5. Nobility
Shaylin chattered on about shopping at Prongten Square, but Evril's gaze grew unmistakably bored. Undeterred, Shaylin spun out her tale at exhaustive length, piling on florid descriptors, adjectives, and exclamations. She'd seen lovers in society aflame with passion—the longer they were kept apart by circumstance, the more their longing deepened, until it consumed their reason. By now, Olens must have noticed Shaylin and Evril slipping out of the ballroom. It was time for him to make his move, so Shaylin kept the visibly restless Evril pinned down with her monologue as long as possible.
"Don't you think we've rested long enough?" Evril finally interrupted, her voice edged with impatience.
Shaylin flashed a triumphant smile, rising from the sofa and smoothing the folds of her dress. "Shall we head back? If the ladies of Leon learn that the dashing Lord Kingston is alone in the ballroom, they won't let him be. Time to return and proclaim your formidable fiancé to all the world."
Evril's face lit up at the prospect of leaving the room. Shaylin approached the door with a satisfied expression, and Evril followed close behind.
Emerging first from the lounge, Shaylin glanced toward the end of the corridor. Spotting the expected figure standing there, she quickened her pace and strode ahead. As Evril stepped out, a piercing gaze lanced toward her. Turning her head, she saw Olens in the hallway. Fortunately, he was alone—no sign of the redheaded woman who'd been fawning over him earlier. Evril sighed in relief, scanning the surroundings. Aside from Shaylin walking ahead, the corridor was deserted. Finishing her sweep, she looked back at Olens.
The moment their eyes met, Evril found herself ensnared by the heat in his stare. Olens devoured her with eyes brimming with desire. Then, abruptly, he averted his gaze and nodded toward the open door behind him. Evril slowly inclined her head in acknowledgment. Olens held her eyes a moment longer before stepping through the door and closing it. The number 27 was etched on it. Evril committed it to memory. 27. 27. Mouthed silently, she trailed after Shaylin back to the ballroom, where music swelled.
Anxiety crested to a fever pitch. After Olens had left the ballroom for the lounge, Evril saw the glittering dance floor as nothing but a foggy, chaotic mess. No sooner had they returned than Shaylin spotted an acquaintance and wandered off. Left alone, Evril made straight for her waiting fiancé.
For a time, she stood by Gophrid's side, mustering sociable smiles. Inside, she yearned to flee to room 27, but she scraped together her wits, cloaking herself in the noble poise ingrained since birth, feigning calm with practiced etiquette, and enduring the remaining hours with the rigorous courtesy drilled into her by her elders.
When nobles approached to chat, she'd swiftly select an apt reply from her mind, deliver it smoothly, and flash an unconscious smile. When the orchestra struck up a waltz, she'd step onto the floor and dance mechanically with Gophrid, following their rehearsed steps. Afterward, she'd lift the corners of her mouth in a prim smile for the next wave of admirers, murmuring exclamations of admiration where needed, otherwise holding her tongue—silently cursing the dragging minutes as she stood there.
After several waltzes and encounters with about half the high nobles of Templton, Evril mustered her courage and murmured to Gophrid that she wasn't feeling well.
"Dizziness like before? You look unsteady after the dancing."
Gophrid paused his conversation with the nobles, turning to her with genuine concern.
Evril twisted her features slightly and whispered low, "A short rest should fix it. May I?"
"Of course. Go and rest."
When Gophrid insisted on escorting her to the lounge, Evril struggled to refuse. Luckily, one of the nobles chatting nearby latched onto him with questions about the Blue Bay Shipyard—otherwise, she might have been stuck with him all the way inside. Feigning dizziness while masking her urgency, Evril shuffled slowly toward the side door and slipped out of the ballroom.
Gophrid, watching her go, soon excused himself politely from the nobles and followed. Peering from inside the side door into the corridor, he saw Evril already far ahead. She paused before a particular lounge door, glancing around furtively. Before she could notice, Gophrid ducked back into the ballroom. He heard a distant door creak open and shut. Craning his neck, he guessed the room number from her position: 27.
"Oh? Not heading to the lounge with Lord Kingston?"
Shaylin's bright voice sounded from right behind him—she'd crept up unnoticed. Gophrid looked down at the shorter woman, who beamed up at him with curved eyes and a radiant smile. He pondered briefly. Shaylin's moniker was the Queen of Society. Abandoning his thoughts, he glanced at the clutch bag in her hand.
"Lady Pratt, do you happen to have any Infertile Potion on you?"
The Infertile Potion (Infertile) Gophrid mentioned was the official name for the purple elixir invented by Elkslon mages. It induced infertility for twenty-four hours before and after ingestion.
Shaylin's face hardened at the blunt question, her brows furrowing. "Why seek such debauched, licentious Elkslon contrivance from a modest virgin like me?"
Despite countless proposals and suitors' advances, she remained a countess's daughter unbound by engagement or betrothal of her own choosing. Gophrid had no choice but to concede the point—with refined tact, lest it offend.
"I figured the Queen of Society would have many friends, as her title suggests, and that the warm-hearted Lady Pratt, famed for her kindness, couldn't turn away those in unfortunate straits."
Shaylin's frown eased at his witty retort. "Hmm. Plausible enough. I won't pry why you need it—I'm a proper lady, after all. But I deserve compensation, don't you think?"
As she probed slyly, Gophrid replied with courteous gravity. "Anything Lady desires."
"Such a reckless promise, Lord Kingston. What if I ask for something outrageous?"
"The Lady Pratt I know is discerning and sensible, so I have no such worries."
Shaylin burst into delighted laughter, more gleeful than she'd expected. Things were unfolding smoothly—perhaps tonight, with this unexpected overture, she could snag one of her reserved rooms at Raduval. She pictured the two small purple vials in her clutch. She could hand them over now, but since she'd taken charge of directing this little drama, she craved more theatrical flair. Feigning reluctance, she said, "I don't have any on hand, but I can procure some soon. As you know, the Queen of Society need only ask her friends, and some kind soul will oblige."
"Then I leave it in your hands."
With Gophrid's polite words, Shaylin smiled and brushed past him. Once she vanished from sight, he turned back to the corridor, his gaze deepening as it fixed on the door of room 27. A little longer—he'd have to wait.