Aoife gave a bow and made her way towards the empty chair next to Tarran. Her face was a mask of perfect calm, but her hands shook in her lap as she sat. She clenched them into fists and hid them beneath the table, out of sight of anyone who might be scrutinizing her.

"Where did you learn to act like that?" Tarran asked quietly, covering his smile by taking a long drink from his goblet.

"Easy. I copied you," she whispered back. He nearly choked on his wine. From the opposite end of the room, Camilla stifled a cough. Tarran glared. She ignored him. Aoife followed the turn of his hood, eyes locking on where Camilla sat, looking perfectly innocent as she watched the next demonstration.

"Who is that?"

"Camilla, also called the Dragon Enchanter."

"She works with dragons?"

"She is the Dragon," he clarified. "She's quite a formidable Enchanter. Don't get on her bad side."

"Is she Fae?" No doubt Aoife had caught sight of Camilla's pointed ears, more delicate than his own, peeking out from beneath all that hair.

"Mostly," he murmured. "Now shush and watch the demonstrations."

So she did. She sat still and forced her mind to go blank, forced the spiraling thoughts and questions to leave her alone for a short while.

She also forced herself to eat the food, to take deep breaths, to make sure that she kept up the persona that she needed to display until it was time to let it go. There was no room to let her guard down, not so long as they were in the palace.

After dinner, servants cleared the tables from the room to allow for dancing space. A small instrumental ensemble played a few dances from the corner of the large dance space, and the Enchanters were invited to take the floor if they wished. A few of the younger apprentices that Aoife recognized as members of the school group went to dance first, while the older Enchanters stuck to the edges of the room, indulging in a glass of wine.

Or perhaps more than a glass, Aoife quickly realized.

"Have some wine," Tarran said, handing her a glass.

"I don't drink," she hissed. "Drinking leads to intoxication, which leads to impaired senses, which leads to touching people, which leads to their death."

"Have some wine," he repeated, pressing the goblet into her hands. Before she could protest, he walked away, leaving her standing with the glass off to the side of the room. Aoife sniffed at the dark liquid warily before taking a tiny sip.

Her first thought was that it was surprisingly sweet, before she realized that there wasn't any alcohol in the glass at all. Tarran had slipped her a goblet of pure fruit juice! She wasn't completely sure how he'd gotten his hands on it, but she was grateful. Looking around the room, she only now realized how standing alone observing the crowd made her look, especially while most of the room was drinking. They had gone to lengths to make her seem to be the most dangerous person here, but she didn't want to seem like she was plotting something nefarious and arouse suspicion.

The puzzle of putting on an image made her thoughts spin.

"I see you made out well," a masculine voice said from behind her.

Aoife turned around, and the sight of the person in front of her almost made her spit a mouthful of juice all over his pristine, emerald green doublet.

"Y- Your Highness?" she stammered, coughing.

Prince Corin stood in front of her, dark hair slightly curling around his ears, a bright smile on his face.

"I remember you. Looks like things turned out well. I heard you had an impressive display from this morning."

He heard... What was going on? Why was he even talking to her? Was this about what happened at the festival?

"It was... a display," Aoife said, nodding very slowly. She knew her eyes were as wide as dinner plates. "Forgive me, but... What are you doing here?"

"Well, it's important for the royal family to form good relationships with the Enchanters," he said, shrugging. "More specifically, though, I came to ask you for a dance."

Aoife's mind went blank.

"I... um... me?" she stammered, pointing vaguely to her chest with her free hand.

"Yes, you!" Corin laughed. "I want to hear about what's happened since the Rose Festival."

"Um... sure?" she squeaked, unable to keep her composure any longer.

"Excellent," he said, nodding. "I'll find you later, then? I need to make the rounds among the senior Enchanters."

Aoife just nodded. That was all she could bring herself to do.

What was happening to her? Yes, Corin was handsome, but she was more flustered by the fact that he'd singled her out among a group of powerful magic users after seeing her only once.

What did he want?

"Keep your head, darling."

Aoife turned towards the voice, nearly jumping in surprise when she looked over to find Camilla standing directly next to her, nursing a nearly full wine goblet. As imposing as the Dragon Enchanter was from across the room, she looked surprisingly less so up close. Perhaps it was the soft expression on her face, somewhere between cautious curiosity and kindness, or perhaps the laugh lines around her eyes that were invisible from afar made the steely gaze from before seem far away. Her dress was the same one from earlier, encrusted with an ostentatious amount of rubies that wrapped around in a pattern that formed a dragon circling her body, but her choices in fashion might have been the most threatening thing about her.

"I'm sure Tarran's slipped you something that isn't wine, but alcohol isn't the only way to lose yourself in a place like this," she said softly.

"You're... Lady Camilla?" Aoife breathed, electing to err on the side of being too polite.

"Just Camilla, if you please," she said with a wink and a broad smile.

