The Pale Star

## **12 Laphone, 7421 AC**

*It's my night.*

*It's all for me.*

These thoughts continuously race through Gwendolyn's head as she sits in a finely decorated room, situated above the grand ballroom. Even from there she could hear the chattering of the guests, the music streaming up the stairway. The famed Siraj Orchestra was here tonight, she was told. It was led by Adler Vogel, a retired conductor that her father managed to bring back for the night. Gwendolyn remembered being ecstatic at the news.

A light knock at the door broke her from her thoughts.

"Gwendolyn? It's time."

Gwendolyn rushed to the door, nearly tripping over her dress before she managed to compose herself. With a deep breath and a smile, she opened it. Standing before her was her father, dressed in a finely tailored suit. Smiling with only a hint of nervousness, Erich offered his arm.

"Papa, is it true Sathos Raustin is going to be here tonight?"

"It is. The Elyde Senate is very interested in tonight's event. There hasn't been a formal introduction of a Lady into society since King Rodric's time. You should feel honored."

"*Of course* I am, Papa. It's just...that also means there will be orcs here, right?"

Gwendolyn pouts at the thought. She had never been comfortable around the Rorgh, and had heard rumors of their increasing aggressiveness. The last thing she wanted was for her night to be ruined. The two walked down the hallway, toward the grand staircase.

"It does. But just ignore them, okay? They aren't here to bother us, just to watch out for Mr. Raustin. Now, you must remember to mingle. Don't just focus in on that Westmonte boy you've been crushing on."

Gwendolyn immediately blushes red, though her father ignores it as he presses on.

"And above all, have fun. It's your night."

Erich turns to look at his daughter, beaming with pride.

"You look beautiful tonight. I'm sure your mother would say the same, if she could be here. Are you ready?"

"I...yes."

The two walk out of the hallway, and to the top of the stairs.

*It’s my night.*

Gwendolyn scans the ballroom below, trying to find a familiar face in the crowd of what seems like hundreds, though it seems to be mostly people her father’s age. An older man near the bottom of the stairs, who Gwen recognizes as the owner of the ballroom, begins to glow purple. At the sight of this, a wave of silence washes over the crowd, until even the music has stopped. The voice booms out across the room, echoing against the walls.

“Ladies and Gentlemen of Siraj, and Deputy Judge Sathos Raustin, it is with my utmost pleasure tonight to introduce the heiress to the Oberle estate, daughter of Lord Erich Oberle, Lady Gwendolyn Oberle.”

A polite round of applause began as Gwendolyn and her father
walk down the stairs, and immediately a crowd forms at the bottom. And just as immediately, the whispers began.

“I can’t believe they’re rubbing their titles in our faces…”

“Did you hear what he had to do to keep them?”

“That dress is so *beautiful.*”

“I heard it was custom made by Angeline Beaufort. You just *know* it cost hundreds of gold with her name attached to it.”

“It must be nice to have that kind of money…”

The whispers stopped as Gwendolyn reached the bottom of the stairs, and she was met with smiles and kind words. But she knew the truth, she always had. This social game was her life now; bored aristocrats who would lie to your face and backstab you at a moments notice for just the slightest bit of gossip.

She met them with a smile of her own.

“Thank you all so much for coming. It truly means the world
to me.”

The music began once more.

Gwendolyn was exhausted. It had only been a few hours, but the night had felt like an eternity. She never expected just talking to people could be so tiring. Her face ached from all the smiling she had been doing, and she dreamed of slipping away to feel the cold winter’s night air. But she knew the night was nowhere near over.

And as if almost on cue, the crowd was silenced. This time, however, her father spoke.

“It’s an honor to have you all here, to celebrate this night with us,” Erich says, voice embolden by magic of the nearby mage.

“Eighteen years ago today, the Maker blessed my wife and I with this bundle of joy. Never in my wildest dreams could I have imagined how happy she has made us.”

As Gwendolyn’s father speaks, two dozen butlers holding trays begin roaming the ballroom, ushering the guests into small groups and handing out a single glass to each of them, while carrying a rather large bottle.

“When Gwendolyn was a little girl, I used to take her riding at night, into the forests west of Hadleigh,” Erich says, a wistful look on his face. “There, in a small clearing, we’d spend the night gazing up at the stars. Little Gwen was *fascinated* by them. And, I think, a little jealous. I always used to say, when she was feeling down, ‘Gwendolyn, you are *my* little star. And one day, you’ll shine brighter than the all the stars in the night sky.’”

A butler brings over an elegant bottle, similar to what the others were holding yet more ornate, and Erich beckons Gwendolyn over.

“I think I can safely say that tonight is that night. You are radiant, my little star. And it is with great love that I present to you my finest, and final, work. An unrivaled masterpiece, dare I say, for decades to come. A unique sparkling wine, *blanc de noir,* aged for five years in oak. I call it *Pale Star.* Enjoy.”

Each butler pops their cork, and with a sound reminiscent of a gun shot, begins fizzing over. The crowd erupts in applause as the butlers pour the bubbly, silver liquid, and Erich hands over the bottle to Gwendolyn. The music, and the party, starts again.

“In a couple days I’d like to start getting you up to speed
on our business. It’d be nice to be able to leave the winery in your hands. But for now, go enjoy the rest of your party. I believe the guests are tipsy enough now that they won’t notice you aren’t obliging them in small talk.”

Gwendolyn’s face lights up, and before she can even think to thank her father she disappears into the crowd. Along the way, she finds a butler and hands off the bottle to him, requesting it brought up to her room. Finally, she spots Arlan, talking to his father by a nearby refreshment table. She composes herself quickly and rushes over.

