#anyway i've finished the planning for the next arc and it is 9k words itself lol

[partystoragechest]

A story of romance, drama, and politics which neither Trevelyan nor Cullen wish to be in.

Canon divergent fic in which Josephine solves the matter of post-Wicked Hearts attention by inviting four noblewomen to compete for Cullen's affections. In this chapter, Lady Samient escapes the banquet, to check on Trevelyan.

(Masterpost. Beginning. Previous entry. Next entry. Words: 2,780. Rating: all audiences. Warnings: swearing.)

Chapter 26: The Banquet - Part 3

Lady Samient of Samient, daughter of Duke Samient, was considering crime.

Specifically, she was considering whether the daughter of a Duke (you know which) would be able to, say, punch the mask clean off the face of a Comtesse, without hearing a peep from the Council of Heralds. It wasn’t as if she had anything to lose.

Fortunately for Comtesse Bervard, before Lady Samient could test such boundaries, the banquet came to an end.

Samient, freed from the constraints of her seat and the tyranny of the table, headed directly for the guest suites. But she was not a fool in this; an inconspicuous level of urgency (polite trotting, one could call it) was maintained all the way.

She did not know what to expect when she entered the corridor that housed her and the other Ladies’ rooms. Quiet, perhaps. Crying, maybe.

But what she heard, to her surprise and delight, was laughter. And it came from Lady Erridge’s room.

“This one, this one!” said the giddy voice of Erridge herself. “What does it look like to you!?”

“Lady Erridge!” replied a breathless Lady Trevelyan, scolding only in jest. “That is not polite!”

“We are not in polite company, Lady Trevelyan, and we may say what we like! And I think it looks like—”

Samient poked her head through the door. “Ladies?”

All foolery ceased at once; the startled Ladies had frozen where they lay. Yes, ‘lay’—for they were on their bellies, on the floor, poring over some large cooking tome. Lady Trevelyan used a teddy bear as a chinrest.

“Lady Samient!” Erridge greeted, struggling to speak with the latent giggles still echoing in her throat. “We are choosing a recipe to cook, and I think we should make a plum tart!”

“Lady Erridge, no!” Trevelyan protested.

“But we already have all the ingredients! For Lady Trevelyan’s dress is plum, and covered in sugar!”

They burst into laughter anew. Though Samient did not join them, she smiled to see it.

“Maker,” gasped Trevelyan, “I cannot believe that at the beginning of this night, that was my greatest concern.”

“Yes,” Samient said, “so I am glad you’re well, after all that’s happened.”

Lady Trevelyan pushed herself to sitting. “I am. Thanks to Lady Erridge.” She gave her an appreciative tip of the head.

Samient agreed—even if she was slightly jealous of how masterfully Lady Erridge had taken the reins. “You were quick with it.”

Erridge squirmed. “Well, I can’t take all the credit. Lady Trevelyan gave me the idea.”

Trevelyan seemed as much surprised by this as anyone. “I did?”

“Oh, yes! You said you wouldn’t move from your seat unless it was ‘life or death’! Hence I made it so!”

Samient laughed. “Clever.”

“Clever indeed,” Trevelyan concurred.

Lady Erridge—eager, it seemed, to move the conversation away from her cleverness—shuffled up onto her knees. “What happened after we were gone?” she asked Samient. “Did they talk about us?”

Samient’s mind reluctantly drifted back towards the sound of the music emanating from the floor below.

“Briefly,” she answered, for the Comtesse had obviously commented. ‘Convenient’, she’d called it. But Samient wasn’t going to tell them that. Nor would she tell them what she said in reply. “Fortunately, Lady Montilyet’s arrival disrupted them. She wished to know what had happened to Lady Erridge.”

“What did you tell her?” Trevelyan asked.

“That Lord Pavus explained. He said she was choking, and that you had taken her outside. Lady Montilyet said she would call for a healer, but the Commander offered to do it instead. He was off before she could stop him.”

And, by complete accident, as his hand had left the table, a napkin had slipped with it. One that looked strikingly similar to the little cloth Lady Trevelyan clutched in her hand now.

