The coachman stood outside the carriage, eyeing the vehicle with confusion. He kept wondering the reason for his master's action. His Lord had been still for minutes, a smirk carved like silver across his otherwise impassive face.
Julian leaned back into the velvet, eyes half- lidded in amusement.
"Coleman…" he called suddenly, voice smooth as silk over steel. "Take me home."
The coachman blinked. "Not the theatre, my Lord?"
Julian's gaze remained forward. "There is nothing new worth watching. Today's performance already played out."
As the carriage pulled into motion, Elowen was still standing by the theatre entrance, fuming.
She looked down at the overly powdered nobleman still grinning like a buffoon. Her patience had long since frayed, and she was not about to let it snap in front of a growing audience.
With narrowed eyes, she dipped into her worn pouch and threw three silver shillings at his feet.
"Consider this payment for your bruised ego," she said, each sword iced with sarcasm. "Buy yourself a mirror. One that doesn't flatter you."
Before he could retort, she was gone- storming towards the back of the theatre in search of Mr. Padley, the theatre's ever- exhausted director.
Inside, the scent of dust, old curtains, and ambition swirled in the air. The stage was chaotic- actors warming up their voices, props rolling across the floor, and apprentices darting about like squirrels on fire.
"Elowen?" came a gruff voice from behind a dangling rope curtain. "You again?"
She turned, Mr. Padley squinted at her like a father who'd seen too many dreams die on this stage.
"Yes Sir, please give me a chan.."
"No need, doll." He said flashing a wicked smile. "What could a doll like you possibly do?"
"I'd like to audition," she said. "I act. I sing. I don't faint under pressure."
Padley grunted. "You've got spirit, girl, I'll give you that. But you're too delicate. Your face is one of those porcelain things noble wives buy just to shatter."
"I'm not here to be shattered, Sir," she replied boldly. "I'm here to be remembered."
He gave a short laugh. "You're lucky I've got a missing actor. We're starting in five and I need a body. You'll play the pillar."
Elowen blinked. "The what?"
"Stand still," he said, pushing her toward the backdrop. "Stage left. By the wine barrel. Don't blink. Don't sigh. You are the third stone pillar of Duke Hemsworth's alley. If you sneeze, I'll have you replaced with a broom."
Grumbling under her breath, she took her place.
So much for glory. So much for dreams.
The play began with a crash and a drunken yell. The actor known as Mario Tuman stumbled on stage, pretending to trip on his own feet.
"Where's the inn, eh?" he bellowed, mug swinging in hand. "I've drunk the stars! I've kissed the moon!"
The crowd laughed.
Mario spun into a beggar, then into a staggering thief, pocketing coins from extras and disguised as a peasant. He charmed the audience with a song slurred into a lie, all while weaving closer to the pompous, scowling figure of the town's High Counselor.
All men Lie...
All men die...
Fortune would ride...
The still man's high...
Yo ho ho...
A bottle of rum!
The counselor held his coin purse tightly to his chest.
"No one steals from me!" he proclaimed.
Mario bowed low, winking at the crowd. "But I'm no one, good Sir."
The crowd roared as, with a twist and a spin, the drunk thief pulled the purse without a single soul noticing, not even the fat counselor . – except Elowen, still frozen like carved stone in her 'pillar' role.
She watched him closely. His skill was admirable, even if her feet were killing her.
As the final applause rose like thunder and actors bowed, Mario took one last bow… but stumbled sideways. Right into her.
His arm slammed gently against her shoulder and he caught himself with a dramatic flair.
"Oops…" he said with a crooked grin. "I'm so sorry, pretty."
Elowen didn't flinch. But her eyes burned holes into the back of his head.
"Damwit," she muttered. "Empty skull."
He flashed her another grin before skipping off the stage.
Far from clamor, Julian reclined in his carriage, the gentle clatter of hooves marking the slow return to Ravenshade Manor.
His eyes remained close, yet his senses stayed sharply attuned. The moment that flirty voice- careless and cocky- filtered through the din of applause, Julian tilted his head slightly.
"Oops… I'm so sorry, Pretty."
That voice was new. But it had brushed too close to her. And so he listened- sifting through noise, laughter, movement- until he heard it again.
"Damwit… empty skull."
Her voice. Her fire. Her spark behind sarcasm.
He smiled- just barely.
Really a wildflower. One who bloomed with thorns. One who refused to wilt, even when mocked, pushed, or planted in stone.
He tapped his fingers gently against the window pane as the carriage turned through hills. There were other performances in the world, yes. But he had found the one that interested him most.
This wildflower... now his source of amusement