ARC 6-Winter War-62
Surprisingly, the dress code for dinner at the James manor is rather strict. I admit, I expected sweaty men and women to plop down in the chairs fresh from training and drink their soups straight from their bowls. Alana’s manners when she’s enjoying a meal and doesn’t have to be concerned about appearances are rather atrocious. More than once, I’ve spied her eating with her hands.
The reality is the opposite of my imagination. A servant gives us an hour’s notice and two steaming buckets of water are brought in by servants for us to wash. Alana is directing me into my good threads. Even some of the jewelry pinched by my succubus during her rampage through Quest, including a gaudy necklace with a thick golden chain and an obnoxiously large sapphire. A bit much, as my appearance is more than enough to garner an ample amount of attention, but I’m meant to be showing off.
“Remember,” Alana says while doing up the buttons of my vest. “I want you to push their buttons, not rip them off. Subtle insults and backhanded compliments won’t work. Everyone here, their first reaction is violence. Their second reaction is more violence. Their third reaction is a duel to the death. They aren’t as bad as Kierra but given your position as my bannerwoman, they’ll all be looking for any excuse to test you. Any excuse.”
“No directly insulting anyone, no problem,” I mutter as she runs her hands over the smooth material. She goes for a second pass, her fingers linger over my chest before pulling at the ends of it. My lips turn up in a smirk but I don’t say anything. “Anything else I need to know?”
“Leave my father alone, he’s mine. Try not to look disgusted at the food, it’s not going to be anywhere near what we usually eat.” I grimace. Already spoiled by that succubus. “And, finally, if there is a fight—"
“I thought you just told me not to fight.”
She rolls her eyes. The unexpected and juvenile action is incredibly adorable. So much so that I kiss her out of reflex, pouting as she pushes me away before it gets really good. “This is Victory. A fight is never out of the question. So, if it does happen, and this is very important. If it happens, do not kill a James. You can kill their spouses. Their bannermen. Saints, their pets. Anyone and everything but a James.”
One rule. She doesn’t need to elaborate. I can imagine a dozen reasons why it would be a bad idea and it’s simple enough to comply with. “No James. Understood.” I reach out and grab her chin with two fingers. “Then, can I tell you my rule for tonight?”
Her eyes are both hesitant and amused. “I’m a little afraid to ask.”
“Don’t take anyone’s shit. No one’s. If you let loose, I’ll hold back.” I duck my head to whisper against her lips. “It feels good to let loose, doesn’t it?”
I swear she flushes down to her fingertips, no doubt recalling our afternoon of fun. Seeing her surrendering to our whims, wholly under the sway of the pleasures being given, inflicted, uncaring for appearances or anything else, mm. Reminds me of my time in that tree that served as Kierra’s home within her lonely prison. My deepest desires dragged to the forefront and thrown in my face, I left that tree a changed woman. That doesn’t bode well for Alana. Or, maybe it does, heh.
She shivers as my tongue darts out to lick her lower lip teasingly but I leave it there, having been pushed away once. We don’t have time for indulgence. “Wicked woman,” she mutters.
“Thank you.”
“There goes your terrible habit of hearing compliments when none were uttered.”
I huff, dropping her chin and stepping away. “If you want me to feel insulted, you should try saying that without devouring me with your eyes.” I hold out an arm for her. She ignores it and marches past me, her smile flattening into a stern mask. Grinning, I follow behind her.
-
The dinner table is as cold as the snow surrounding the estate. We enter the dining room before the hour is up but we’re one of the last to arrive. Erenheart James, the Duke of Victory, is already seated at the head of the table, the thin robe like garment he wore during our first meeting replaced a thick, white shirt and dark pants. A heavy silver chain hangs around his neck, the medallion at the end showing off the family crest of a creature swallowing a full moon.
Interestingly, the duke breaks familiar seating arrangements traditions by having someone at his side. A thin woman with light blond hair, green eyes, and a skittish demeanor. Despite being seated at the head of the table, a position of power, her head is bowed. The few times she does look up, her eyes are solely for the duke, shining with affection.
To the duke’s right is a frowning middle-aged woman with severe features and dark hair pulled into a tight bun behind her head. Her spine is so straight that mine aches in sympathy, her hands folded in her lap.
A shame, as she is beautiful in the same way a falcon or an eagle is beautiful. She’s aged gracefully, the little gray in her hair and the deep wrinkles in her face giving her an air of maturity and wisdom. If she would relax a tiny fraction, she’d be mesmerizing but as things are, it’d take a strong will to brave meeting her narrowed eyes.
