"The pleasure is certainly mine my lady," Bastion replied as he slipped into the seat beside Westerly. She gave her best smile, remaining calm in the situation. It was the first evening after all. A bold move early on, but she should have expected it.
Surprisingly, Col chuckled at Bastion's actions, as he seated himself on the other side of Westerly. "Well, it is certainly a relief to find that your reputation for impertinence is unfounded, Lord Bastion. On the contrary, it seems as though you are polite to the point of competition." She tried to remain as unfazed as possible while the two men vying for her attention partook in a conversation of wits, or rather, my horse is bigger than your horse argument.
Westerly's eyes lit up slightly when she saw Brynlee escorted to her end of the table. Thank the Gods for a familiar face. She smiled slightly, but couldn't keep her focus on the girl for long with the two Lords on either side of her... Doing what her brothers promised they'd do. She smiled and nodded her head in greeting to Lord Alec as well, part of her wishing her escort, or escorts, were subtle like him. Westerly watched him pour a drink for Brynlee, fighting the urge to sigh in longing. This circumstance asked for a drink, or two. But, ladies never pour their own drinks, her mother's voice rang in her head. Her gaze then drifted to the far end of the table, where a certain blonde Lord with a cut upon his cheek took seat beside her brother. Wes couldn't help but smile warmly toward Lord Avery, even granting him a subtly wave of the hand. He did take her offer to sit at her table, not particularly close enough to talk, but still he was there.
”Ah, that is certainly kind of you to say, Lord Col." Bastion's voice drew her attention back to the men at either side of her. Westerly knew the tone in his voice well from her brother's, when they made underhanded compliments toward each other when their mother made them make up after whatever fight took hold that day. She tried to remain calm, yet her hands clenched the napkin that rested in her lap. "I find that reputations are far more like rumors, where us Nobles are concerned. So many opinions spread through so many lips - its impossible, the amount of knowledge that others seem to have in regards to the persona of any person without ever having laid eyes upon them."
"I have no stock in rumors," Westerly spoke up out of turn. She instantly regretted it. It was, no doubt, better for her to wither away as the men bickered. But they were both vying for her attention, yet she had taken a viewing to the conversation. She had so looked forward to the following months, to see people other than her family. Not have people talk about her, rather than with her. "If all rumors were true, I'd be but a phantom that haunts the halls of the Black Keep." Her voice trailed off when she caught view of Callum seating himself on the other side of Col. Wes's gaze drifted to her empty plate. Now would be a good time for the food to arrive so this conversation could seize to exist.
"But enough about me," Bastion waved his hand as if to brush off the conversation. "It would be incredibly impolite not to ask how each of you, and your lands, are faring."
Why, out of everyone, would he ask her this? Women did not partake in talks of land and country, according to her mother that is. All that she knew was second hand from her brothers, and even they watered down the truth for her ears at times. "I fear you ask the wrong person about the state of the Vale, or Blackvale itself. I merely know, what my brothers tell me. It's been the better part of a decade since I've been off the grounds of the Keep... But the weather is divine." Westerly waited a brief moment then leaned forward slightly, clearing her throat. "I beg your pardon, Lord Alec. Would you mind passing the wine? I afraid I'm quite parched."
Declan smiled warmly toward Emery as she raised her glass to meet his in a toast. He had nearly tapped his glass to hers when another voice from the other end of the table added to the toast. "And to you and your family, your grace, for hosting us all so excellently."
It wasn't until that moment that he realized he intended the toast to be a more private affair of flattery between his escort and himself. But nevertheless, Declan smiled toward Col, and raised his glass in the man's direct. "The pleasure is ours. It's not often we are graced with the presence of beautiful faces," he smiled to Emery. "Or good company." He then looked back over toward Emery and tapped his glass against hers.
After taking a sip from his own goblet, Delcan made sure to offer polite nods of greetings to Lord Avery, Lady Adelina, Lord Callum and Lady Adriana as they seated themselves on his end of the table. He wasn't much of a talker like his brother, Desmond inherited the social traits, while Declan never was much for small talk. He spoke when his words had meaning, not to inquire about the weather or how the lands were fairing. He wouldn't be much of a Prince if didn't know that already. So, rather than keeping his company in an awkward silence, he leaned his head toward Emery and spoke in a hushed tone for just her ears. "I apologize, my Lady. I've never been skilled at small talk." Declan knew that maybe wasn't something a Prince should openly admit, but he was never one to be false or put on airs.
