SIR TREVEIL/SQUIRE KAPUR, complete. | late evening.
If anyone asked, Miss Treveil received her invite courtesy of one Lord Vannes.
And for those who knew not to ask, she was Hummingbird, hovering in place with wings beating lightning fast and mind’s gears turning even faster. She scanned the view before her, making mental notes on each of the Duke’s guests and especially on the uninvited. The Grand Inquisitor’s description played on loop in her mind, as though the memstone was still activated, drilling the information into her skull like the magicite was drilled in her tooth. There was a man who fit the description; she observed him from afar, not daring to venture too close. A report by Saturday, she thought with a glance at the clock before turning back to the desserts with a plastic smile. Elvira had exhausted her supply of honesty for the night.
The sound of scuffling feet came just a moment before a taller body collided with hers. “I am sincerely sorry—” began Storm’s profusion of apologies, followed hastily by a cursory bow.
“Not a problem at all, Lord Kapur.” Though winded, she still managed to retain her composure. If he was anyone else, she would have made a point to call him Squire Kapur, to remind him that there was another place where she was still his superior. But the young lord was already bowing to her and Sir Treveil though that was quite enough. “Only an accident, of course.”
Storm could not suppress a relieved exhale. He was truly very fortunate to have bumped into Sir Treveil of all people, who was nothing if not the soul of kindness. “I hope the evening finds you well, Sir Treveil.” The tips of his ears burned as he added, “You look most lovely.”
“Why, thank you very much. How polite you are, Lord Kapur, growing into that grand Kapur name quite nicely.” She pretended not to notice his ears as she reflected his politeness back, “And I do hope you are enjoying tonight as well.”
“Of course!” he said, as was expected. A lump of awkward silence was left in his words’ wake, so, unable to think of any other recourse, the squire bumbled out: “W-would you like to dance, Sir Treveil?”
“I’d be honored to.” For a fleeting moment, the knight’s smile twitched and softened. She offered her hand for him to take, readying a file on his dance technique to go next to his labels of “Kapur heir” and “Korporal’s squire,” and like that, allowed him to lead her to the dance floor.