The Weight of Blood and Name (4)

The long mahogany dining table stretched between them, adorned with an extravagant feast of roasted lamb, honey-glazed vegetables, and fine wine straight from Lorne. Golden candlelight flickered against polished silver and crystal, casting a warm glow over the elegant place settings.

At the head of the table, Count Sirius Whitefield carved into his meal with deliberate, precise strokes, his sharp gaze periodically scanning his children. To his immediate left sat Louis and Annie, engaged and animated, while Elise occupied the opposite side alone, a portrait of silent, poised composure.

"The lamb is exceptionally prepared," Sirius remarked, dabbing the corner of his mouth with a linen napkin. "Louis, you instructed the kitchen well."

Louis grinned, preening as he swirled his wine. "Naturally, Father. Only the best cuts for your return."

Sirius gave a short, approving nod. "And your fencing? Have you maintained your practice?"

Louis straightened in his chair, ready for inspection. "Of course. The master says my form is impeccable. He believes I could best him within the year."

Sirius raised a critical brow. "Confidence sharpens a blade, boy. Arrogance dulls it. Mind the difference."

Louis' smirk faltered, but he recovered with a nod and returned to his meal, slightly chastened.

Sirius then turned his gaze to Annie. "Annabelle, your debut is behind you," he stated, not unkindly. "Have you given any consideration to potential suitors?"

Annie exhaled a long, dramatic sigh, toying with the stem of her water goblet. "Must we, Father? I've no interest in being paraded about like a prize heifer at a county fair for some stuffy lord to appraise."

A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched Sirius's lips. "It is not an appraisal. It is a strategic alliance. A strong match secures your future and amplifies our family's influence. It is about power, not parlor games."

Annie pursed her lips, considering for a moment before shrugging. "I've yet to meet a man who could hold my interest for more than five minutes. They all see a pretty dress and assume I've nothing but fluff between my ears like most girls of nobility."

Sirius shook his head, bypassing her familiar refrain. He set his utensils down with a definitive click. "Count Ashford is hosting a ball. You will all attend. It will be an excellent opportunity to navigate high society and, perhaps, encounter suitable prospects."

"Ashford?" Louis and Annie repeated in unison, their faces mirrors of incredulous surprise.

"I thought you despised that sleaze, Father," Louis said, leaning forward. "Why on earth are we dignifying his party with our presence?"

Sirius actually chuckled at their reactions, a rare, low sound. He glanced at his youngest daughter. "Annabelle, what is your opinion of Duke Evander Ravencourt?"

Annie blinked, tapping her fork thoughtfully against her chin. "The Duke? I suppose he's... important? Why?"

"He will be in attendance," Sirius revealed.

"Really?" Louis placed his hands flat on the table, his intrigue immediate and palpable. "Are you certain? Ravencourt? Of Vaelmont?"

"That is correct."

Annie looked between them, her brow furrowed in genuine confusion. "What's the big deal? So a Duke is going to a party."

Louis grabbed her shoulders, giving her a light, excited shake. "You don't understand, Annie! The man is a ghost! A legend! There isn't even a confirmed portrait of him!" He released her and turned back to Sirius, eyes alight with ambition. "Father, are you suggesting...?"

Sirius nodded once, a slow, calculated gesture. "An alliance with House Ravencourt would be the most significant political achievement for our family in a generation. It would secure Duskmoore's future for a century."

Annie's eyes widened as the implication finally landed. Her fork clattered loudly against her plate. "W-wait, you can't just marry me off to some... some mythical recluse just because he's powerful! And what about Elise?" she blurted out, gesturing wildly across the table. "She's older than me and doesn't even have a suitor! Why does it have to be me?"

All eyes swiveled to Elise.

She had not spoken a single word throughout the entire meal, a silent specter at the feast. She had adhered to every meticulous rule of noble dining etiquette—posture erect, movements economical and silent, her focus entirely on the food before her, as if it were a task to be completed.

The sudden silence finally pierced her concentration.

She glanced up from her soup bowl.

Her spoon paused mid-air.

Elise blinked once, her pale blue eyes moving from Annie's frantic expression to Louis' doubtful sneer to her father's expectant gaze.