“Mr. Westmonte, Arlan, good evening. I’m so glad you both could make it.”

“Gwendolyn, happy birthday. You look absolutely stunning tonight. Doesn’t she, Arlan?”

“She does – I mean, you do, Gwendolyn,” Arlan stutters out, caught off guard. “Would you care to dance?”

“I’d love to.”

The two danced into the night, the hours feeling like seconds.

## **13 Laphone, 7421 AC**

Gwendolyn stood on the balcony, sobering up in the cold winter air as she overlooked the road below. The last of the guests were waiting on their carriage home, and while it had only been just short of half an hour since Arlan left, it had felt like a lifetime.

She placed a finger to her lips, blushing fiercely as she remembered their kiss. Gwendolyn could almost feel her heart skip a beat again at the thought. She knew it was wrong, what they did; but then why did it feel so right?

*Marriage?*

She could still hardly believe the talk they had. Arlan mentioned his father’s plans of uniting the two families. Her own father would never have mentioned it until it was finalized, but oh, how she hopes it to be true.

With a final, content sigh Gwendolyn wraps the coat she borrowed from Arlan close around her, and walks back inside. Her head was pounding from that bubbly concoction her father had made for her, and she felt positively sick now that the rush of such a scandalous kiss was dying down.

*I’m sure Papa must have something that can help.*

With that thought in mind, she made her way to her father’s private room; a perk of renting out the ballroom so often, she thinks. Quietly knocking on the door, she opens it a crack.

“Papa? Are you there?”

Met with nothing but silence, Gwendolyn steps inside, and reaches for a nearby candle and match to illuminate the room. Walking quietly to the bathroom, she searches through the drawers until she finds a few mild painkillers, and crushes them into a glass of water she quickly drinks. Turning to leave, she pauses at the door, and looks curiously at the door to her father’s office.

*Maybe he’s kept letters from Mr. Westmonte about what Arlan was saying,* she thought excitedly.

Gwendolyn figured that no matter what, her father wouldn’t be gone for long, and this might be her only chance to learn more. Hurriedly, she moved to the door of the office, only to find it quite obviously locked. Letting out an exasperated sigh at her plan being so quickly ruined, she slumped against the door. At this point, Gwendolyn wanted nothing more than to let her hair down, change, and go to sleep, but the disappointment of not finding the truth left her drained.

But with that thought, her eyes went wide.

*Of course!*

Gwendolyn set the candle on the floor next to the door, and set about undoing the extravagant updo she was wearing, until she had an assortment of hair pins in her hand.

It had been years since she last tried this, but at this point she was near desperation. Gwendolyn quickly set about attempting to pick the lock.

And, after what felt like an hour, she was successful; the door creaked open.

Giddily, she grabbed the candle from the floor and made her way inside to his desk, sitting in his giant leather chair. There were so many places to look, but she had such little time. Where should she even begin?

The first drawer was a bust; it contained written receipts from years of business that no matter how much she looked through wouldn’t contain the information she wanted.

The second, however, was filled with neatly filed letters. Searching, she quickly found one dated only a few weeks prior, from none other than Mr. Westmonte himself.

*Erich Oberle,*

*I’m glad to hear you and your family is doing well. It’s been too long since we last met, and I do believe I owe you a drink for last time. We surely must meet soon to discuss the arrangements. My son, Arlan, has been quite beside himself when the topic was first brought up; he seems decidedly enraptured with your daughter. It would be my absolute honor to help in uniting our families for the betterment of us all.*

*I would have no trouble traveling to Siraj if you do not have business in Glenhaven at this time, and of course Arlan and I will be at young Gwendolyn’s party. Perhaps then we can discuss this? Until then*

*Rolan Westmonte*

It took Gwendolyn three times before the words finally sunk in.

*It was true! Oh, blessed Maker, it was true.*

It took everything she had not to dance around her father’s room in joy. Reaching into the drawer to return the letter, she noticed another at a similar date. Curious if it held more information, she pulled it out and began reading.

*Mr. Oberle,*

*Once more, you have upset the Grand Judge by being late with your taxes. I doubt I need to remind you of what will happen if you do not pay up, and soon. This will be your final warning.*

It was signed by a name Gwendolyn couldn’t make out, though it had the stamp of the Elyde Senate. She suddenly felt even sicker than before, but something told her to keep looking.

She found dozen more letters from over the years, each signed by different members of the Senate, all detailing taxes or bribes, or…

She gasped. *Slavery?*

*Mr. Oberle,*

*I’m sure you have heard of the recent uprising of dissident cult activities. The Rorgh have recently captured a few of this so called Lyriad, and after gathering what little information they possessed, have no more need of them. However, due to your last shipment being late, we have decided that you’re in need of extra help. We will be sending these prisoners to your vineyard, along with their Rorgh handler. You will show them what is need to be done, and then stay out of the way of the orcs. Remember, they committed treason.*

*Your next shipment better be on time, or else you might find yourself in a similar position soon.*

Gwendolyn was shaking. She thought the few orcs she had seen around her home were only there for protection…how could she be so naïve?

Hurriedly, she placed all the letters she had dug out back in the drawer, and blew the candle out. She needed to leave, and fast. She felt sick, and as she stood up from the chair, nearly stumbled and fell to the ground.

*How could he?*

She raced back to her room and to her bathroom, barely in
time. All thoughts of Arlan and her birthday vanished, with the only thoughts left of how disgusted at her father she felt. Curling up on the floor, she wept until she fell asleep.