"Camilla..." she said slowly, testing the sound and the feeling of it on her tongue.

"Be careful around Enchanters at a party, dear. They like to drink almost as much as the Fae," she warned. "You'll get used to it in time. For now, you can stick to the walls if you like. No one will bother you at this time in the festivities."

And with that piece of advice, Camilla was off. Aoife didn't even have a chance to get another word in before the Enchanter made her way to the other side of the room, off to talk to someone else. She swept in and out like one of the storms Tarran could create, Aoife thought.

She decided to take Camilla's advice and stick to the walls, finding a spot on the edge of the room between two decorative plants. From her spot on the wall, she could hear a group of apprentices gossiping.

"I bet he's so handsome!"

Who? She wondered.

"How would you know? Nobody's seen his face. I bet his apprentice hasn't even seen it."

Aoife fought the urge to turn her head towards the source of the chatter. It was now obvious enough who they were talking about. There was only one Enchanter who kept his face covered for all public events, and Aoife had seen that face, contrary to popular opinion.

The thought entered her mind that it was a rather nice face, but she pushed it aside.

"More magic than human, I heard," whispered one of the female apprentices.

"They say his Mark covers his entire body."

Aoife ignored them, though a trickle of annoyance crept through. She couldn't deny that all the whispering about other Enchanters was inevitable, especially when many of the apprentices here were barely sixteen and extremely curious, but it struck her as especially rude.

They were not the only ones in the room indulging in Court gossip, though. She could hear most of the Court speaking about Tarran in some way or another, but most of it was idle gossip and easily ignorable.

"He acts so high and mighty, but he never does any good at all."

Not true. She wasn't at liberty to tell them everything that Tarran was working on, anyways, so she simply decided to keep walking past that particular Enchanter.

However, she slowed not two steps past them when she heard their next comments.

"I hear he's not even a man under the hood. He's monstrous."

"Like a demon?"

Aoife stopped.

"A demon, indeed."

Aoife burned. Memories came in an unwanted onslaught of negative feelings and terrifying flashbacks.

"The demon is dead!"

"Nothing but a curse..."

"Hunt her down!"

"You will not speak of him that way!" Aoife's voice echoed throughout the hall.

The dancers stopped moving.

The musicians stared, instruments held in place.

Those who were talking went silent, and she felt all their gazes with the keen awareness of someone who has just made a very, very large spectacle of herself.

Something caught on fire in Aoife's chest, smoldering from the inside out, ready to burst at any second. The three Enchanters in that gossiping circle turned towards her with ashen faces that appeared to only become paler by the second. Her hands felt warm beneath her gloves, memories flashing in front of her more clearly than the room she was standing in.

"The Grand Enchanter is many things, but he is not a monster or a demon, and I refuse to stand here and listen to you speak-"

"Aoife, that is quite enough!" Tarran's shout came from across the room, grounding her back to reality. She blinked, looking down to find herself surrounded by a pile of dust. Frantically glancing back and forth, she realized that it wasn't just dust, but potted dust. The flowers and ferns that once stood in a decorative clump were now nothing but a memory, just ashes on her boots.

She felt her arms began to shake before she could even speak again. Rather than mumble an apology she did not mean or feel they deserved, she simply turned away from them and stalked out the far doors, the sound of her shoes against the hard floor the only noise in the room.

After leaving the room, she didn't pay much attention to where she walked until she found herself outside in the gardens, staring up at the moon. The night sky glittered with stars in a way that was almost mockingly calm, a sharp contrast to the unsettled sensation in her chest.

Aoife leaned against the stone castle wall, hoping the shock of the cool stone against her skin could shake off the heat of her temper. The cool air helped to clear her head, but the rest of her senses hadn't caught up yet. Her heart beat out an erratic dance in her chest, so furious that it felt like her entire body shook. Even breathing felt like a chore, gulps of the night air searing the back of her throat.

"You've got guts," said a voice from the shadows. Aoife looked over to see perhaps one of the last people she would have expected to see- Camilla the Dragon was walking towards her, arms crossed over her chest and a curious expression on her face.

"Is that meant to be a compliment?" Aoife asked through gritted teeth. She wasn't sure she had the emotional discipline to make it through another verbal sparring match right now, nor the magical discipline to hold off the gnawing hunger of her magic if the Enchantress tried to touch her. However, Camilla made no move to come closer, and continued talking as if Aoife hadn't spoken at all.

"I find it interesting that there were whispers about a demon apprentice all evening and you didn't bat an eye, but one word against him and you lose your temper completely."

"Are you threatening him?" Aoife hissed. "Because peace treaty be damned, I will cut you down where you stand." She hated that she wasn't sure if she was bluffing. She never wanted to kill anyone, true, but some deep, dark part of her heart whispered that if anyone were to harm the person who gave her a real chance at living, she wouldn't stop until they were ash.