Beside her is someone I do recognize. The favored heir himself, Zachariah James, looking just as displeased as the woman I assume is his mother. He is the first to acknowledge us, his eyes flicking to me then Alana before turning with a huff and a great shrug of his broad shoulders. I am both impressed and amazed that the giant warhammer he was painted with is by his side, having no trouble standing upright on its head. Things I can only see in Victory, I suppose.
On the duke’s other side is his second wife, the southern barbarian. She lives up to that title. While the others are dressed primly and seated with straight backs, she is barely dressed and slumped in her seat with a large wineskin in hand. The leather…thing holding up her breasts does nothing to subdue the swell of them and shows off her sharply defined abs, their definition almost enough to rival my lovely elf’s. She’s preoccupied with drinking from her skin as we come in and belches loudly when she finishes, showing her many years in the north has done little for her manners.
Beside her is an empty chair. Where Khan is meant to sit but he’s rarely home to claim his spot. However, it is always left free. A custom of his mother’s people. They’ve even put out a place setting for him.
Our position is a little awkward. Alana has no mother to sit alongside. When she was younger, she had to choose between the two women, one who clearly despises her, the other that couldn’t be bothered to shelter her. She originally tried cozying up to Eleanor, the daughter of a famous knight and a powerful woman in her own right. The stern woman had no time for a bastard child, one more body with a claim to the title.
Realizing she wasn’t wanted, Alana slipped to the other side of the table. At the time, she was forced to the end of the table by three sons. Even when two of them died and one refused to come home, she still saw that as her place, finding a physical way to represent the isolation she felt.
Not this time.
With me by her side, Alana drops into the chair beside Khan’s empty seat. Directly across from Zachariah, whose eyes widen at her daring. I take my place beside her and Kierra sits beside me, nearly matching the duke’s second wife in slovenliness. As I’m here to impress them, Kierra is here to show them they mean so little they’re not worth the effort of trying to impress.
Once we’ve taken our seats, the duke grabs his knife and slams the butt of it on the table three times. Once all eyes are on him, he speaks. “A prayer to our brave ancestors, who fought for us to be here today. A prayer to our restless ancestors, who will turn in their graves until we fulfill our purpose. A prayer to our glorious ancestors, so that they will lend us our strength. For the glory of the James and Victory.”
“Victory or death,” the table answers in response.
The duke hits the table again and servants began to lay out the food. It is ignored as the duke turns to us. “Alana. Introduce your companions.”
Another interesting quirk of dinner with the James. No one actually cares about dinner. Meals are more strategic gatherings where the members of the family coordinate their schedules and give reports on important events. The food is eaten in-between speaking. From Alana’s words, it’s closer to an advisory meeting than a family gathering.
As shown by Alana ignoring the plate in front of her to stand. “Family, let me introduce my bannerwoman, Lourianne Tome, a fellow acolyte of the Grand Hall and an accomplished summoner. Beside her is her wife, Kierra D’Atainna, an elf from the Violet Dusk province, an exceptional healer, and a greater combatant.”
“Hah?” Kalise, the barbarian, finally looks at us. “Ah, feck. Thought it was the drink but she’s really fecking green. What’s an elf doing here?”
“A good question.” Zachariah viciously bites off the end of a roll. “I understand the hunters and the acolytes. Gold and glory motivate them on the surface, but underneath it is the solidarity of humans coming together to fight off the monsters threatening their peace and stability. What has that got to do with another race?”
“She is here on my behalf,” Alana says coolly. “That is all that is necessary but I will cede my voice so she may speak on her own behalf.”
Giving someone permission to talk may seem disgustingly arrogant but it’s the way things are done here. We are Alana’s people. Having brought us here and claimed us, she is responsible for all our actions, even the words we speak. Ceding her voice is her way of saying as much. Of course, there’s nothing stopping us from talking on our own but that would imply she can’t control us, which wouldn’t look good at all.
“I permit Kierra D’Atainna to speak at our table.” The duke adds to the arrogance. Kierra needs his permission as well. It may be Alana’s “voice” she’s going to use but it is the duke’s table. “As a caster possessing a pure affinity and the slayer of a guildmaster, she is more than qualified to speak amongst the knights of Victory.”
…no one is surprised. No one. Not so much as a jump or a hiked brow. They already knew, didn’t they? They knew about her and her affinity. The duke knew about me. Haha, this is strange. I’m so used to people underestimating my house, it’s hard to fathom someone taking us seriously. This family is definitely on another level.
My wife lazily gets to her feet, eyes hooded and smile smug. Alana explained what she wanted and Kierra agreed to play our game. However, she refused to elaborate on how she would do so. The look on her face…that’s the look she wore when she set the dogs loose on the initiates. Saints protect us all.
The drama is about to begin.