He couldn't help his gaze from shifting to the opposite end of the table to check upon his sister's own circumstances. Declan's attention didn't remain there for long, but was directed toward Callum as he spoke to his own escort. “Thank you, m’lady. I would be nothing without my men, however. Being able to serve the King and my father in battle is one of my greatest prides. I hear you’re quite good with a bow yourself. Perhaps you and my sister, Adelina, would get along well in practice.”
"He is being modest, my Lady." Declan smiled toward Lady Adriana as he motioned his glass toward Callum. "Cal here is one of the finest swordsman I've had the pleasure fighting alongside." Although what he said was directed toward his end of the table, as he spoke his body was turned slightly toward Emery, his gaze meeting hers every few moments. Although he wasn't the best as small conversation or idle chat, he would be damned if she felt she wasn't getting his attention. Declan even gave her a smile every once in a while. She was, without a doubt, stunning but he could only imagine how strange it must be for someone raised as a bastard to be accepted as an equal. He intended to help her get used to it. She was a Lady after all.
"Forgive me for my boldness, my Lady, but," Declan extended his right hand slowly, only hooking his index finger under the palm of her hand. "These hands say you know your way around combat as well?" Her hands had a rough earthliness to them, like a woman who wasn't afraid to get dirty, someone who knew how to handle herself. While a fair bit of these other ladies, with just a glance could tell their skin would be soft as silk, without cut, callus or wear.
Desmond couldn't help the smile that played across his lips as Elira answered his question about her hair. “It comes from my mother’s side of the family, I believe. Every forge needs a flame, otherwise it is only another room.”
"Then every room must become a forge with your presence." There was always something about red heads that made Desmond's blood rise. Their fiery natures and how they were destined to stand out among a crowd. Breathtaking.
Once they were seated, it was no surprise that everyone seemed to flock to the other table where Westerly and Declan sat. The heir to the throne and the Princess that most people forgot existed, so, of course, everyone wanted to sit with them. The Ladies wanted their opportunity to make themselves Queens. While the Lords saw a beautifully naive woman who's been locked away from the world, easy prey to elevate their status? Maybe snake their own way to the throne? Or worse things could come to mind. But neither Desmond nor his brother would let anything happen to her. That was certain. But for Desmond, his reputation proceeded him. He knew that. It didn't bother him, instead it gave him more time with the lovely woman at his side, and better yet, to watch those who hover around his siblings like vultures.
“Many years ago, although I confess, the memory is hazy," Elira replied as she looked around the grand hall. “Although, if it is half as beautiful as this room, I won’t forget it again.”
"It is quite... extravagant. A bit too much for my liking." Desmond took the wine decanter from the center of the table. "To be honest, the real richness in this giant castle is all its little charms. My siblings and I have fond memories of lazy days in the library, playing in the fountains out in the garden or racing down the halls. Or better yet, hiding out in the servants area as the cooks snuck us treats while we hid from our parents." He smiled toward her as he filled both of their goblets. "Sadly, we've out grown most of that." But not all of it. They still had their yearly tradition, no matter how old they got, as long as they lived under the same roof, it always happened.
“I do hope this is alright?”
Desmond looked up just in time to see Kester and Isolde join them at his end of the table. "Welcome friends." He welcomed the others with his free hand, while he poured wine into their glasses as well. "For a moment there I thought I scared everyone away. No one wants to sit with the other royal." Desmond chuckled lightheartedly. He wasn't offended by it. He didn't want all the pom and circumstance that came from being the heir. He was happy where he was. His smile only grew as he raised his glass. "To our lovely escorts," He said toward Kester before looking to the gorgeous red head at his side, and the brunette across from him. "That their radiance that surpasses the stars shines brighter with each passing day."
It was then that the servants filed out from the kitchens one by one, each carrying a silver plater. They slowly surrounded each of the tables, one of them standing behind each of the Lords and Ladies. And then, on que, they set the dish before each of them, removing the cover to reveal the large decadent meal: succulently roasted lamb, with a rich green salad, bread fresh from the oven and golden potatoes glistening with butter. Without a word, the servants disappeared into the kitchen as quickly as they appeared, leaving them to the first course of the extravagant feast.
