After checking on Elena and Arina's conditions, who both turned out to be fine, they would joined us in our little dinner as well. So we spent some time preparing ourselves separately, before going out to the occasion.
----
In the middle of the night, at the middle of Venetia city, under the light of the shining twin moons and starry night skies.
We four were having an open-air dinner high up on the terrace of the Riverside Palace.
On the walnut table and chairs, with golden candlesticks glowing in the middle of the table, ornate silverware was placed alongside fine handkerchiefs on the four sides of the table, one set for each of us.
-
At the head of the table sat Valeria, her mere presence bending the atmosphere toward her without effort.
She wore a gown of midnight black silk layered over a purple underdress, so that when she moved, hints of potent Shiraz wine whispered beneath the darkness.
Gold embroidery curled across the bodice and sleeves, delicate but unmistakably expensive. As the black fabric absorbs light and returns it only in whispers.
Her half-mask remained in place, intricate ivory catching the moonlight.
One amber eye reflected the candle flame, while the other was hidden behind the artful mystery of the mask's shadow, as her long blonde hair fell over one shoulder, luminous against the black fabric.
She sat straight-backed, legs crossed at the ankle, a wine glass poised as if it were part of her silhouette.
-
At the right side of the table sat Elena, who, despite participating in the dinner, did not entirely abandon her martial nature, even at such an occasion.
She wore a crimson dress of heavy wool-silk blend, tailored to allow ease of movement. The cut was simple compared to Valeria's but elegant in its confidence, with a fitted bodice, long sleeves, and a skirt that fell sturdy and strong rather than flowing extravagantly.
The red of her attire mirrored the vivid scarlet of her hair, which tonight was loosely braided and draped over one shoulder, its color glowing almost defiantly beneath the twin moons.
The faint scars along the edge of her complexion remained visible; she did not powder them away.
At her hip rested a fruit-peeling dagger, practical yet polished. She leaned slightly back in her chair, posture relaxed but alert, as if the terrace could turn into a battlefield at any moment.
Candlelight caught in her ruby-tinged eyes, giving her an almost predatory shimmer.
-
At the left side of the table sat Arina, who wore a courtly gown of frost-blue silk.
The bodice was delicately embroidered with silver thread in floral and snowflake patterns inspired by northern Slavic designs, intricate but gentle. Her skirt fell in layered folds, light enough to sway with the breeze.
Around her shoulders rested a white fox fur scarf, pristine and luminous against the blue fabric. It softened her silhouette, framing her fair face with a touch of warmth amid the cool tones, as her short ginger hair swirling gently in the wind.
She looked almost too gentle for the conversation that brewed at the table, yet her posture remained upright, hands folded neatly when not lifting her glass, her emerald green eyes twinkling like those of a small, cute animal.
-
And lastly, at the foot of the table, sat me.
I dressed in my usual outfit, the same suit, the same cloak, my sapphire eyes gazing lazily outward, stunned by their beauty and their efforts to look so.
-
Thus, the dinner began as the palace's butler started serving the hors d'oeuvre.
----
A silver platter shimmered in the candlelight, laid with delicate cicchetti.
Golden crostini topped with whipped ricotta and salt cod, folds of prosciutto beside shards of aged cheese, bright skewers of mozzarella and basil, glossy olives, and tender bites of lemon-brushed octopus.
It was less a meal than a quiet display of Venetia's wealth and taste.
"Thank you for treating me, Lady Valeria," I said with a smile, cleaning my hands with a handkerchief.
"Oh please, just Valeria, my friend. No need for honorifics," she replied, lifting an olive and biting into it gently.
As we talked, Elena and Arina were locked in some kind of silent staring contest. They sat with hands folded, eyes fixed on one another, bodies perfectly still, yet filling the terrace with palpable tension.
Elena wore a look of displeasure.Arina's expression carried a clear hint of anger.
I was about to speak when Valeria beat me to it.
"Did my hors d'oeuvre not suit your taste, girls?" she asked with a grin.
Both of them shook their heads.
"Then why are you acting like my late, grumpy grandmothers? It rather ruins the mood."
She glanced from Elena to Arina, amused.
"This woman killed my family. May I take her to face justice, Lady Valeria?" Arina asked, turning toward Valeria and bowing deeply.
The sight startled me.
Arina was a marquise, a high-ranking noble. For her to bow that deeply meant only one thing.
Valeria held "that much" power.
"Nope. I grant that decision to Mister Victor over there," Valeria said nonchalantly, passing judgment to me with a wink, her fingers already reaching for another olive.
Elena and Arina shifted their focus to me instantly.
Arina looked at me with eyes almost pleading like a puppy as if to ask "Could I execute this bitch? Pretty please?"
Elena, on the other hand, met my gaze with calm confidence, a faint warm smile playing at her lips, as if she already knew my answer.
"Lady Arina… I'm sorry, but I cannot allow it. She is my sister-in-arms," I said firmly.
"Very well. Just because it is you, darling, I will not push my luck further," Arina replied. Yet her side-eye still drifted toward Elena begrudgingly.
I was perplexed. I hadn't expected her to accept my refusal so easily. I wondered what her reason was.
Elena turned to me.
"Thank you, my lord," she said, smiling cheerfully at my decision.
And thus our dinner continued, the tension settling but not disappearing, as a butler stepped forward to serve the first proper course:
Risotto al Nero con Gamberi Reali, black squid ink risotto crowned with royal shrimp, its glossy surface reflecting candlelight like liquid night.
Thus, the dinner stretched on, more courses arrived and the wine flowed generously.
At some point, a big almost gigantic clear glass bottle appeared beside Arina's place setting, a Vodka, which she had somehow brought with her up here without anyone noticing.
The candles burned lower as time flown and we have some leisure small talks about weather, food and drinks here and there.
Gradually, almost imperceptibly, the focus of our conversation drifted away from small talks toward my battle against goblin.
Then the air begin to shift.
And finally, the real subject of this diner comes up.
Politics.