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[@Remram] Nolan

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The herald’s staff had struck the floor once, and the sound had carried farther than it should have through the glitter and music. 

[color=white]“His Grace, Duke Gideon Edwards. Her Grace, Duchess Victoria Edwards.”[/color]

The doors opened wide, and Gideon had stepped in with Victoria on his arm, neither of them rushing, neither of them pausing for the audience they were guaranteed, and neither of them [i]looking in each other's directions.[/i] His uniform was a deep navy that read nearly black beneath the chandeliers, with gold trim that ran along seams. Medals sat in rows across his chest. A cloak fell from one shoulder in a heavy sweep that moved with him instead of behind him. His face was composed, but it was not soft. There was a restraint in the set of his mouth, a weary somberness in his eyes.

Even here, even in the perfume and the music, he still carried with him the sight that had burned too long before him.

Meanwhile, his wife Victoria moved like she had been built for this and nothing else, her posture perfect, chin lifted, the kind of confidence that made people straighten their own shoulders without realizing they were doing it. Her gown was complicated as always, a blend of olive and gold that layered in sheer fabric over dense embroidery, with goldwork climbing up her bodice in intricate patterns and spreading across her skirts in tasteful artistry. The emerald stones set in gold caught light with every turn of her head, and she wore matching earrings that glinted near her jaw. A tiara sat in her hair, and her hair fell in styled waves that looked effortless only because the effort had been paid for in the time and patience of her servants’ hands. Her smile was pleasant, despite everyone knowing her personality was certainly not.

Heads had turned, conversations thinned briefly and then resumed. Bows and curtsies rippled outward as people remembered their places and remembered, too, that the Edwards were not a household to treat casually. Gideon’s gaze traveled first to the throne tableau, to the King already seated and to the princes stationed at his sides. He held his expression steady as he approached the dais, but the tension in his jaw did not ease.

At the foot of the dais he stopped and bowed, and then rose with the same grace, offering the crown the necessary deference without giving the room anything else to chew on. Victoria curtsied beside him flawlessly, hands steady on her skirts. When they moved away from the dais, they had made their way toward the food tables promptly.


[color=F0E399]"Remember your face,"[/color] Victoria had murmured to her husband, her tone sweet enough to pass for affectionate to anyone watching them from a distance. [color=F0E399]"This is a ball, Gideon. [i]Not[/i] a funeral."[/color] 

Victoria’s attention drifted quickly as the minutes passed. She peeled away into the crowd with ease, turning her smile toward other nobles and letting the room receive her exactly the way she preferred to be received. 

Gideon remained behind, watching rather than participating, until time and movement carried him back into the orbit of his adopted son. When he reached Nolan’s side, he paused to let him take in his presence and then he set his hand lightly at Nolan’s shoulder. [color=Burlywood]"I know this is not where you would choose to spend your evening,"[/color] he said softly, the warmth in his voice genuine—the kind of genuine warmth that could calm a room if he wanted it to. [color=Burlywood]"But you do not have to endure it alone."[/color]

[color=Burlywood]"If you wish to make some friends tonight, I will be here if you need me."[/color] Gideon lowered his voice further, careful that it would not carry to the nearest curious ears. [color=Burlywood]"No one corners you tonight. If anyone tries, you look to me, my dear son, and I will put a stop to it. You have my word."[/color]



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