ARC 6-Winter War-62
Surprisingly, the dress code for dinner at the James manor is rather strict. I admit, I expected sweaty men and women to plop down in the chairs fresh from training and drink their soups straight from their bowls. Alana’s manners when she’s enjoying a meal and doesn’t have to be concerned about appearances are rather atrocious. More than once, I’ve spied her eating with her hands.
The reality is the opposite of my imagination. A servant gives us an hour’s notice and two steaming buckets of water are brought in by servants for us to wash. Alana is directing me into my good threads. Even some of the jewelry pinched by my succubus during her rampage through Quest, including a gaudy necklace with a thick golden chain and an obnoxiously large sapphire. A bit much, as my appearance is more than enough to garner an ample amount of attention, but I’m meant to be showing off.
“Remember,” Alana says while doing up the buttons of my vest. “I want you to push their buttons, not rip them off. Subtle insults and backhanded compliments won’t work. Everyone here, their first reaction is violence. Their second reaction is more violence. Their third reaction is a duel to the death. They aren’t as bad as Kierra but given your position as my bannerwoman, they’ll all be looking for any excuse to test you. Any excuse.”
“No directly insulting anyone, no problem,” I mutter as she runs her hands over the smooth material. She goes for a second pass, her fingers linger over my chest before pulling at the ends of it. My lips turn up in a smirk but I don’t say anything. “Anything else I need to know?”
“Leave my father alone, he’s mine. Try not to look disgusted at the food, it’s not going to be anywhere near what we usually eat.” I grimace. Already spoiled by that succubus. “And, finally, if there is a fight—"
“I thought you just told me not to fight.”
She rolls her eyes. The unexpected and juvenile action is incredibly adorable. So much so that I kiss her out of reflex, pouting as she pushes me away before it gets really good. “This is Victory. A fight is never out of the question. So, if it does happen, and this is very important. If it happens, do not kill a James. You can kill their spouses. Their bannermen. Saints, their pets. Anyone and everything but a James.”
One rule. She doesn’t need to elaborate. I can imagine a dozen reasons why it would be a bad idea and it’s simple enough to comply with. “No James. Understood.” I reach out and grab her chin with two fingers. “Then, can I tell you my rule for tonight?”
Her eyes are both hesitant and amused. “I’m a little afraid to ask.”
“Don’t take anyone’s shit. No one’s. If you let loose, I’ll hold back.” I duck my head to whisper against her lips. “It feels good to let loose, doesn’t it?”
I swear she flushes down to her fingertips, no doubt recalling our afternoon of fun. Seeing her surrendering to our whims, wholly under the sway of the pleasures being given, inflicted, uncaring for appearances or anything else, mm. Reminds me of my time in that tree that served as Kierra’s home within her lonely prison. My deepest desires dragged to the forefront and thrown in my face, I left that tree a changed woman. That doesn’t bode well for Alana. Or, maybe it does, heh.
She shivers as my tongue darts out to lick her lower lip teasingly but I leave it there, having been pushed away once. We don’t have time for indulgence. “Wicked woman,” she mutters.
“Thank you.”
“There goes your terrible habit of hearing compliments when none were uttered.”
I huff, dropping her chin and stepping away. “If you want me to feel insulted, you should try saying that without devouring me with your eyes.” I hold out an arm for her. She ignores it and marches past me, her smile flattening into a stern mask. Grinning, I follow behind her.
-
The dinner table is as cold as the snow surrounding the estate. We enter the dining room before the hour is up but we’re one of the last to arrive. Erenheart James, the Duke of Victory, is already seated at the head of the table, the thin robe like garment he wore during our first meeting replaced a thick, white shirt and dark pants. A heavy silver chain hangs around his neck, the medallion at the end showing off the family crest of a creature swallowing a full moon.
Interestingly, the duke breaks familiar seating arrangements traditions by having someone at his side. A thin woman with light blond hair, green eyes, and a skittish demeanor. Despite being seated at the head of the table, a position of power, her head is bowed. The few times she does look up, her eyes are solely for the duke, shining with affection.
To the duke’s right is a frowning middle-aged woman with severe features and dark hair pulled into a tight bun behind her head. Her spine is so straight that mine aches in sympathy, her hands folded in her lap.
A shame, as she is beautiful in the same way a falcon or an eagle is beautiful. She’s aged gracefully, the little gray in her hair and the deep wrinkles in her face giving her an air of maturity and wisdom. If she would relax a tiny fraction, she’d be mesmerizing but as things are, it’d take a strong will to brave meeting her narrowed eyes.