Surprisingly, Col chuckled at Bastion's actions, as he seated himself on the other side of Westerly. "Well, it is certainly a relief to find that your reputation for impertinence is unfounded, Lord Bastion. On the contrary, it seems as though you are polite to the point of competition." She tried to remain as unfazed as possible while the two men vying for her attention partook in a conversation of wits, or rather, my horse is bigger than your horse argument.
Westerly's eyes lit up slightly when she saw Brynlee escorted to her end of the table. Thank the Gods for a familiar face. She smiled slightly, but couldn't keep her focus on the girl for long with the two Lords on either side of her... Doing what her brothers promised they'd do. She smiled and nodded her head in greeting to Lord Alec as well, part of her wishing her escort, or escorts, were subtle like him. Westerly watched him pour a drink for Brynlee, fighting the urge to sigh in longing. This circumstance asked for a drink, or two. But, ladies never pour their own drinks, her mother's voice rang in her head. Her gaze then drifted to the far end of the table, where a certain blonde Lord with a cut upon his cheek took seat beside her brother. Wes couldn't help but smile warmly toward Lord Avery, even granting him a subtly wave of the hand. He did take her offer to sit at her table, not particularly close enough to talk, but still he was there.
”Ah, that is certainly kind of you to say, Lord Col." Bastion's voice drew her attention back to the men at either side of her. Westerly knew the tone in his voice well from her brother's, when they made underhanded compliments toward each other when their mother made them make up after whatever fight took hold that day. She tried to remain calm, yet her hands clenched the napkin that rested in her lap. "I find that reputations are far more like rumors, where us Nobles are concerned. So many opinions spread through so many lips - its impossible, the amount of knowledge that others seem to have in regards to the persona of any person without ever having laid eyes upon them."
"I have no stock in rumors," Westerly spoke up out of turn. She instantly regretted it. It was, no doubt, better for her to wither away as the men bickered. But they were both vying for her attention, yet she had taken a viewing to the conversation. She had so looked forward to the following months, to see people other than her family. Not have people talk about her, rather than with her. "If all rumors were true, I'd be but a phantom that haunts the halls of the Black Keep." Her voice trailed off when she caught view of Callum seating himself on the other side of Col. Wes's gaze drifted to her empty plate. Now would be a good time for the food to arrive so this conversation could seize to exist.
"But enough about me," Bastion waved his hand as if to brush off the conversation. "It would be incredibly impolite not to ask how each of you, and your lands, are faring."
Why, out of everyone, would he ask her this? Women did not partake in talks of land and country, according to her mother that is. All that she knew was second hand from her brothers, and even they watered down the truth for her ears at times. "I fear you ask the wrong person about the state of the Vale, or Blackvale itself. I merely know, what my brothers tell me. It's been the better part of a decade since I've been off the grounds of the Keep... But the weather is divine." Westerly waited a brief moment then leaned forward slightly, clearing her throat. "I beg your pardon, Lord Alec. Would you mind passing the wine? I afraid I'm quite parched."
Declan smiled warmly toward Emery as she raised her glass to meet his in a toast. He had nearly tapped his glass to hers when another voice from the other end of the table added to the toast. "And to you and your family, your grace, for hosting us all so excellently."
It wasn't until that moment that he realized he intended the toast to be a more private affair of flattery between his escort and himself. But nevertheless, Declan smiled toward Col, and raised his glass in the man's direct. "The pleasure is ours. It's not often we are graced with the presence of beautiful faces," he smiled to Emery. "Or good company." He then looked back over toward Emery and tapped his glass against hers.
After taking a sip from his own goblet, Delcan made sure to offer polite nods of greetings to Lord Avery, Lady Adelina, Lord Callum and Lady Adriana as they seated themselves on his end of the table. He wasn't much of a talker like his brother, Desmond inherited the social traits, while Declan never was much for small talk. He spoke when his words had meaning, not to inquire about the weather or how the lands were fairing. He wouldn't be much of a Prince if didn't know that already. So, rather than keeping his company in an awkward silence, he leaned his head toward Emery and spoke in a hushed tone for just her ears. "I apologize, my Lady. I've never been skilled at small talk." Declan knew that maybe wasn't something a Prince should openly admit, but he was never one to be false or put on airs.
