Chapter 1: A Fateful Meeting

Lothiriel was bored. She was already halfway through her second flute of sparkling cider and nothing exciting had happened. She had made the rounds earlier: like a dutiful daughter, she had greeted her father's friends politely and exchanged some dull bits of gossip with a few acquaintances who had seemed just as bored as she was. They were probably waiting for the same thing, after all. Now she was standing by herself in an unobtrusive corner of the room, nursing her cider and wishing it was real champagne instead. It wasn't all that bad, though, and she contemplated getting a third one before deciding against it. She would have to visit the ladies' room, and there was sure to be a line.

Lothiriel reminded herself that she needed to stay present and alert. After all, she was here for a purpose, whether she liked it or not. Why else would she have turned up at one of her father's many dull, if extravagant parties when she had been making up excuses to get out of them since she was fifteen? And she was in stilettos, no less. Paired with a midnight blue cocktail dress with a plunging neckline, she had to admit that she looked much more presentable than her usual self, clad in chunky sweaters and jeans. She had even taken it upon herself to put on some eyeshadow and mascara. For the last five years her aunt had been adamant about her wearing makeup at all times, but she had always despised the hassle. Once she had escaped to the refuge of college, she had rejoiced being beyond Aunt Ivriniel's reach by quickly falling out of the habit. It was only during the inescapable family gatherings and holiday parties that she was forced to play the role given to her.

Like now, except that it wasn't Aunt Ivriniel this time who had insisted for her to come. She glared at the culprit responsible for her discomfort, her brother Amrothos. He had been standing across the room for the past half hour, chatting up some blonde beauty. As if sensing her gaze, he looked up at that moment and caught her eye. Lothiriel had to admit he looked dapper enough in a dark, well-tailored suit with a matching tie. His unruly black-brown hair was as untameable as always, but no doubt he had made no effort to control it. It was his pride and joy, despite his parents' disapproval and his siblings' sarcastic remarks. Amrothos gave her a cheeky lopsided grin and winked before turning back to the blonde. Lothiriel rolled her eyes at him, though she doubted he noticed. Although he was irritating at times, she would much rather have been sharing a bottle of wine with him and a few friends in his spacious luxury apartment across the river. There was nothing like getting pleasantly tipsy at his place while arguing about art or poetry or feminism. All of which she enjoyed thoroughly. It made her feel bohemian and grown up, as if she was a starving artist struggling to survive in the greatest city in the world rather than the sheltered daughter of an established business tycoon.

If it hadn't been for Amrothos' pleas, she certainly wouldn't be here at all tonight. Though she had to admit, her reluctance had been tempered by some curiosity. What was so special about this man, that he should merit such admiring talk from her father and serious eldest brother Elphir? Even Erchirion, who claimed to not care about the family business, had seemed taken with him. Only Amrothos had seemed a little wary of the stranger and had recruited her help to scout him out. She shrugged to herself. The mysterious man was sure to be another grasping businessman, the likes of which had increasingly visited their house and attended their parties in recent years. Unusually skilled, perhaps, but they all hid the same burning greed underneath smiling masks. Amrothos had better give her proper thanks later, she decided as she took a decided swig of cider. Perhaps she could wheedle him into buying her some of the good stuff, a bottle of Dom Perignon. Or absinthe. She had never tried it, but it sounded exotic and luxurious to her. Lothiriel sighed. It was only a few weeks until she turned twenty one, but it seemed like forever. Things would have been so much simpler if only she had been born in Europe, or anywhere else in the world that didn't have America's unreasonable attitude towards alcohol for that matter. But it was too late now, and anyway she could always count on at least one of her brothers to relent and help out a deserving sister in need of a drink.

She was distracted by her thoughts when she spotted a blonde stranger making an entrance through the grand double doors of the rented ballroom. The hair was the first thing she noticed; luscious, dark golden waves that swung past the shoulders, secured loosely with a cord. It would have been striking on anyone, but it was especially noticeable when paired with the strong jaw, straight dark eyebrows, and piercing blue gaze of its owner. He looked every inch the dominating and sometimes ruthless businessman he had shown himself to be. The nearby females, as well as quite a few males, were already turning their heads and erupting into excited chatter. Lothiriel really smiled for the first time that night. Target acquired. She began weaving her way through the scattered groups of guests into the heart of the hubbub surrounding Eomer Eomundsson.

"I'm very pleased to meet you at last, Mr. Eomundsson." Feigning delight while managing not to gush, Lothiriel looked up at him innocently through her long, thick eyelashes. As she did so, she gave herself a mental pat on the back for having the foresight to put on extensions, pain in the neck though they were. Things were going well so far. By mentioning her father's name, she had managed to lure the prey into a relatively secluded alcove on the balcony outside. There were tactical advantages to the position. Apart from making it hard to others to spy on them without seeming intrusive, the warm glow from the low-lit lamps here was more flattering than the bright overhead chandeliers in the center of the ballroom. What was even better, a thoughtful waiter had left a few trays of champagne flutes on a nearby table, untouched and still bubbly in the cool night breeze. That will definitely come in handy later, Lothiriel thought to herself. But first she had to finish up introductions. She extended her hand, expecting a firm shake. Instead, she was caught by surprise when the man bent over at the waist and kissed her hand lightly. When he looked up, she was surprised at the intensity of those stormy, dark blue eyes.

"It's a pleasure. Please, call me Eomer." He responded in that deep voice of his, tinged by a slight British accent. Maybe that was what made her cheeks warm slightly, or was it perhaps the spicy scent of cologne that wafted over to her at that moment? Both were rather alluring, she had to admit. Her temperature rose another few degrees when he flashed her a devastating smile, all white teeth and debonair charm. She had to mentally slap herself at that thought. Debonair? What was she, a flapper girl from the 20s? So she had underestimated her opponent, imagining him in her mind to be some arrogant, aging man who could be soothed by a few well-placed compliments. The reality was startlingly different. The man before her couldn't be more than thirty and was probably closer to her own age than that. Moreover, he was much too attractive. She was starting to realize that her cursory glance through his Wikipedia page had not been enough preparation for this fight. Her opponent was experienced, but Lothiriel didn't let that faze her. She too had played this game before, and she wouldn't be defeated so easily. Going over to the champagne, she gingerly picked up two glasses by the stems and brought them back. She offered one to Eomer with what she hoped was a winning smile. It seemed to work, since he took it and smiled back at her in that disarming way. Damn him! Lothiriel was more determined than ever to best this man. She threw her hair back haughtily, causing ripples to form in the silky black curtain that fell down her back.

"A toast to our meeting. It must have been fate." Without hesitation, she tilted her head back and downed the champagne in one gulp. It was delicious and crisp, far better than the kinds she had sampled in the past. She almost regretted not having the chance to savor it. Lothiriel raised her eyes from her empty glass to face her fair opponent. A challenge. Let's see how he responds. Eomer Eomundsson was grinning, this time with a mischevious air. Then, almost as quickly as Lothiriel had done, he raised the glass to his lips and drank it up. Lothiriel was peeved for a moment. At least I get to have more champagne, she thought. At that, she felt herself relax a little...

Quite a few drinks later, she thought to herself that the Eomer guy wasn't so bad after all, and the rest of the evening passed in a blur…