Beside her is someone I do recognize. The favored heir himself, Zachariah James, looking just as displeased as the woman I assume is his mother. He is the first to acknowledge us, his eyes flicking to me then Alana before turning with a huff and a great shrug of his broad shoulders. I am both impressed and amazed that the giant warhammer he was painted with is by his side, having no trouble standing upright on its head. Things I can only see in Victory, I suppose.
On the duke’s other side is his second wife, the southern barbarian. She lives up to that title. While the others are dressed primly and seated with straight backs, she is barely dressed and slumped in her seat with a large wineskin in hand. The leather…thing holding up her breasts does nothing to subdue the swell of them and shows off her sharply defined abs, their definition almost enough to rival my lovely elf’s. She’s preoccupied with drinking from her skin as we come in and belches loudly when she finishes, showing her many years in the north has done little for her manners.
Beside her is an empty chair. Where Khan is meant to sit but he’s rarely home to claim his spot. However, it is always left free. A custom of his mother’s people. They’ve even put out a place setting for him.
Our position is a little awkward. Alana has no mother to sit alongside. When she was younger, she had to choose between the two women, one who clearly despises her, the other that couldn’t be bothered to shelter her. She originally tried cozying up to Eleanor, the daughter of a famous knight and a powerful woman in her own right. The stern woman had no time for a bastard child, one more body with a claim to the title.
Realizing she wasn’t wanted, Alana slipped to the other side of the table. At the time, she was forced to the end of the table by three sons. Even when two of them died and one refused to come home, she still saw that as her place, finding a physical way to represent the isolation she felt.
Not this time.
With me by her side, Alana drops into the chair beside Khan’s empty seat. Directly across from Zachariah, whose eyes widen at her daring. I take my place beside her and Kierra sits beside me, nearly matching the duke’s second wife in slovenliness. As I’m here to impress them, Kierra is here to show them they mean so little they’re not worth the effort of trying to impress.
Once we’ve taken our seats, the duke grabs his knife and slams the butt of it on the table three times. Once all eyes are on him, he speaks. “A prayer to our brave ancestors, who fought for us to be here today. A prayer to our restless ancestors, who will turn in their graves until we fulfill our purpose. A prayer to our glorious ancestors, so that they will lend us our strength. For the glory of the James and Victory.”
“Victory or death,” the table answers in response.
The duke hits the table again and servants began to lay out the food. It is ignored as the duke turns to us. “Alana. Introduce your companions.”
Another interesting quirk of dinner with the James. No one actually cares about dinner. Meals are more strategic gatherings where the members of the family coordinate their schedules and give reports on important events. The food is eaten in-between speaking. From Alana’s words, it’s closer to an advisory meeting than a family gathering.
As shown by Alana ignoring the plate in front of her to stand. “Family, let me introduce my bannerwoman, Lourianne Tome, a fellow acolyte of the Grand Hall and an accomplished summoner. Beside her is her wife, Kierra D’Atainna, an elf from the Violet Dusk province, an exceptional healer, and a greater combatant.”
“Hah?” Kalise, the barbarian, finally looks at us. “Ah, feck. Thought it was the drink but she’s really fecking green. What’s an elf doing here?”
“A good question.” Zachariah viciously bites off the end of a roll. “I understand the hunters and the acolytes. Gold and glory motivate them on the surface, but underneath it is the solidarity of humans coming together to fight off the monsters threatening their peace and stability. What has that got to do with another race?”
“She is here on my behalf,” Alana says coolly. “That is all that is necessary but I will cede my voice so she may speak on her own behalf.”
Giving someone permission to talk may seem disgustingly arrogant but it’s the way things are done here. We are Alana’s people. Having brought us here and claimed us, she is responsible for all our actions, even the words we speak. Ceding her voice is her way of saying as much. Of course, there’s nothing stopping us from talking on our own but that would imply she can’t control us, which wouldn’t look good at all.
“I permit Kierra D’Atainna to speak at our table.” The duke adds to the arrogance. Kierra needs his permission as well. It may be Alana’s “voice” she’s going to use but it is the duke’s table. “As a caster possessing a pure affinity and the slayer of a guildmaster, she is more than qualified to speak amongst the knights of Victory.”
…no one is surprised. No one. Not so much as a jump or a hiked brow. They already knew, didn’t they? They knew about her and her affinity. The duke knew about me. Haha, this is strange. I’m so used to people underestimating my house, it’s hard to fathom someone taking us seriously. This family is definitely on another level.
My wife lazily gets to her feet, eyes hooded and smile smug. Alana explained what she wanted and Kierra agreed to play our game. However, she refused to elaborate on how she would do so. The look on her face…that’s the look she wore when she set the dogs loose on the initiates. Saints protect us all.
The drama is about to begin.