...What?

A moment of awkward silence hung in the air.

Then, as if a silent consensus was reached that no answer was forthcoming, they resumed their conversation amongst themselves.

"Her?" Louis scoffed. "Forget it. The Duke needs a wife, not a sparring partner. If I wanted to spend my days with a cold stone, I'd move into a graveyard."

"Louis," Sirius warned, his tone dropping a fraction.

His son crossed his arms and sulked into his chair. "Well, it's true..."

Elise, utterly unbothered, lowered her gaze and calmly resumed eating her soup, the brief interruption already forgotten. The spoon made no sound against the fine porcelain.

Annie struggled to protest, her lower lip jutting out in a pout. "Still, I don't want to get married off like a... a parcel! And just because he's a duke doesn't mean he's not a bore or a brute. What did his family even do to make you all act like he's some kind of demigod?"

Louis let out a derisive snort. "All those expensive tutors and your head's still full of feathers, isn't it? They didn't just do something. They reshaped the entire kingdom."

Annie clicked her tongue and shot him a venomous glare, which he blithely ignored.

He leaned forward, his voice dropping into a more serious, storytelling tone. "Until four hundred years ago, vampires didn't just lurk in the forest; they infested the countryside and hid among our society, our streets, and our floorboards. Hunters were mostly just ragged bands and lone wolves. It was chaos. Then a minor, almost forgotten house—Ravencourt—stepped out of the shadows. They organized the hunters, poured their own fortune into arming them, and with backing from a terrified crown, they led a purge. Hunted them to the edge of the continent and shoved every last monster back into the dark of the forest. Even the golden-eyed ones."

Sirius set down his goblet, picking up the thread with the air of a professor finishing a lecture. "And to ensure they never threatened us again, Ravencourt established the Guild system. They turned a disorganized rabble into a centralized, professional military force, with major branches stationed at every key point near the forest border to keep the beasts contained. It was the single greatest military and logistical achievement of the last five centuries."

Annie blinked, her annoyance momentarily replaced by genuine awe. "Wait... They did all that? So why are we the ones guarding the border now? Shouldn't the main guild be in Vaelmont? As far as I recall, they aren't even one of the main branches."

"Duskmoore was Vaelmont," Louis said, slicing into his lamb. "Or at least, this territory was. Our ancestors were high-ranking knights in the Ravencourt army during the purges. A few generations after the dust settled, King Algernon the Third carved Duskmoore out of the Duchy's lands and elevated our forefather to a Count."

Annie's brows drew together in confusion. "Why would the King reward Ravencourt by taking their land away?"

Sirius made a small, humorless sound. "Think, girl. Do you truly believe the crown would feel comfortable allowing one house to hold a stainless reputation, the adoration of the masses, an unspoken permission to deny public appearances, and control over the kingdom's most crucial defensive border? Power like that, left unchecked, becomes a threat. We were created to be a check. Ravencourt was left as Overseer, the administrator and patron of the guilds, hosting all council meetings in Vaelmont. Meanwhile, we were placed at the border as a loyal, crown-appointed bulwark against both the vampires in the forest and the Duke's potential ambition."

Comprehension dawned on Annie's face. Her cherry lips formed a small 'o'. "So that's why there was all that tension between our houses. We were meant to be rivals."

Sirius swirled his wine, his expression dismissive. "Our ancestors were fools, led by pride and a hunger for royal favor. They saw a rival where they should have seen an ally. The guilds maybe the sword arms, but they all ultimately answer to the Overseer. Luckily, your great-grandfather was a pragmatic man. He settled the grudges and recognized that our true duty was to the people of this country, not to the crown's political games. Every Ravencourt heir since the purge has been a paragon of duty. No scandals. No failures. Only relentless, flawless competence. Duke Evander is no different."

His gaze then shifted down the table, landing on Elise. "You remember the great forest fire a decade ago. The Duke's men were there with water wagons and healers before our own city guard had even mustered. He funded the rebuilding of every scorched farm and home from his own coffers. Never asked for a single Velin in repayment. That is how a leader uses wealth—not just to spend, but to garner favors and secure unwavering loyalty."

