Chapter 82 The Little Game We All Play At Times
“Lady Montague?”
Maeve’s eyes cleared, focusing now on the women who were staring at her like she had just grown an extra head— these women being Calista and her other entourage group. They were looking at her like a spectacle, something they found far too amusing for them to speak to, but were also terrified of. “Mhm?”
“You have not said a word since we sat, Elly,” Calista let a fake smile fly across her as she urged closer to her. They were to play the close friends part, if you remember, and Maeve was supposed to look like the desperate helpless one.
But with Maeve’s thoughts constantly flying away every two seconds, it was becoming harder to convince the little birdies around them that Maeve was the one hungry for this friendship. “Why not introduce us to the lady behind you?”
Maeve wanted to fake a smile. She could do it. She could fake interest, but she knew overdoing it would be too obvious— and Nysarra, the elf currently behind her, would worry so she said softly, “This is Nysarra, a friend of mine.”
“She looks quite big for a lady.” One said
“Well, Nysarra is trained to battle. The elves are a strong people where equality is more predominant. The women and men usually fight alongside each other.”
“Equality?” Another one asked, scoffing. They all had the sunglasses that Maeve had made on, though they still had their fans blocking their eyes— Maeve couldn’t understand what the point of that was. “What an absurd thing. Giving their men such power.”
“Why?”
The table instantly fell silent, their eyes landing on Maeve who was now staring back at them, her eyes dull. “Do you know anything about traditions for you to wish to… pour out your worthless opinions, dear women?”
Calista looked like it was talking all of her energy not to slam her head into Maeve’s as she said softly, “Remember, with the revolution going on, the last thing that we need is us questioning any tradition—”
“Well, that’s the point, isn’t it? Any group that feels slightly wronged about their side in this entire fight will decide to come up in arms for what they believe they deserve?” Maeve went and took a spoonful of food, her voice still empty. “That’s how it is with injustice anyway. And men. Very violent lots, but—”
“Isabella.” Calista hissed, a worried look crossing her eyes. She did not care about Isabella, Maeve was sure. But her head.
Poor her. She had no idea that the Queen knew everything.
That she had almost died.
That there was a curse… and it could all be because of Eldoria’s existence. That there was something far worse. And she didn’t know what to do.
None of them knew.
The plague… it could get worse. The children. All of them. It would infect them. And she still didn’t know what it was. Her abilities. Or if she could prevent it from happening.
Why did she care about them? It was not her problem. None of this was her problem. This was a book. This was all not real. And it didn’t matter whatever decisions she made. The wedding… she had to do the wedding, and then she could finally take a day off, and then she would rest.
Her vacation.
She had almost forgotten it.
But it had now become such a tiny voice in her head that she had forgotten it existed.
“Lady Montague? If you wish to cancel today’s tea party—”
“Forgive me,” She cut in. “I've just realized I haven't eaten since breakfast, and the hunger is making me say things that sound dangerously close to having a point— which I shouldn’t be having. No. No. Plus, I was joking, Nysarra can attest to this fact for me.”
“Well of course she can,” Calista said, her eyes moving over the elf. As the play had been written. “She is your… friend.”
“Well, of course, but Nysarra is more than that.” Maeve said, her eyes crystalline slightly. She ached for a glass of wine— it made her wonder if she was becoming an alcoholic. Heaven knew that their weddings were devilishly sweet to taste. “Elves are in tune with nature, if you must know, and because of that, they can be quite perceptive with the things that happen in the world. It is also why some of them have the ability of Truthseer.”
“That sounds like such a terribly fictional name.”
“Lady Whitmore, I believe?” Maeve said, her eyes focusing on the youngest— and newest member of Calista’s tea party. “I know you don’t know who I am, or you have perhaps heard the rumors, but I can assure you that I am here to make friends. Just like you are. I had my Presentation day recently and even then, I was not close to my peers. You must have had a long exhaustive journey coming all the way here to the state.”
Lady Whitmore looked struck. Maeve felt bad for her— slightly. She was trying to make friends and being signaled out by Maeve in the first place would probably make that a little hard. “H-How did you know—”
“I try to keep myself in touch with every girl here.” Then Maeve turned to look at another girl. “I know you are nervous about your grandmother’s health— and you are having slight issues with the increment of taxes recently.”
“You know this because of your little spy?” One noble spat out— Elizabeta? “You know Her Royal Majesty has banned such things, and just because you are betrothed to the Prince—”
“Nysarra is not a spy. A Truthseer hears a statement and filters the truth.” Maeve cut in. “The information I know is because I cared enough to go around asking. We all had a rough start, but I wanna be better. Do better. Why do you think Nysarra is here?”
Now, do you still remember the maids from the Banister household that Maeve give or take stole from Calista? Yes. They have been doing their jobs keeping up with all the gossip happening in these tea parties. They had a literal big book filled with info on each and every person here.
Maeve literally had to stay up all night with Lucien cramming each person so she wouldn’t forget.
“Why is she here?” Calista asked, her eyes squinting. “From what I know, all your … pets, stay locked up on your estate.”
“Well, dear Calista, if you must know.” Maeve started, her eyes bright. “I am thinking of sending an elf to every noble family, courtesy of the royal palace. Firstly, only the women here will be granted one. Secondly, they will be a cost— and a contract—”
Calista scoffed. Remember, she was to play the part of best friend, but it was supposed to be believable. And her treating Maeve like a dumb little blond was literally her entire role. “You must think we are foolish enough to have your spies or fall for that… same silly trick—”
“You get to write it.” Maeve cut in, her eyes focusing on the other women there. Lady Whitmore looked genuinely intrigued. Elizabeta looked like she’d swallowed a lemon. The others were harder to read, their sunglasses and fans working overtime to obscure whatever flickered behind their eyes. “Think of it as a gift. A companion. Someone who can listen— truly listen— to the worries of the households that keep this kingdom running. After all, with the revolution brewing, wouldn’t it be a comfort to know that someone impartial could verify the truth of any situation?”
She picked up her fork again, twirling it between her fingers. “Imagine it. No more wondering if your husband is lying about where he spent the night. No more second-guessing whether your steward is skimming from the coffers. No more rumors— and what the true desires of the people who enter your court are,”
“Of course,” She continued, leaning back in her chair, “The program is voluntary. No one would be forced to accept an elf into their home. But I imagine the families who do accept will find themselves… favored. In these uncertain times, loyalty has to be demonstrated, doesn’t it? Not just declared.”
She let that settle.
Lady Whitmore shifted in her seat, her voice small when she finally spoke. “And if we… if someone wanted to accept such a gift. How would they go about it?”
Maeve smiled. It was the first genuine expression she’d worn all afternoon.
“You simply tell me,” she said. “I’ll make sure the request reaches the proper ears.”
“Do you think we will be receiving one, dear sister?”
That voice… it wasn’t familiar. Maeve was sure she would know it, but she didn’t and there was not even a hint of femininity.
So when she turned, her eyes widened slightly at the man in front of her— something told her things were going to get even more complicated.
And then he bowed, his voice soft, “Theron Alastair. At your service.” Then he rose from the floor, his dark eyes gleaming. “Hope I am not too late for your wedding. I fear it might have already happened and I would miss all the fun.”