Camilla outright laughed.

Her body shook as she did, peals of laughter echoing off the shadowy garden walls.

"I like guts. I like you, too," Camilla said bluntly, leaning against the wall a healthy distance away from Aoife. "But keep wearing your heart on your sleeve like that and those guts will just be easier for someone else to spill."

"Are you threatening him?" she repeated, standing up straight and leveling her darkest glare at the Dragon. A soft smile flashed across the older woman's face.

"Absolutely not. My baby brother and I might be estranged, but I would never wish for anything but his safety and happiness. I'm simply offering some advice to his protégé, since you seem to want the same thing."

"Your brother?" Aoife breathed, looking her up and down. True, she had the same pale coloring as Tarran, but Aoife had assumed it was common among the Fae rather than shared among family members.

It could also be that enjoying people with spunk was a family trait, as much as Tarran liked to make reference to Aoife forming a backbone, she thought wryly.

"Trust me, darling; once you see a century or two of people cowering in front of you, a fire like yours is refreshing," Camilla said, a smug smile spreading across her face.

"Wha-" Aoife's eyes went wide. "How long have you been doing that?"

"Oh, that's a new one! Most people ask if I can really read minds, not how long I've been listening in. Smart," she said, nodding thoughtfully. "I don't do it often- feels invasive for all parties involved- but I wanted to get a read on you."

"And?" Aoife felt a strong blush creeping up her cheeks, overheated against the night air. Camilla leaned in close, whispering conspiratorially.

"I think you might be just what he needs. Don't tell him I said that, though," she said quietly. She pulled away with a wink before turning out to face the darkness of the rest of the garden. "You can come out, darling, the girl talk is over," she said to the air.

A tall shadow peeled away from one of the trees, taking the form of a scowling, hooded figure. Camilla brushed past him with a pat on the shoulder before leaving the garden and making her way back to the festivities inside. She didn't even turn back to say goodbye, sweeping off like a shadow in the night.

"Luckily, I think they're all too intoxicated to remember most of that," Tarran said tersely. "Except the flowers. It's hard to ignore plants actually turning to dust in front of your eyes."

"I didn't know I could do that."

"Neither did I."

No one spoke for a long moment, the only sounds the crickets and the rustling leaves. Aoife felt more grounded now, though her skin still felt overheated and she welcomed the breeze passing by. She shifted and heard a crunching noise at her feet, groaning when she saw a patch of dry dust where green grass had once been present. Clearly, that was a problem they would need to deal with at another time.

She carefully stepped from grassy patch back onto the cobblestone path, seeking out a bench near the back edge of the garden. At least everything was stone within the immediate vicinity, so there probably wasn't any more danger of wilting something... she hoped. Heaving a deep sigh, Aoife plopped down on the bench, but Tarran remained standing.

"Remind me why I ever thought you were quiet?" he asked, likely rolling his eyes under the cloak. Aoife wished he would take off his hood so she could get a good look at his expression, but he wouldn't remove it here.

"Because you met me in the middle of a very, very dark place."

"I trust I don't need to tell you everything that was wrong with that?" The tension rolled off him in waves, barely restrained under the façade of the cool, detached Enchanter.

"I won't do it again," Aoife said, "but I won't apologize for it."

"What on earth possessed you to do that?"

"I just... couldn't listen to it." Aoife wrapped her arms around herself, staring up at Elina's constellation as she spoke. "You treat me like a person. Not a demon. Not a helpless little girl. Not a potential weapon. Not 'oh, I'm certain you can't really kill things with a touch,' but a real person with a heart and a mind and a lot of problems. It made me angry to hear them talking about you like you weren't one."

Tarran sat down on the narrow bench beside her, close enough that she could feel the warmth from his body, and Aoife instinctively edged away.

"I don't need you to defend my already blackened reputation," he said slowly. Aoife bristled, opening her mouth to protest, but he waved her off. "Hush. You know as well as I do that it's already blackened beyond repair... though I would be remiss if I didn't say that I appreciate the sentiment."

Aoife blinked, surprised. It was as close to a grudging thanks as she would likely get from him, though she knew it pained him to admit it.

"We shouldn't go back inside together," Tarran said, standing. "Stay out here a little longer if you like. By the time you come back in there will be so much alcohol flowing that few of them will even think to mention it again."

"At least they know I could actually turn them into ash if I wanted," Aoife mused.

"Yes, but they also know you're emotionally volatile, which does not always work in our favor in situations such as this." He heaved a sigh and turned to leave, offering a few more words of wisdom before moving away. "I suggest you go back inside, act as though nothing has happened for long enough to be seen, and them make a timely retreat to your room."

Aoife made a vague humming noise, not very keen on the idea of going back inside at all. Tarran seemed to take this as resignation, and moved back towards the ballroom, a silent shadow in the cool night.

Corin wouldn't be getting that dance after all, it seemed.