{Armia}
The following day, Armia groaned as the first rays of sunlight peeked through her curtains, dragging her reluctantly from the warm embrace of sleep. She buried her face in her pillow, trying to block out the persistent chirping of the birds outside her window.
[Ugh, why do they have to be so cheerful in the morning? It's unnatural.]
But as much as she wanted to stay cocooned in her blankets, Armia knew she couldn't afford to laze about. She had training to do, skills to hone, a future to secure.
With a sigh, she heaved herself out of bed, wincing as her bare feet hit the cold floor. She padded over to her door, intending to grab a robe from a hook, when sothing caught her eye.
A letter, lying innocently on the floor, as if it had been slipped under her door in the night.
Armia frowned, bending down to pick it up.
The paper was thick and heavy, the kind used by those with money to burn. Her na was written on the front in an elegant, flowing script that practically scread "nobility."
[What in the world...?]
Curiosity piqued, she tore open the envelope, her eyes scanning the contents quickly.
"Lady Armia," the letter began, and she could practically hear the oily smarm dripping from the page, "I hope this missive finds you well. I write to extend an invitation to a gathering of esteed individuals, a chance for you to mingle with the cream of Syux society."
Armia's eyebrows climbed higher with each word, her lips twisting into a grimace.
[Neal. Of course.]
The rest of the letter went on to extol the virtues of the party, the important people who would be attending, the opportunities for networking and advancent. But Armia could read between the lines.
This was Neal's way of showing her what she could have, if she accepted his proposal. The glittering world of the nobility, the chance to rub elbows with the rich and powerful. All she had to do was say yes, and it could all be hers.
Armia sighed, running a hand through her sleep-tousled, white hair.
[Damn him. Damn him and his stupid... tempting offers!]
Part of her wanted to say no. In the event that she ended up declining his offer, this would basically just amount to leading him on, and that wasn't fair to the man. It wasn't fair to give him false hope when she was still so unsure about what she wanted.
But at the sa ti...
The lure of that life, the one she'd dread of for so long, was hard to resist.
To be accepted, respected, seen as sothing more than just a brutish darian. To finally have a place in this city, where she'd felt like an outsider all her life despite having never even set foot outside of Syux.
That ntality had her going:
[Maybe it wouldn't hurt to go, just this once. To see what it's like. It doesn't an I then have to marry the guy, right? It's just a party,] she reasoned, chewing on her lower lip. [It doesn't have to an anything. And it would be a good opportunity to make so connections, to keep building a network among the nobility.]
She wavered, indecision warring in her chest. But in the end, the lure of a chance to live out her fantasies, even just for a night, was too strong to resist.
With a sigh, Armia reached for a quill and parchnt, beginning to draft her response.
"To General Neal," she wrote, her hand only shaking slightly. "I would be honored to attend the soirée as your guest. Thank you for thinking of , and for extending such a generous invitation."
She paused, tapping the quill against her chin.
[Should I say sothing about the proposal? Make it clear that this doesn't change my answer?]
But the words wouldn't co. Sohow, putting it in writing felt too final, too absolute. Like she was closing a door she wasn't quite ready to shut.
[I'll talk to him at the party,] she decided, skipping ahead to the next line. [Make sure he understands that this is just a social engagent, nothing more.]
As she was about to sign her na, a final line caught her eye, making her heart skip a beat.
"P.S. You are welco to bring a guest of your own, if you so desire."
Armia blinked, her mind imdiately racing with possibilities.
[A guest? Who would I even bring? It's not like I have a wide circle of noble friends to choose from.]
But even as the thought crossed her mind, a flash of... soone ca to mind.
[Right. Even if she's not a noble, they for sure wouldn't mind seeing her next to . Especially with her role in the gala.]
Mind made up, Armia added a final line to her letter.
"I will be bringing a guest, a... dear friend of mine. I hope that won't be an inconvenience."
With a flourish of her quill, she signed her na, sealing the letter with a blob of golden wax.
[There. Done. No turning back now.]
She leaned back in her chair, a mix of excitent and trepidation swirling in her gut.
