We shifted into small talk after that, the kind that often happens when neither party wants to commit too deeply to the conversation. We discussed the decor—ostentatious—and the array of food, which I noted was as extensive as it was carefully curated. 
Not to pat myself on the back or anything.
She seemed relieved by the neutral topics, though there was still an edge of nervousness in her behaviour.
Then, a small pause settled between us. I noticed that she wasn't quite meeting my eyes, her gaze flickering to the side as though avoiding something. 
Before I could point it out, she spoke again, stammering slightly.
"How... how are you enjoying the gala so far?" she asked. Her words came out in a rush, and she followed them quickly with, "I'm sorry for dragging you away from everyone. I'm sure you wanted to speak with them."
Her expression was a mixture of apology and embarrassment, her cheeks faintly flushed.
I couldn't help but think that I'd been asked that question at least ten times already tonight. 
It seemed to be the universal fallback for people unsure of what to say.
Wait...
Did this mean all these nobles were socially inept like me?
Outwardly, I waved off her apology. "It's fine. I'd rather talk to someone I already know than try to make friends who might not even like me."
Her lips curled into a small smile, and I caught a faint flash of purple in her eyes. 
It was brief but noticeable, and I filed it away as something to consider later.
"I didn't find some of their comments to be in good taste," Frieda said after a moment, her tone quieter. She was referring to the nobles' earlier remarks about me, particularly the one about my appearance. "I hope their words didn't bother you."
"Not at all. The only trouble I've encountered so far," I said, trying to keep the topic light, "is you dragging me away from the apple tarts."
Her cheeks flushed a deeper shade of pink, and she brought a hand to her mouth to stifle a laugh. "Then I suppose I owe you an apology for that as well," she said, still smiling. "Should I take you back?"
"If you're offering," I replied, gesturing for her to lead the way.
As we made our way back toward the main ballroom, the conversation shifted back to lighter topics. She asked about my impressions of the palace, and I noted its impressive architecture without overplaying my response. I asked about her preferences for these kinds of events, and she admitted she found them overwhelming but necessary.
By the time we returned, the sound of the ballroom's lively chatter reached us once more. Frieda glanced at me briefly. 
"Thank you," she said softly, though she didn't elaborate.
What is there to thank me for?






─── 






Darius Zackly stood at the center of attention. 
From my position a few steps away, I could see him holding a small plate, a slice of pie perched neatly on it. Every so often, he gestured with his fork as he spoke to the cluster of high-ranking military officials and nobles surrounding him.
"I must say," Zackly began, a wry smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, "if the Military Police's funding keeps inflating like this, I might start to suspect they've annexed the royal treasury."