This really isn’t my idea of a party.

When people started throwing around the word banquet, I got my hopes up. I should have known better than to expect anything from this dour place. Honestly, I feel stupid. As if they’re going to have music and dancing. I doubt they’d waste the wood to make a lyre let alone allow someone to practice it. There are no fanciful decorations, which is probably a blessing as they consider stuffed corpses fashionable. No performers, ridiculously expensive finery, or dramatics.

The only change from dinner any other night is the number of people at the long dining table. A bunch of old men have taken up almost all the empty seats. Sigh. That’s ungenerous to them. We have quite a distinguished group and even a few pretty faces. The female commanders are as common as the males. Interesting. Power is the great equalizer but tradition is a stubborn bastard. It’s a rare sight to see daughters running anything in the capital. I suppose Victory has moved beyond that practice.

A few interesting faces make up for the lack of pomp. Seated next to the duke, even before Eleanor, is a woman that looks incredibly similar to him, down to his perfectly blank expression. Alana’s explanation of her family leaves me to believe this is Aunt Anastasia, the duke’s elder sister and the current head of the Order of the Waning Stars.

She’s as cold as her brother, if not colder. It’s not hard to imagine why. The left side of her face is covered by a black half-mask, held in place by a diagonal strap that goes over her eye. Alana tells me that Victory has some of the best healers in the kingdom. That says something about the extent of her injuries if she still has to wear that mask.

Another interesting character is the man sitting beside the bunny. I’ve heard many things about the man known as the Northern Devil. Except his name. No one has ever mentioned his name, which seems to be purposeful. I’ve known people who’ve done worse things to cultivate a reputation.

He’s not what I imagined when I thought of Yulia’s partner. Somehow, despite all the rumors that make him out to be a beast, I could only imagine a prince-like man with the woman with beauty worthy of a princess. The Devil isn’t an ugly man, speaking objectively, but he wouldn’t turn heads on the streets of the capital. He is rather plain, being of average height and looks. His body is strong, his arms straining the fabric of his shirt, with short, dark hair that has been teased into standing up, like a small sea of thorns. I say teased into that shape because I refuse to believe that is natural.

The most remarkable thing about the man is his eyes. The black irises are unique enough but they are also in a permanent squint, it seems. It gives the impression that he is always glaring. No wonder he has the reputation he does. I can see people misconstruing a lot of his words from his looks, dragging him into a lot of fights. It’s the kind of life that creates a Devil, especially in a place like Victory.

There are two more interesting faces, because of how unexpected they are. Though thinking of it, it’s not that surprising. Alana did mention that Sir Pucky was a friend of her father’s. Lancecain, the heroic looking young man I met while escorting Cloud out of Victory, shares his last name so they must be close. It makes sense that they can claim two seats at the duke’s table.

As usual, an oppressive silence hangs over the table as the first course is brought out. The duke is the first to break it. “The ancestors are always with us but they are closest on the eve of battle. Once more, we march against the north’s enemies. Always, we march for Victory. Fight well. If it is your time to meet the ancestors, make sure you can speak on your last moments with pride.”

He ends his speech by spooning a bit of his soup, which is the cue for the rest of us to eat. Some do it with more gusto than others. A man with a head full of silver hair picks his bowl up and slurps it down loudly.

“Disgusting.” Anastasia has a voice as cold as her ice blue eye. She spears the man with a glare. “You’ve been invited to the duke’s table. The least you can do is show decent manners.”

“Pah!” The man is unaffected by her reproach. “I’m seeking death with this campaign.” He certainly is a little old to be fighting a war. Despite that, his words sound almost cheerful. “How about you forgive me this one time? It’s my dying wish.”

“You’ve been making dying wishes for four years, Thomas,” the Devil grouches. His deep voice doesn’t match his stature. “A dog has more shame.”

“Darling.” Yulia places a hand on his arm and flashes a big smile his way. He visibly melts. “This is a banquet. It’s fine if he relaxes a little, isn’t it?”

“Whatever you say, snowflake.” His voice is soft and doting. I try not to stare as they share a brief kiss, the Devil settling in his seat with a satisfied smile after. Here I thought my lovers had me whipped. This bastard is completely beholden to the little bunny and seems very happy about it.

“You should listen to your wife more,” the old man says. “Perhaps some of her good reputation will rub off on you.”

“Perhaps her husband will rub off on her,” Anastasia counters. Her glare moves to the eldest James daughter. Yulia doesn’t shrug it off, hanging her head under the pressure exerted by the older woman. “One campaign is a disgrace.”

Yulia winces but holds her tongue. It’s her mother that comes to her defense.

“One is enough. She has chosen her path. A mother contributes to Victory the same as a warrior.”

“Yes. The next generation of the James. Or the Jamesuns. Unless my brother has made a decision about his successor?”

While everyone turns to the duke, I lean toward Alana. “Jamesuns?”