“Oh, yes,” said Erridge, “he came to see if we were quite all right.”

Samient nodded. “Once he was gone, Montilyet told us all to relax, had our goblets refilled, and then went back to her own table. Conversation moved on.”

“What about when the Commander returned?” asked Trevelyan.

Skipping ahead, but Lady Trevelyan wasn’t to know that. For while the Commander was gone, Samient had spied scattered whispers at the other table. Montilyet, to the Left Hand of the Divine; the Left Hand, to a guard; the guard, left the room.

“The Commander informed Lady Montilyet all was well,” she recounted, “and returned to his seat. He said you’d taken Lady Erridge to her room, to recover. Everyone bought it.”

“Good,” said Erridge.

“He disappeared again some minutes later. A guard came and whispered something about an urgent matter.” Coincidentally, the same guard who’d been sent away by the Left Hand. “The Commander departed. Whatever it was must’ve been important, because the guard returned for the Left Hand soon after.”

Lady Trevelyan nodded at this, quite solemnly—though that was hardly a revelation. Samient had already supposed it was something to do with Ostwick Circle.

“Neither returned before the feast ended. I came as soon as I was able, so I don’t know what has happened since.”

“Where is the Baroness?” wondered Lady Erridge.

Still downstairs, though they had briefly spoken before Samient left: “She stayed behind, to do the rounds. She didn’t want to raise suspicion. ‘Others’ would say it should only take one of us to check on you.”

Meaning Comtesse Bervard. And she needn’t suspect any more than she already did.

And yet, it seemed the banquet could not hold the Baroness for long. As if summoned by their mention of her, her voice resounded down the hall:

“Ladies!”

Samient backed out of the door frame, to glance at her coming. She wasn’t alone.

“Baroness, with a maid,” she whispered to the others.

They sprang to action. Erridge snapped her book shut and slid it under a chair. Trevelyan stuffed the teddy bear behind a cushion. Both took to proper seats: Erridge hunched over a little, rasping, whilst Trevelyan rubbed her back.

Their arrivals would be none the wiser.

“Baroness,” Samient greeted, as she and the maid came to the door. “Lady Erridge is doing well.”

“I am glad to hear it,” said the Baroness. “Lady Montilyet, of course, sends her regards—”

She gestured to the maid, who bore a small tray with two matching plates of food, and two matching drinks. Samient recognised them: the same dessert that had been served at the banquet. How thoughtful.

“Her Ladyship did not wish the Ladies to go hungry, and thought Lady Erridge might need something for her throat.”

“Perfect.” Samient indicated a console table nearby. “Set it down there, please.”

The maid did as told, curtsied to the room, and left. The moment she had vanished from the end of the hall, the Baroness shut the door.

“That fucking woman!” she spat in Orlesian.

Samient replied in the same tongue: “The Comtesse?”

“Who else?”

“Still entertaining down there, is she?”

“Not the word I would use,” the Baroness fumed.“You know, I almost had her former fiancé in bed once, but I decided against it, because it was not worth the trouble she would cause. But now—!”

“Which fiancé?” Samient interrupted to say, reminding the Baroness—with a sense of satisfaction—that more than one man had left the Comtesse at the altar. Unsurprisingly.

The Baroness replied proudly: “The first one.”

“The professor? Ha. You should’ve.”

“Is he particularly handsome?” asked Lady Erridge.

The Baroness turned to her in confusion. Samient’s eyes widened. “I forgot I taught you that,” she muttered.

“Sorry,” said Erridge. “I couldn’t help but overhear. Quite literally.”

“You know Orlesian?” Lady Trevelyan asked.

Erridge nodded. “Lady Samient has been teaching me. And chess, too! In return, I’ve been teaching her some of the more difficult stitches.”

Their little secret was out. Samient smirked. “What else were we supposed to do while you two are at work?”

“Oh, I do not blame you!” Trevelyan clarified. “I merely wish I had known myself before I procured a job. I could’ve enrolled in your schooling instead. And I would understand what was just said.”

