into the distance.

“Giving me a chance I suppose.”

“Sorry if this breaks the image you have of me, but this was all merely coincidental. If I had found someone else first, it would’ve been them.”

“Fair enough.”

A minute of silence settled in again, conversation struggling to keep up the pace.

“But if it reassures you, you’ve been more than satisfactory, if not a bit difficult to work with sometimes”, added Bertaut, awkwardly avoiding eye contact.

“Wow, I totally see why you’re not married. No offense”, replied Keela, snickering to herself.

With a sigh, Bertaut picked up the pace, almost dragging a laughing Keela along. Within a few more minutes of brisk walking, they arrived at the door to the estate upon which the event was held. The two guards at the entrance of the large marble mansion quickly looked at the invitation and motioned them in, opening the heavy wooden gold plated door on which the crest of the house was etched in fine carvings. Upon entering, Keela almost failed to contain her amazement. The marble floors were covered with a fine red carpet with gold details sewn into the edges. The two sides of the lobby had stairs that went up to a second level, the center giving way to multiple doorways going into a bigger ballroom. The room was lit by a massive chandelier, hanging in sparkling glory from the high ceiling. Guests were already mingling about, discussing various topics with drinks in hand. A few servants were hurrying about, plates in hand, gracefully swerving between people to provide service. A man hailed Bertaut, coming forth. He was tall, broad shouldered and had a full beard which was neatly trimmed to a length slightly shorter than his kempt black hair. His voice was deep and powerful, easily powering above the soft violins and chatter.

“If it isn’t the Architect himself! I was wondering if you’d come, you don’t usually grace these events of your presence!” said the man with glee, coming up to the two of them.

“I thought I’d do a favor for an old friend”, replied Bertaut, forcing a smile.

“Well I’m honored then. And who’s the lovely lady at your side?” he replied, laughing heartily.

“My wife Keela. Keela, this is Raymond of the Summer, an old acquaintance of mine back when I served”, said Bertaut, stepping to the side to let the two of them make eye contact.

Keela opted for a slight courtesy, eyeing the man up and down. Raymond had a glint to his eyes that sparked joy but seemed to hide something at the back of his head. As he eyed her in return, glancing over the ears, he winced slightly, his beaming smile flinching a bit and his eyebrows furrowing, which -- although it only lasted a fraction of a second -- Keela noticed. With a smirk, she raised her head again, making direct eye contact.

“Pleased to make your acquaintance”, she said, studying his details for any reaction that might be telling of his personality.

Raymond was called to attend to something else in the room and excused himself, telling them to enjoy themselves to the fullest before turning heel and walking away. As the couple was about to head to another part of the room to partake in some casual conversation, they were interrupted by someone storming their way.

“Bertaut!”

The callout was a touch too loud, gathering attention from guests about the room who turned their head slightly towards the commotion. The culprit was a younger man; maybe in his early twenties. He had features that resembled Raymond, the same glint in his eye but a clean shaven chin.

“What is this? What did you do? Why did my father let… this in?” he said, looking at Keela.

“Hello Elliot. I see you’ve grown up… somewhat. This, as you asked, is my wife and I’d appreciate it if you showed her some respect”, replied Bertaut, standing strong in front of this boy who was a full head shorter than him.

“I don’t care what your social status is, you can’t bring a disgusting elf in here.”

Whispers started going about the room, chatterings about an elf being at a high standing event.

“I find this comment rather immature. You can’t go and blame them all for the tragedy, even if it was one”, replied Bertaut, his facade starting to tear at the seams.

“All elves are the same. Filth that deserves only one place; hell”, said Elliot, pulling out his longsword and pointing it at Keela.

His grip was shaky at best; he was clearly not trained with a sword. Keela smiled and stepped forward, resting the blade against her own throat while still gripping it with a firm hand.

“And what are you going to do kid? Stab me? Kill me? I dare you to try”, she said, giving him a stare that could freeze hell over if he tried to send her there.

The grip on the sword got looser as the brat started losing his composure, a loss of control matched by half the guests; including Bertaut who hadn’t planned for this. In a flash, Keela tripped him by kicking in the back of his knees, making him fall heavily on his back. Pulling the sword out of his grip, she turned it around swiftly and, boosting her strength, smashed the tip against the floor next to his head, breaking the blade in half at the middle point with a resounding clang. Tears streamed down the boy’s face and a rancid smell emanated from him. Keela got down on one knee and came down to his level, her face inches away from his.

“That is how you use a sword. Do mind your manners next time”, she said, winking before getting back up, throwing the sword at her feet.

Breaking the absolute silence that had settled in, she looked at the rest of the guests with an apologetic gaze, lowering into a quick courtesy.

“Apologies about this, be as you were”, she said, looking about for Raymond -- who she quickly found as he was storming over with a rather angry pace to his strut, causing her to mutter a few swear words under her breath.

“Elliot!” screamed the man in question, coming over to check on the situation.

“Father! She assaulted me!” pleaded Elliot, cowering towards his father.

“Actually, he started it. You could ask the about forty eye witnesses in this very room”, calmly said Bertaut, looking down at Elliot with slight disgust.

“Is this true?” asked Raymond, looking down at his son with the same look.

“W-well, yes but it’s only because she’s an elf! I thought you hated them too since mother--” replied Elliot who was interrupted in his stuttering by a firm slap from his father.

“Don’t you dare bring her up to justify causing a scene. Have you no shame? Get up, go get changed and get out of my sight. I thought I raised you better than this.”

Elliot pitifully got up and ran off upstairs towards his quarters. Raymond turned around towards the guests and bowed slightly.

“Terribly sorry about this mess. Carry on as you were. Servants! More drinks!”