The Fourth of Zi'da 717
Notrerevé. The very name inspired thoughts of elegance, with the mansions constructed in the old Ryn style, tall and expansive. Soft colours were kept pristine on the outsides of the mansions, and the gardens were the most exquisite in all of Rynmere. Sitting inside the familial estate of his parents, Oliver considered the trial set before him. It was just before midday, and he knew that he'd set the time and date for the meeting, but he was nervous. Though older than the boy, and presumably in the same standing politically, Oliver knew that Darcyanna had befriended him, and that mattered. He needed to protect her, but he had never had to do so from a man before. Fingers turned white gripping the overstuffed chair as he awaited Caius' arrival.
The Venoras were legendary entertainers, and he refrained from touching the dark red wine before Caius arrived. Instead, a water, infused with small bubbles by some sorcery he did not understand, sat next to him, the glass' condensation dripping down the side. Though it was colder outside, the fire kept the small study warm. It was not Oliver's study, per se, but instead belonged to his father, who was out on business. In his absence, it served as Oliver's office, and across the black cherry wood desk were scattered a few papers, one with the drawing of a theatre on it, the other with several figures scrawled in narrow lines.
He looked down, shuffling the papers around for no real purpose. Nervous fidgeting was not his style, and it disconcerted him that this meeting was unhinging him so. Standing from the chair, he walked over to a replicated painting of Lady Cyrene, staring up at her regality in envy. Every Venora aspired to something more, moreso than many other nobles of the Seven Families. It was in their biology to attain grandeur and regality, and Oliver was no different. However, he understood that there would be little to aspire too if the Kingdom kept its current track. Hence the papers scattered about the table.
Outside, he heard the whinnying of a horse, and the clatter of horseshoes on perfectly sealed cobblestone. Frowning slightly, he slid gracefully to the window, looking out. In the sunlight, the heat of his wine-red sweater reminded him that his nerves were heating him up. Sighing, he watched as Gustauv slipped from the driver's seat and opened the door to the carriage. His heart thumped against his ribcage, hammering a tattoo into his chest.
This is the man that Darcyanna had befriended. Oliver was not so naive to believe that it was only friendship. He understood that Darcy was growing up, and that she was already thinking as a woman thinks. It pained him, but it was inevitable. All he could do was ensure that the man she'd chosen was adequate and would treat her well... Or meet the end of his sword. Either way, Oliver was going to decide this trial, and that was that.
He gauged the time it would take from the carriage to the study, and resumed his place in the chair. He sipped the sparkling water, smiling as the gasses popped on his tongue. He was less nervous now that Caius was here, and the Venoran confidence made its way back into his soul. Touching the tips of his fingers together, he awaited the expected knock at the door. Gustauv was quite well versed in the etiquette, and when the gentle knock came, Oliver answered firmly.
"Enter."
And so Gustauv did. Oliver rose when Caius entered, a soft expression etching his elegant face.
"My lord, may I present to you the Lord Caius Gawyne of Fort Gawyne." Gustauv's voice, heavy with an accent from the South, rang clearly and loudly. Stepping forward, Oliver offered a firm handshake to the Lord Gawyne, bowing only to his king.
"My Lord, my deepest gratitude that you accepted my invitation. Please, make yourself at home." He smiled, but there was a dagger's edge behind his eyes.
The Venoras were legendary entertainers, and he refrained from touching the dark red wine before Caius arrived. Instead, a water, infused with small bubbles by some sorcery he did not understand, sat next to him, the glass' condensation dripping down the side. Though it was colder outside, the fire kept the small study warm. It was not Oliver's study, per se, but instead belonged to his father, who was out on business. In his absence, it served as Oliver's office, and across the black cherry wood desk were scattered a few papers, one with the drawing of a theatre on it, the other with several figures scrawled in narrow lines.
He looked down, shuffling the papers around for no real purpose. Nervous fidgeting was not his style, and it disconcerted him that this meeting was unhinging him so. Standing from the chair, he walked over to a replicated painting of Lady Cyrene, staring up at her regality in envy. Every Venora aspired to something more, moreso than many other nobles of the Seven Families. It was in their biology to attain grandeur and regality, and Oliver was no different. However, he understood that there would be little to aspire too if the Kingdom kept its current track. Hence the papers scattered about the table.
Outside, he heard the whinnying of a horse, and the clatter of horseshoes on perfectly sealed cobblestone. Frowning slightly, he slid gracefully to the window, looking out. In the sunlight, the heat of his wine-red sweater reminded him that his nerves were heating him up. Sighing, he watched as Gustauv slipped from the driver's seat and opened the door to the carriage. His heart thumped against his ribcage, hammering a tattoo into his chest.
This is the man that Darcyanna had befriended. Oliver was not so naive to believe that it was only friendship. He understood that Darcy was growing up, and that she was already thinking as a woman thinks. It pained him, but it was inevitable. All he could do was ensure that the man she'd chosen was adequate and would treat her well... Or meet the end of his sword. Either way, Oliver was going to decide this trial, and that was that.
He gauged the time it would take from the carriage to the study, and resumed his place in the chair. He sipped the sparkling water, smiling as the gasses popped on his tongue. He was less nervous now that Caius was here, and the Venoran confidence made its way back into his soul. Touching the tips of his fingers together, he awaited the expected knock at the door. Gustauv was quite well versed in the etiquette, and when the gentle knock came, Oliver answered firmly.
"Enter."
And so Gustauv did. Oliver rose when Caius entered, a soft expression etching his elegant face.
"My lord, may I present to you the Lord Caius Gawyne of Fort Gawyne." Gustauv's voice, heavy with an accent from the South, rang clearly and loudly. Stepping forward, Oliver offered a firm handshake to the Lord Gawyne, bowing only to his king.
"My Lord, my deepest gratitude that you accepted my invitation. Please, make yourself at home." He smiled, but there was a dagger's edge behind his eyes.