“The James that aren’t the main family,” Alana mutters. “According to tradition, they aren’t allowed to use the James name and none of their children may inherit the name.”

I pull back, chewing on that knowledge. It’s nothing strange. Many noble families have similar traditions. This one isn’t even the harshest. I’ve heard of families where all the branch families’ children are forcefully sterilized. Some are just killed. Asking them to take another name is pretty tame in my opinion.

“Don’t start,” Eleanor chides.

“I see you aren’t excited to hear my evaluation of your children,” Anastasia mocks. I think it’s clear the two of them don’t get along. “Very well.” I stiffen as her eyes move to Alana. “What about the youngest? Is this your first and only campaign?”

Alana handles the attention much better than her sister. She meets her aunt’s gaze without flinching. “No.”

For the first time, her aunt’s severe expression softens. The tiniest amount. I think. “Good. You made me wonder. I would have thought you’d have joined the Stars by now. I was prepared to make an exception for your studies.”

“I am learning plenty from my current teachers.”

“I’m sure the Grand Hall can provide adequate instruction. It might be better this way. No unnecessary agendas involved.” I follow her gaze to Sir Pucky, who looks almost as uncomfortable under her glare as Yulia did. “What’s the matter, Polluck? You’re normally so eager to run your mouth in front of my brother. Nothing to say?”

The knight clears his throat. “I was simply enjoying the fine food, Dame Jamesun.”

“Oh? Not worried that the youngest will set her bannerwoman on you for presuming to wed her off to your stud?”

I freeze. Ah, I feel like a bit of an idiot. Lancecain, a young light caster and the heir to the only other light caster in Victory. What better match could there be? Two light casters are great. The only thing better is a whole family of them.

Affinities are passed down through the blood. Having two parents with it significantly increases the chances of the children having it. And even if they didn’t, that much talent is sure to give rise to impressive casters. Maybe even another Mr. Talented.

I give Alana a look. She looks nervous. That is all the confirmation I need. Her hand on my knee stops me from immediately reacting. An unnecessary precaution. I haven’t settled on an emotion to react to.

Pucky laughs, slightly nervously. “You misunderstand. I simply extolled on the virtues of my apprentice, like any proud master. I am also aware of the virtues of Lady Alana. My words were just the meddling of an old man wishing the best for two outstanding talents.”

“You presume to know what’s best for my niece then.” Anastasia scoffs. “What about you, Lancecain? Planning on proposing soon?”

The young man suffers her attention with grace. “Alana and I are friends. I have far too few achievements to worry about getting married. Though any man who takes her hand will be lucky indeed.”

He turns toward her and smiles. I grit my teeth. Alana’s grip on my knee tightens.

“You will not marry my daughter.”

The whole table looks toward the duke, most with shock. Kalise laughs. “What’s this? Are you feeling protective of the youngest? I thought you approved of the match.”

He only looks to Alana…and nods. She flushes and moves her hand from my knee, looking bashful.

“Oh, I get it.” Kalise looks at Alana, then to me, and smiles wider. “Eh, not every tree needs to bear fruit, I guess.”

“You underestimate what a strong will can accomplish,” Kierra says.

“No…really?” She seems inordinately excited. “That’s impossible. Isn’t it? But you do have a pure affinity. Be honest with me, elf.”

“I am capable of many things. My Lou, more.”

“Can we change the discussion?” Alana asks quickly. “We have all the commanders of the campaign gathered. Perhaps we should be discussing strategy or past battles. Anything else, really.”

The old man with no table matters laughs uproariously. “Hah! We’ve been talking nothing but war for the last few weeks and it’ll be all we focus on for the next several weeks. Banquets are when we forget the fighting, mostly by embarrassing each other, gahaha!”

“The old man has a point,” the Devil says. “So? Who screwed you ahead of sunny boy over there?”

“Darling!”

“Sorry, snowflake. Who wooed you with poetry and pretty flowers?”

“Why don’t you ask your wife?” Zach says after setting down his cup. His face has a flush to it. Eh? The servants haven’t even come around for refills. Don’t tell me he can’t handle his drink? “Ancestors know she has ears everywhere. And it’s not a secret.”

“Alana’s romantic pursuits are her business,” Yulia says, followed by what I think is meant to be a reassuring nod.

One Alana is not reassured by given her scowl. “Apparently it isn’t. Fine. Since everyone is so interested…” She turns to me. Are you asking for permission? I grin enthusiastically. Flushed face ruining her stoic expression, she turns back to the table full of old fighters getting excited over bedroom gossip. “It’s Lou. My bannerwoman. She’s the only one I want to marry and it won’t get in the way of having children if that’s what we want to do, later.”

I can’t stop myself from shooting a smug look toward the husband that would have been. Lancecain smiles and offers me a heartfelt, “Congratulations.” It feels disgusting. I completely understand what Alana means when she says he makes her uncomfortable. Such blatant goodwill is unsettling.