“I was fantasising revenge,” admitted the Baroness. “And to answer your question, Lady Erridge: very handsome.”

The look on Lady Trevelyan’s face suggested she had, from context, put some of the mystery together. “Well, don’t do anything rash on my behalf.”

“Not rash. Long overdue.” Her plan settled, Touledy relaxed into herself a little more. “Are you all right? Dorian was concerned for you.”

“I’m quite all right. Lady Erridge has been good company.”

Lady Erridge shied again.

“I was just telling them what had happened after they left,” Samient informed Touledy. “All the comings and goings.”

“Indeed. They have a discreet little system for disseminating information,” the Baroness mused. “I’m not sure I quite understand it. No one said anything explicit. But—there was one thing I noticed.”

The other Ladies leant in, even Samient. It would be intriguing to hear the perspective of the other end of the table.

“After the Commander had taken his leave, before Lady Montilyet moved on, Dorian played with the cutlery on his plate. Fork towards the Comtesse, knife towards the former seat of our Lady Trevelyan. Montilyet glanced at it as she was telling us all to drink more.”

“Oh, that is tricky!” said Lady Erridge.

And it quite explained all the whispering Samient had observed at the other table, once Montilyet had returned to it.

“Anyway, I suppose you told them the Commander and Left Hand vanished afterwards?” the Baroness asked Samient, who nodded. “Neither came back. Either there has been some great coincidence, and another event has occurred elsewhere that requires their attention—or they are dealing with this one.”

“Good,” said Samient. “Saves hiring a bard.”

“Lady Samient!” Lady Trevelyan gasped.

“What? We are Orlesian, and she insulted us all. There are consequences.”

“And I am sure the Inquisition shall mete them out ably.”

“Indeed,” Baroness Touledy agreed. “But what is most important is that you are well. And having seen you are, I think I shall leave you to enjoy your dessert, and finish my rounds.”

The idea of going back nauseated Samient. “I think I shall head to bed,” she lied. “It’s been a long day.”

“Yes,” said Lady Trevelyan. “Once I have eaten, I shall do the same.”

Samient narrowed her eyes. She wasn’t the only liar.

She knew well enough that once they had all gone off to bed, Lady Trevelyan would not sleep. Not just for the evening she’d had, but for the fact that Samient knew Lady Trevelyan was often sneaking out after nightfall.

She’d heard the footsteps pass by her room on occasion, and on others, had glanced out to see whom it might be. Sometimes it was the Baroness. It was never Erridge.

The last of the evening light slipped away. Night came over the fortress in the form of a blanket of stars. Samient blew out the final candle in her room, and waited.

She did not have to wait for long.

Feet, with practiced quietness, snuck past her door. Samient would not have even heard them, were she not listening out. And given that they were not joined by the characteristic tap of a cane, she knew whose they were.

Of course, she let them pass. She did not wish to confront Trevelyan here. Instead, she waited just a few seconds more.

Silence. Peaceful dark. Disturbed only by the creak of Samient’s door, as she slipped out to follow.

The footsteps led her in the direction of the stairs, which she snuck down in turn. When she arrived at the Great Hall, she could see no Trevelyan—but the door on the opposite side, to the garden, swung shut.

Samient hurried through the candelit hall, making herself of little note to the night watch posted around. Unperturbed, she ventured on into the garden.

In the moonlight, Samient saw her: Lady Trevelyan, a bedcoat thrown over her shoulders and boots lazily pulled on, journeying over the stepping stone trail. Samient pursued from the shadows of the arcade, tracing her path between each column.

Trevelyan ascended; a flight of stairs at the far side of the garden took her up to the battlements. Samient found her way to the foot, but stopped.

Voices.

“Commander?” said Lady Trevelyan.

So that was what she was sneaking off to do? Interesting. Yet, she sounded surprised.

“Forgive me, I”—his voice was quieter, harder to hear—“disturbing you—sure you’re all right.”

Oh. Not a regular occurrence, then. From what Samient could tell, that is.