He couldn't help his gaze from shifting to the opposite end of the table to check upon his sister's own circumstances. Declan's attention didn't remain there for long, but was directed toward Callum as he spoke to his own escort. “Thank you, m’lady. I would be nothing without my men, however. Being able to serve the King and my father in battle is one of my greatest prides. I hear you’re quite good with a bow yourself. Perhaps you and my sister, Adelina, would get along well in practice.”
"He is being modest, my Lady." Declan smiled toward Lady Adriana as he motioned his glass toward Callum. "Cal here is one of the finest swordsman I've had the pleasure fighting alongside." Although what he said was directed toward his end of the table, as he spoke his body was turned slightly toward Emery, his gaze meeting hers every few moments. Although he wasn't the best as small conversation or idle chat, he would be damned if she felt she wasn't getting his attention. Declan even gave her a smile every once in a while. She was, without a doubt, stunning but he could only imagine how strange it must be for someone raised as a bastard to be accepted as an equal. He intended to help her get used to it. She was a Lady after all.
"Forgive me for my boldness, my Lady, but," Declan extended his right hand slowly, only hooking his index finger under the palm of her hand. "These hands say you know your way around combat as well?" Her hands had a rough earthliness to them, like a woman who wasn't afraid to get dirty, someone who knew how to handle herself. While a fair bit of these other ladies, with just a glance could tell their skin would be soft as silk, without cut, callus or wear.
Desmond couldn't help the smile that played across his lips as Elira answered his question about her hair. “It comes from my mother’s side of the family, I believe. Every forge needs a flame, otherwise it is only another room.”
"Then every room must become a forge with your presence." There was always something about red heads that made Desmond's blood rise. Their fiery natures and how they were destined to stand out among a crowd. Breathtaking.
Once they were seated, it was no surprise that everyone seemed to flock to the other table where Westerly and Declan sat. The heir to the throne and the Princess that most people forgot existed, so, of course, everyone wanted to sit with them. The Ladies wanted their opportunity to make themselves Queens. While the Lords saw a beautifully naive woman who's been locked away from the world, easy prey to elevate their status? Maybe snake their own way to the throne? Or worse things could come to mind. But neither Desmond nor his brother would let anything happen to her. That was certain. But for Desmond, his reputation proceeded him. He knew that. It didn't bother him, instead it gave him more time with the lovely woman at his side, and better yet, to watch those who hover around his siblings like vultures.
“Many years ago, although I confess, the memory is hazy," Elira replied as she looked around the grand hall. “Although, if it is half as beautiful as this room, I won’t forget it again.”
"It is quite... extravagant. A bit too much for my liking." Desmond took the wine decanter from the center of the table. "To be honest, the real richness in this giant castle is all its little charms. My siblings and I have fond memories of lazy days in the library, playing in the fountains out in the garden or racing down the halls. Or better yet, hiding out in the servants area as the cooks snuck us treats while we hid from our parents." He smiled toward her as he filled both of their goblets. "Sadly, we've out grown most of that." But not all of it. They still had their yearly tradition, no matter how old they got, as long as they lived under the same roof, it always happened.
“I do hope this is alright?”
Desmond looked up just in time to see Kester and Isolde join them at his end of the table. "Welcome friends." He welcomed the others with his free hand, while he poured wine into their glasses as well. "For a moment there I thought I scared everyone away. No one wants to sit with the other royal." Desmond chuckled lightheartedly. He wasn't offended by it. He didn't want all the pom and circumstance that came from being the heir. He was happy where he was. His smile only grew as he raised his glass. "To our lovely escorts," He said toward Kester before looking to the gorgeous red head at his side, and the brunette across from him. "That their radiance that surpasses the stars shines brighter with each passing day."
It was then that the servants filed out from the kitchens one by one, each carrying a silver plater. They slowly surrounded each of the tables, one of them standing behind each of the Lords and Ladies. And then, on que, they set the dish before each of them, removing the cover to reveal the large decadent meal: succulently roasted lamb, with a rich green salad, bread fresh from the oven and golden potatoes glistening with butter. Without a word, the servants disappeared into the kitchen as quickly as they appeared, leaving them to the first course of the extravagant feast.