Weiss Schnee was not a happy woman. Her betrothed sat next to her, his emerald eyes glimmering and his usually perfect mask of neutrality had cracked, revealing a smug, self satisfied smirk.
For someone who's older sister was Maxima Regina of Mistral the man seemed to have more traditional beliefs about his role in their upcoming marriage. She would have to curb those ideas before they embedded themselves into his head.
"Jaune wouldn't ask you to give up your family name." Her consciousness murmured silently and Weiss crushed any thoughts of the young blonde that sat towards the end of the Great Hall, sulking just like he did when he was a ward of her father.
She had made her choice. Pushed the boy away, hoping his blossoming feelings for her died a quick and brutal death so that he would move on and be happy. He had promised he would be by her side, take her name, shoulder some of the suffocating responsibility that rested on her shoulders. If Weiss had been a weaker woman, she would've accepted his offer and Jaune would be sat next to her, a dumb smile on his face.
But Weiss was not a weaker woman. If she had accepted Jaune's offer and he had become her King Consort, the court would've picked him apart like a pack of wolves, ripping him limb from limb and making him say thank you as they did so.
Jaune was a good man. Good men do not survive at court for long. They either die or become hard and sharp like iron.
Her father had been a good man once. Her mother had told her so one night, having drunk too much wine and pawned off her responsibility as a ruler onto her father.
Weiss hadn't known that good man. The Faunus he enslaved hadn't known that good man. Her father had been ice, biting and cold, merciless and harsh. He was proof of what happened to good men.
She had pushed Jaune away to save both of them from the inevitability of him becoming the thing he reviled the most. A schemer and a plotter, a monster that justified cruelty to protect their position on the social ladder. Weiss had been heart broken at what Winter and James had turned into. She couldn't go through that again.
She had been musing for too long Weiss realised with a slight jolt. The music had become louder, her betrothed's face was a ruddy red from wine and the area cleared for dancing had become more packed. Cursing herself, Weiss surveyed the room, watching for threats and dangers and changed.
Lords Branwen and Lionheart were talking animatedly in a corner, Lord Ozymandias was flirting shamelessly with Lady Goodwitch, Lord Oobleck was enlightening a group of enraptured Mistrali Lords about his farming invention and Lord Port was regaling a story of his glorious youth to a group of enthralled Lords and Ladies.
Her guards remained patrolling the balconies, Captain Klein watching carefully at the festivities from a small alcove to her right. Alexander Nikos only had a small retinue and household guard, many of which were drunk. She doubted he was planning something but if he was he would find himself dead before the next day.
"My dearest wife to be." Alexander Nikos asked suddenly, boisterously loud. "Would you do me the honour of a dance?"
"The honour would be mine." Weiss smiled plastically, gently rising and accepting her bethrothed's offered arm to raucous cheering from her guests.
They descended onto the dance floor, suddenly cleared as everyone watched their queen and future king consort take to the floor, the bards playing a slower, more romantic song.
Despite his clear tipsiness, Nikos held her with a surprisingly gentle grip, his movements graceful if not a little slow. A smile was on his face, a drunk and giddy one. Weiss had a smile of her own but it was plastic and fake, something her betrothed likely couldn't register due to his drunken state. He was relatively adept at the game and could usually pick up the same subtleties she could. The alcohol obviously negated that to some effect and Weiss forced her smile to seem a little more real after noticing the sad, pitying look Lord Branwen gave her. Not all the lords sworn to her betrothed would be so pitying and would likely call out her behaviour to him in the morrow once the effects of the alcohol had faded.
They twirled and whirled for a few minutes, some of the younger ladies swooning and a few lords shooting jealous looks at her betrothed. She paid them no heed until she realised Jaune was among them and by the Brother Gods, if looks could kill then the alliance with Mistral would be over before it began. The dunce probably didn't realise the room was flooded with Nikos' spies and that by the morrow he would be on Alexander Nikos' watchlist.
The song came to an end and Weiss managed to escape Nikos' clutches, claiming to be tired. She caught a flash in his drunken emerald eyes and for a moment worried he would refuse and cause a scene but he reluctantly let go of her, bidding her a good night.
Wiess hurried from the room, dismissing the handmaid's that followed her. Their faces were redder than her husbands and had clearly consumed more than she had stated they could.
She saw a flash of blonde hair next to her and she turned for a moment, schooling her expression so she stared impassively at familiar sky blue eyes.
"Weiss…" He blurted, a pleading tone in his voice and a look of hurt and longing on his face. An urge to comfort him, reassure him clawed its way up her chest and choked her throat. She couldn't speak, couldn't nurture the hope that still clearly blossomed in his chest.
Weiss turned, striding away and refusing to listen to the desperate cry of her name behind her.
Weiss was not a happy woman. Far from it.