The Lady Trevelyan assured him she was well, her voice growing softer as her footsteps moved away. Samient crept a little higher up the staircase.

“—dealt with,” the Commander said, hopefully in reference to the Comtesse Bervard.

“Thank you,” Lady Trevelyan replied. “But let that be the last we speak of it, for now.”

“Of course. I am sorry for”—interrupting?—“your stargazing.”

“That is quite all right; it is usually I who disrupts your route.”

“Not at all,” he replied, “I find I have been… walking more often, of late.”

Samient’s eyes flared; she could listen to no more of this. As loud as could pierce the night air through, she cleared her throat:

“M-hm!”

Perhaps it would have been better to turn away, and leave them to talk longer. But the Commander would have other chances to speak to Lady Trevelyan—this was Samient’s last. There would not be another night.

The conversation halted. Samient rose up the last of the steps, and finally viewed what she had only heard. A startled Lady Trevelyan, bedcoat drawn tight against the cold, and a braced Commander, still in his banquet wear. Long night.

The glow of a nearby torch flickered in Trevelyan’s wide eyes. “Lady Samient, the Commander was—”

“Just passing by,” said Samient. “I know.”

The Commander took this allowance with grace, and nodded to her. “Good night,” he said, bowing.

He must have thought Samient would not notice his little glance at Trevelyan, whilst he was bent low. But she did. And she thought it terrible. Terrible and sweet.

Still, despite any apparent reluctance, he straightened, and turned, and withdrew towards the mage tower.

It was only once he had finally disappeared behind it, that either Lady spoke.

“Lady Samient, the Commander was just speaking to me about what happened today,” Trevelyan hurriedly said, “it relates to the Comtesse—what she said, and the mages who were—”

Samient held up a hand. “Lady Trevelyan, I am not the Comtesse Bervard. Whatever happened… I am sorry. And if you would prefer not to tell me about it, then it is none of my business.”

Trevelyan nodded. “Thank you.”

“Nor is it any of my business why you were speaking to the Commander. It shouldn’t be anyone’s but yours.”

“It wasn’t—we, we weren’t…”

Samient glared, until Trevelyan stopped her stammering. “Lady Trevelyan, whatever happens between you and the Commander is yours.” She stalked closer. “Do not let anyone else dictate it. Not the other Ladies, not Ambassador Montilyet—not even your parents.”

Lady Trevelyan’s brow, stuck high and in shock, slowly began to crease.

“Be with him if that is what you want. But only if it is what you want. Do not let them dictate your life.”

“Lady Samient, I—don’t understand. I appreciate the notion, but...”

“I simply wished to tell you.” Samient glanced away, as the determination that shielded her pain began to fall, and a familiar ache consumed her chest. “I have always seen you as a kindred spirit, Lady Trevelyan.”

“Are you all right?”

Samient shook her head, and opened her arms. Through her bewilderment, Trevelyan accepted them. An awkward, estranged embrace, perhaps—but the only thing, at that moment, holding Samient together.

“What’s happening?” Trevelyan asked, parting from her. “Why does this sound like farewell?”

“Didn’t the other Ladies tell you?” Samient said. “I have no hope of the Commander. I am to return home in a day’s time.”

“What?” Lady Trevelyan’s head shook. “No, no—why? Can’t you stay? If you planned for the full month, then...”

“There is little point in it. I must go.”

Trevelyan pulled her back in, embracing her entirely. Her grip around Samient tightened, unrelenting, in denial of the fact that she would, at some point, have to let go.

“I will miss you,” she whispered.

“And I you,” replied Samient, her eyes trailing to the view of Equinor above. “But my home calls.”

Which was the truth. She just did not clarify which home she was called to.

#cullen rutherford #cullen x trevelyan #commander cullen #unwanted #unwanted fic #obviously things might be slow over the holiday season #i am autistic if you couldn't tell so this is not my favourite time of year #anyway we have officially hit the halfway mark #i do have an optimistic goal of finishing the fic before its one year anniversary but thats um... difficult #anyway i've finished the planning for the next arc and it is 9k words itself lol #i am. VERBOSE.