[A real noble party. Another one, like the gala, with real noble guests. And , Armia Duskscale, right in the middle of it all.]
It was everything she'd ever wanted, the culmination of all her dreams and aspirations.
So why did it feel like she was about to step into a den of hungry wolves, ard with nothing but a smile and a pretty dress?
[Stop it,] she chided herself, shaking off the unease. [This is a chance, a mont to shine. Don't let your nerves ruin it before it even begins.]
With a determined nod, Armia rose from her desk, the invitation clutched tight in her hand.
---
{Jaylin}
Sweat dripped down Jaylin's brow as she pushed herself through another grueling set of drills. Her muscles burned, her breath coming in sharp gasps, but she refused to stop.
[Just one more repetition,] she told herself, gritting her teeth against the fatigue. [One more, and then I'll be better than her.]
Her. lisa. The golden child, the prodigy, the one who always seed to effortlessly outshine Jaylin at every turn.
[Not this ti,] Jaylin vowed, her movents growing sharper, more forceful. [This ti, I'll be the one leaving her in the dust.]
She was so focused on her training, so lost in the rhythm of her own body, that she didn't even notice Margaret approaching until it was too late.
One misplaced step, one errant burst of magic, and suddenly the older nim was tumbling to the ground, the tray of refreshnts she'd been carrying scattering across the grass.
"Oh, shit!" Jaylin yelped, her exhaustion forgotten as she rushed to Margaret's side. "Shit, shit, shit, I'm so sorry, I didn't see you there!"
Margaret blinked up at her, a dazed expression on her face. There was a sar of dirt on her cheek, a leaf tangled in her hair, and Jaylin felt a sudden, inexplicable urge to reach out and brush it away.
[What the hell?] she thought, instantly catching herself, her heart doing a weird little flip in her chest.
But even as she did, Jaylin found herself kneeling down, her hands gentle as she helped Margaret sit up.
"Are you okay?" she asked, her voice uncharacteristically soft. "Did you hit your head or anything?"
Margaret shook her head, a rueful smile tugging at her lips.
"No, no, I'm fine. Just a little bruised, both in body and ego, I suppose. I should have known better than to sneak up on you during training."
Jaylin felt a flush of guilt, though she quickly shoved it away. Still, she said:
"No, it's my fault. I should have been paying more attention. I just... I got a little carried away."
Margaret's smile turned understanding, her eyes crinkling at the corners.
"Ah, the passion of youth. I rember those days well. Pushing yourself to the brink, always striving to be better, faster, stronger... Though, in my case it was learning how to cook! Not... all that, hehe." She reached out, patting Jaylin's hand in a gesture that was distinctly maternal. "But you know, dear, there's more to life than just being the best.
Sotis it's okay to take a break, to enjoy the mont. To let yourself be... well, yourself."
Jaylin stared at her, sothing unfamiliar stirring in her chest. It wasn't quite affection, but it wasn't the usual disdain she felt for the Blackfla matriarch either. Find more chapters on My Virtual Library Empire
[Huh... Maybe the old broad isn't as empty-headed as I thought. At least she's got that going for her.]
Realizing she was still clutching Margaret's hand, Jaylin hastily let go, clearing her throat and scrambling to her feet.
"Yeah, well, I'll keep that in mind. But for now, I should probably get back to it. Those spell parries won't practice themselves."
She offered Margaret a hand, surprised by the tingle that ran up her arm when the nim grasped it, allowing Jaylin to pull her upright.
For a mont, they stood there, hands clasped, eyes locked. Jaylin felt her heart skip a beat, her breath catching in her throat.
Panicked, Jaylin dropped Margaret's hand like it was on fire, taking a hasty step back.
"Right! So! I'm gonna... going to go do that. The practicing thing. Yeah."
She spun on her heel, marching stiffly back to her training spot. But even as she tried to lose herself in the familiar motions, she couldn't quite shake the feeling of Margaret's eyes on her back.
[Damn it, Jaylin, get it together!]
But even as she doubled her efforts, pushing herself harder than ever, Jaylin couldn't quite banish the image of Margaret's smile from her mind.
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