Is true control the power to command others, or the strength to master one's self?
...
SHIFF.
The prickles of a comb flailed through my hair, as my personal maiden, Ada, tamed it. Her movements were calm and measured as she guided the comb in her hand, moving it in a manner that told the grace of her hands.
"M'lady Elowen, how dost thou feel?"
Her curved brown bangs swayed to the side as she flashed me a gentle smile from the mirror before me.
"Ada, thy combing is spectacular as ever."
Ada chuckled, "I'm honored M'lady, but thou speaketh of the ball."
"The Ever Gait Ball."
The room fell silent.
The Ever Gait Ball, a bicyclic event held by the Elden Houses; the three eldest and most powerful households in Eidolenhollow, only being dwarfed by the all-encompassing might of the Drake.
The event was a masquerade ball, one that attracted the nobles from all over the city. It was an occasion that blossomed into political connections, social upheaval, business partnerships and begrudgingly, arranged marriages.
Ada continued to comb my hair, despite it being smooth as snowy silk,
"The ball... thou knowest of Sir Charles presence."
At the name, my expression grew sober.
With an exhale, I cast my gaze toward the great arched window of my quarters. Beyond the heavy drapes, the city stretched into the misty horizon, its gilded spires swallowed by the perpetual radiance of the ashen sky.
Charles...Chevalier...
The young heir of the longstanding Chevalier House, a household known for raising upstanding knights. Although, its power wasn't on the level of the Elden Houses, it was still very formidable, which was why father had eagerly jumped at the chance to tie the knot with them the moment their unsufferable son had approached me in the last ball.
I clenched the hem of my dress tightly as I recalled his words from our last court together.
"A woman's duty...is to be the shining jewel of her household. A wife must reflect her husband's stature, not seek one of her own."
I had left immediately after he said that and since then, I hadn't sought him out but I knew certainly that I couldn't run for much longer.
Father won't let me.
BANG.
The door to my dimly-lit quarters suddenly swung open, and another one of my maidens stepped in.
"M'lady! M'lady!"
Ada and I snapped to her, her face was panic-stricken. My eye-lids narrowed as I asked,
"Darcy, what brings dost?"
Darcy clasped her hands to her chest, "Charles! He is here!"
Silence.
Her words hung in the air like a guillotine over my neck.
Charles...Charles Chevalier is here...
Ada's fingers tensed against my scalp before she lowered the comb entirely. The room, once warm with candlelight and idle conversation, now felt like a sealed crypt.
I closed my eyes for a moment, inhaling deeply before rising to my feet.
"Where?"
Darcy hesitated, "The antechamber, M'lady. He came alone."
I raised an eyebrow.
Alone?
That was unlike him. Charles Chevalier rarely stepped anywhere without a retinue of squires and admirers.
Ada's lips thinned, "Tis unseemly. The ball is yet hours away. What urgency could possess him?"
"He is a man.", I murmured, smoothing the fabric of my gown, "And men oft mistake their impatience for urgency."
Darcy glanced between Ada and me, worry pinching her features, "Shall I—"
"Nay.", I raised a hand and squared my shoulders, "I shall meet him."
Ada's expression darkened, but she said nothing.
I stepped toward the door, the slow click of my heels against marble the only sound in the heavy silence.
A moment later, I arrived at the antechamber and when I entered, the scent of polished steel and clove-scented cologne filled my senses.
Stepping past the door frame, the exquisite décor of the room welcomed my sight but the figure of a man sitting arrogantly, with his legs crossed and his arms stretched to the side, repelled me.
Charles Chevalier.
He had not changed since I last saw him, nor had I expected him to. He was still the same insufferably perfect picture of a knight—broad-shouldered and tall, clad in an embroidered doublet of dirt brown, the insignia of Chevalier, an envisage of a knight wielding a spear while atop a horse, pinned to his chest like an immutable decree. His golden hair, always arranged to appear as though it fell naturally into place, gleamed under the dim chandelier light.
He smiled as I entered, a slow, deliberate thing.
"Elowen."
His voice was silk over steel.
I clasped my hands before me, my expression cool, "Sir Chevalier. I did not expect thee so early."
He tilted his head slightly, "I could not, in good conscience, allow my betrothed to arrive unaccompanied."
"A kind sentiment.", I said, tone carefully measured, "Yet, unnecessary."
His brow twitched at that, but he recovered quickly, rising to his feet and approaching me,
"Come now, Elowen. What noblewoman arrives at the Ever Gait Ball alone?"
I did not move, "I should think any noblewoman capable of doing so."
His smile remained, but something within his gaze hardened.
"Elowen.", he murmured, "Thou art a woman of class. Dignified and Intelligent, but oft do I find thy manner… unbecoming."
I raised a brow, "Is that so?"
His fingers twitched. Not a flinch, nor a nervous tick but simply restraint.
"A woman's duty.", he said smoothly, "Is to be the shining jewel of her household. A wife must reflect her husband's stature, not seek one of her own."
Those same words...
My jaw tightened and my stomach curled, but I did not flinch.
Instead, I smiled, a humorless one.
"And tell me, Charles, is that why thy House hath never produced a Lady of Chevalier standing? Because women are unworthy of name and renown?"
I saw a muscle in his jaw tick.
"Need I remind thee...", I continued, my voice as soft as my snowy-white hair, "...that this is the Ever Gait Ball? A night where connections are forged. A woman must reflect her husband's stature, aye?"
Taking a step closer, a flame of defiance burning in my eyes, I spoke, "Then tell me, Charles—will thou be the man that weds a woman of stature… or one that silences her?"
The air between us thickened.
Charles stared at me, something dark shifting behind his eyes.
For a brief moment, I thought—perhaps he will strike me.
In fact, I welcomed the thought. After all, if he did then mother would no longer be silent.
But unfortunately, he did not.
Instead, he let out a slow, almost amused chuckle.
"I do so love thy spirit.", he murmured, reaching out. His knuckles brushed my cheek—uninvited, unwelcomed, "But a fire untamed shall burn its own hearth, my dear."
My gaze hardened, but I didn't move. Yet I made sure to make him aware that my eyes weren't inviting.
He stared at me for a moment before clicking his tongue and lowering his hand.
"Come.", he said, stepping back,
"The carriage awaits."
With a slow exhale, I stepped forward.
If I remained defiant and refused his offer, father won't let me have the end of it.
So, without a word, I followed but deep in my heart...
I yearned for a specter to whisk me away.