Chapter 11: The Ball
The light blinded Petra's eyes for some lasting moments when Artem pushed the doors open - after a loud knock signaling their arrival - revealing a beautiful dining hall.
Two men stood at the foot of a long table, whispering amongst themselves, peering out of their private conversation at the intrusion.
It was immediately obvious who Vlak Dristien was.
The man that had been conversing with him nodded and left the room from the same place Petra had entered, not failing to steal a curious glance in her direction before he did so.
The Russian commander was far younger than she was expecting, perhaps in his late thirties. His light brown hair, almost spiked, gave him a youthful look. He could easily make a dupe of anyone who doubted his true age.
Vlak smiled in their direction, raising both his brows at Artem who took the tiny gesture as an automatic command, saying "Ah, of course, sir" and then continued to close the doors behind them.
"So we finally meet, Ms Ral. You may already know but I am Vlak Dristian of the Western Russian faction stationed here near Germany." The male spoke softly, as if his words were revelations to hidden secrets in of themselves. "It may not be a pleasure for you but it certainly is a pleasure for me to meet you."
Petra silently regarded him.
Vlak narrowed his eyes suddenly as he took a step towards them, cocking his head, mildly disturbed. "That. Don't tell me one of my men did that to you?" His hawk-like eyes locked on a part of her face and startled, Petra's hand went to the wound at her forehead from the night before.
"No, it was an accident from a day ago," Petra answered, recalling the events of that night all over again.
Vlak shook his head, raising a glass of what she imagined was champagne to his mouth, "My apologies you had to be in the presence of such a dangerous savage until now. You see, he isn't one of my men but he was far more experienced in this realm so I did not have much choice."
Well, your men certainly are a charm, Petra stole a glance in Artem's direction. Artem simply raised a questioning brow at her stiff expression.
"I hope he didn't trouble you at all?"
"He didn't." She stated clearly, hoping he would drop the subject of Levi already. And drop trying to act as if he is some savior. Her appetite had seemed to subside despite having been piqued at the sight of such delectable looking entrees on the table upon entering.
Vlak must have read her mind then since he obligingly waved his hand at a seat across from him at the table. "I'm glad to hear. Please. Take a seat. You must not have eaten proper food for a few days now, I imagine."
Petra thanked her luck he hadn't made her sit beside him. She inclined into her seat just as he took his, reminding herself that this man was her enemy, regardless of how he was treating her: like a valued guest.
After the sounds of silverware on plates perdured for a while, Petra's eyes hesitantly traveled over to where the commander sat. He's still in his uniform, it seems. She swallowed and began carefully, "I heard...that you recently came back from a Rostock mission."
"Ah, yes," The man took a bite from his steak, placing his fork down politely. "You must know how sticky the situation is in Germany. Your expression tells me you worry for the civilians there caught in the cross fires. As do I. Me and my men have but sole interest in securing our advantage against the border militias, nothing more."
"Then why are the people of Rostock so on edge that you are here?"
"Any people would have reason to worry when they are in a warring country and someone else invades their land, to make matters complicated." Vlak peered at his high glass of champagne, running a finger around the rim as he thought through his words. "We are, needless to say, leaving the people in that town untouched."
"Are you not of the Allied Powers? You are not exactly free of criticism seeing as how your commanding army is capturing royals for ransom, taking advantage of this mayhem in Germany."
She faintly heard an audible cough from somewhere in the room and she could only imagine it had been Artem.
Vlak, however, took her straightforwardness - albeit, direct accusation - in stride. "I work apart from the standard Soviet military. And me and my men are not trying to take advantage of what is happening in this war. Not at all. We simply have objectives that see through to our goal."
Petra placed her fork down, feeling like perhaps the meat was too much for her right now. She took a sip of her water.
"Champagne?"
"I'm fine."
"Besides, I think it beautiful to take on cultures of this town we have come to." He continued, smiling at her. "In fact tomorrow night, I'm holding a small occasion in celebration of the final day before Martinstag with the folk in my faction and Russian nobles in the area."
Petra nearly choked. "You know about that?"
"Of course. I expect to see you there, as well. If it is not too much to ask." The general wiped his mouth with a cotton napkin, glancing to a corner of the dining hall where she imagined Artem stood. "You'll see through to make sure our guest appears, yes?"
"Of course, sir." Artem's voice echoed in the air and Petra found herself cringing.
Vlak is not the type you should deny anything to.
"Is there something you would like to say, Ms Ral?" Vlak tipped his glass questioningly, elbow propped on the table.
Petra kept her eyes on her plate, consciously trying to relax her features she hadn't realized had been strained.