Annie was silent for a long moment, her soup spoon forgotten. "...Alright," she conceded, her voice softer. "That's... actually impressive."

Louis leaned toward her with a wicked grin. "And rumor has it, behind all that perfection, he's devastatingly handsome. Or so the few ladies lucky enough to catch a glimpse say."

"S-shut up, Louis!" Annie blushed, swatting at his arm. But a thoughtful, intrigued light had replaced the rebellion in her eyes. She stroked her chin. "Although... he does sound... different. It might be refreshing to speak with someone who actually has substance, instead of another pack of girls squealing over whichever lord combed his hair that morning."

Finally, a slow, speculative smile spread across her face. "Alright, fine. I'll go."

Sirius nodded, a flicker of satisfaction in his eyes at his youngest daughter's compliance. "Good. Tomorrow, I will summon the modiste from the capital. You will both have new gowns." His gaze shifted to his eldest. "Elise, the last event of this magnitude you attended was your sister's debut. That was a year ago. It is time you had something new."

Hearing that, Elise paused, her spoon hovering just above the bowl. She glanced at her father, her brows raising in a minute, almost imperceptible gesture of surprise. She seemed... genuinely taken aback.

Annie's bright smile stiffened, freezing on her face. "Oh..." she said, her voice losing its earlier lilt. "Elise is coming too?"

Sirius arched a brow, a silent question at her tone. "The invitation was for the Whitefield family. Your sister is a part of this family. Why would she not attend?"

Annie's face fell, the spark of excited speculation in her eyes dimming into embers. She stole a glance at Elise, who had already regained her composure, sitting with that unshakeable, refined elegance—every line of her body a testament to perfect poise.

It was always the same. No matter the occasion, Elise was effortlessly, infuriatingly graceful. Effortlessly beautiful. She was the living ideal of a noblewoman, a standard Annie felt she could never naturally meet. Whenever Elise entered a room, all attention—male and female—drifted toward her like iron shavings to a lodestone.

Even at her debut... the day that was supposed to be hers...

Annie's eyes dulled at the memory, an old hurt resurfacing.

Someone like Elise... of course everyone would think she was the more suitable match for a man like the Duke.

Annie curled her fingers into the soft fabric of her skirt, her lips pressing into a thin, unhappy line. "...Father is so mean," she pouted, her voice a little too sharp to be truly playful. "The Duke would obviously prefer someone like her. I'm not... I'm not feminine or delicate like a proper lady. I'm just... me."

Louis, sensing her deflation, chuckled and patted her shoulder. "Oh, don't look so glum, Annie. A man like that is probably drowning in a sea of identical, simpering debutantes. You'll stand out. You're youthful, spirited—a breath of fresh air. Who knows? Perhaps that's exactly what a jaded duke finds intriguing."

Annie perked up slightly at that, a fragile hope buoyed by his words, though she still stabbed at her vegetables with a little more force than necessary. "I... I suppose that's true..."

Sirius gave her a stern, knowing look. "That is precisely why you will all be on your best behavior. There will be no foolishness. No carelessness. I will not have our family's reputation humiliated before a man of his influence."

Annie exhaled through her nose and muttered something under her breath, but offered no further protest. Louis leaned back with a smirk, clearly amused.

"A ball, huh?" Louis mused, swirling his wine. "I suppose I'll need to brush up on my dancing. Though I doubt the ladies in Rothwale have the wit to tell if I've lost a step or two."

"Sit properly," Sirius scolded in a low rumble of authority, not even bothering to look up from his plate. "Slouching is for common taverns. You will all be doubling your etiquette and dancing training this month."

"R-right. Of course, sir." Louis quickly snapped upright, his smirk vanishing as he straightened his jacket and returned to his meal with renewed, if sullen, focus.

Elise, as always, remained a portrait of composure amidst the little storm. She lowered her gaze and finished the last spoonful of her soup in utter silence.

A new dress...

The thought surfaced in her mind, quiet and unbidden, like a tiny spark in the vast, disciplined dark.

...I hope it's blue.