The ball is an annual event—a chance for the sponsors to get to know the players, decide who they want to help, who might be able to help them, for a time.
The more strategic players will be fighting as hard tonight as they do in the arena, vying for the affection and attention of the wealthiest patrons in attendance.
The other men… They’ll likely find themselves without a life-saving weapon drop when they most desperately need it.
And off the back of that, the rich will get richer, placing their bets and the products they want people to buy.
I’ve attended so many of these things since I made captain that it’s like second nature to me. I’ve been paraded in front of the wealthy more times than I can count. They want to know that I’m in good shape, top of my form. But they also want to see that I’m smart, capable, well-mannered enough to make their companies look good. I’ve learned to meet thesepeople on their level, more or less. And it’s making my eye twitch that Robin’s still standing there between Cas and Valentine like this is relaxation hour.
I try to give him a meaningful side-eye, but he’s willfully locked onto whatever Cas is saying. Happily, Cas isn’t quite so stubborn, and when he catches my glare, he swallows what’s left of his drink in one, then he darts across the room to the grazing table, where he appears to strike up amiable chit-chat with a man who could clearly buy and sell him with the wave of a hand.
Val isn’t far behind, if a little more anxious about it.
Robin settles one long, hateful glower in my direction, then turns away, only to be accosted by Cornelia Westerner, the sponsor I found for him earlier in the season. On his own talent, and through her influence, he’s picked up several more since. When I leave, he’ll be in a good position to take my place. Which is exactly what I want for him.
All except for one specific aspect, which I’m reminded of when the background music swells to the forefront, and when every head in the room turns to watch the Emperor make his grand entrance.
Just as self-approving as ever, he sweeps slowly into the room, giving everyone time to gaze upon his red gown, embroidered in yards of glowing golden thread, tailored painstakingly to make him as trim and tight as possible. He is, after all, surrounded by elite athletes, all of them handsome in the extreme. But it’s not his looks that have people falling all over him.
The sponsors applaud delicately, each eyeing the others to see who’ll move first, whether it’s correct to move, so they can squeeze out every drop of the wealth a connection like this can bring them.
There’s a tense standoff that stretches several seconds, then they move like a sandstorm, enshrouding him.
Perhaps timed deliberately, the Emperor’s son Julius enters a moment later.
He scans the room, taking in each player with bored assessment. Pale blue eyes, light blond hair that falls past his shoulders. He’s maybe twenty-two, small in stature, but carries himself like he owns the world. Which, considering his father, he probably will someday.
Of course, he’s a miserable little shit. Always scowling and judging, head tipped back, nose held high.
He pauses just long enough to narrow his eyes at me, then wafts over to the wine tower, snatching a glass off the top, then another, not even bothering to hide the eye roll when the first of the people who are too inconsequential to impress his father fall upon him instead.
I don’t know why he hates me so much. But he does. Very specifically me. Possibly because I take too much of his father’s attention from him. Maybe because we’re the same age and that has no impact on the things his father does to me. Or it could be he simply looks down on my status, nothing more than a sportsman to him. Maybe he thinks I shouldn’t even be in this room with so many others of his class.
But that’s not for him to decide. At least not until his father’s gone. And that doesn’t look to be happening any time soon.
The Emperor, virulent as ever, eyes me from across the room. Even from here I can tell he has scant words to offer the surrounding sycophants. Not while his mind’s on me in this emerald gown. I know that look well. I know it won’t be long until he wants to steal me away from this crowd.
So I offer him a smile, even if it makes my skin crawl.
But then I catch the spark of Robin’s golden laurel when his head flings from the Emperor to me. And knowing I’ve got his attention, I add a wink for the Emperor.
A shift in that golden light, and Robin’s coming toward me, fast and determined strides.
So I turn my back on him and walk.
It feels like waking after a long sleep to have his attention again, even if it’s coated thick in jealousy and anger. I can barely even see the room around me, garlands of flowers from the Emperor’s own giant greenhouse, food piled high, the walls breathing with living ivy painted with gold patterns, lilies infusing their too-sweet scent into the air. It’s all one big blur.
I listen for his steps, eyes on the floor, ready to feel his hand on my shoulder.
Even if we can’t be together, even if he hates me, this crumb will keep me full for months.
“Marco!” I stop dead, looking into Cornelia’s face as she trips back a few steps, covering the top of her glass so the wine doesn’t spill.
I fling out an arm to steady her. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you there. Are you alright?”
“I’m fine.” She flicks a few drops of wine from her fingers onto the floor. “Where are you going in such a hurry?”
I can’t stop the glance I throw over my shoulder, worried Robin might be right there, about to cause a scene in front of her. But he’s smarter than that. He’s moved to a side table, fists clenched at his sides.