"Nothing at all. You can expect me there." She felt like a broken record, having expressed the same thing to the bath lady earlier about attending tonight's dinner. She felt like her freedom of choice had been stunted short without her knowing.
Vlak smiled, knowingly. "Very well, Ms Ral. I look forward to seeing you, then."
/
Petra refused to leave her bedroom that night and the morning of the next day. Even when Valeria, the bath lady, had insisted she check out the manor library - something Petra would have normally found an astounding suggestion - she had refused, instead busying herself with wiping the window ledges of her room - although there truly was nothing to be wiped - and dusting the furniture around her bed - although the room was perhaps more dust free than given credit.
"So, the ballroom the Pre-Martinstag celebration is being held in is on the first floor of this manor?" Petra asked that night, as an older lady worked on painting her cheekbone with ribbony glitter designs - a traditional practice of this night.
"Yes, ma'am, it is." The woman's accent was heavily German, allowing Petra to wonder about Vlak's true objective here at the border.
"Ah..." Petra gaped in awe at herself in the mirror, finding it almost humorous how amazed she was at her own face. Her lashes had been edged with a shimmery luster, a blood red eyeliner outlining her eyes beautifully. The glittery waves on her cheekbone made her do a double take. Is that me? It had been a good while since she had adorned herself at all, much less like this.
"You're breath taking, ma'am." The woman beside her hummed, cleaning up her space, most probably on her way to the next person she was responsible for dressing up.
"Thank you," Petra faced the woman, smiling genuinely.
It felt very wrong to her. Celebrating with whatever self-serving diplomats lay in wait, like she was okay with the side injustices they were possibly carrying out against others. But in the moment, she was happy. Maybe it was the spirit of the town. Or the spirit of these traditions that lit up a city trying to make ends meet in the midst of turmoil.
"I remember my daughter when I see you." The elder woman spoke then, lowering her voice, "I hope you do not meet with any trouble. I hope you are saved seeing the ugly in this war and in your position."
The woman then walked out the room with her basket of materials, leaving Petra staring at the door, words caught in her throat.
/
The ballroom was almost as breath taking as the audience inside it. Sophisticated looking men and women all filled the space, also having painted their faces uniquely - some over the mouth, others adorning a design over their jawline. The men, she noticed in a startle, all wore glittering eye masks. She wondered why only the men wore them but didn't have much time to ponder as she instantly recognized the Russian commander standing at the far end of the room with no eye mask on, surprisingly.
He was looking at her.
So he's recognized me in this crowd, after all. The girl walked past the guards at the entrance, heading straight for the drinks at the side.
Vlak neither approached her nor made a commotion at her appearance, simply settling with shooting her a smile from where he stood.
Petra pretended to ignore it.
Artem, however, seemed to not have much of a threshold for her comfort level.
"Well, well doesn't that gold gown suit you VERY nicely? Petra dear, I went to wait for you outside your quarters but was told you had arrived here already. Trying to avoid me, sweets?"
Petra ignored the blonde haired male, pretending like the drink on the table in front of her was the most exotic thing she had ever come across in her life.
"I know the melon shots and rabbit meat is distracting, sweets, but would you spare a minute to have a dance with me?" He held his hand out towards her and she craned her neck slightly to have to look up at his face in disbelief.
He shot her a smug expression.
He knew she couldn't act out of character with so many people around them.
"Oh, come on now! It will be fun, dear. They're doing group swings. You'll only have me for a few seconds before we switch partners, unfortunately."
"Alright, fine." She stated sternly, not wanting to make a scene, training her patience at the male's responding grin. He took ahold of her hand and dragged them into the loop of people at the center of the ballroom.
She felt a weird sensation come over her then with the way she was being dragged ahead. She looked up and expected to see short dark hair swaying in the breeze but instead saw a tall male with blonde locks tied back.
Petra took a breath, trying to calm her unsteady heart beat.
She had barely followed Artem's foot steps on beat to the slow music before she switched out to dance with someone else. Petra thanked her luck she had had training in standard waltz. She briefly wondered whether this was a common dance amongst Vlak's faction seeing as how the people there were all in sync, none too out of step or not knowing what they were doing.
After about three switches, she was once again ready to switch partners when her current partner showed no sign of following in step with the music.
Well, I suppose there is always bound to be someone out of the loop.
When she imagined she would then get handed over at the next pass, the hand at her waist kept her in place and Petra found that she was still with the same man as they went in for another round.
Incredulously then, she trained her gaze at him, looking past the silver eye mask he wore and focusing on his eyes.
"I'm sorry. You were supposed to...have…" This man's dark orbs glinted as the light shone, the very look in them as if they could answer every query that raced through her mind in that second.
And then he spoke.
"Say. Looks like you're getting along just damn fine with these filthy rich rats."