Ya'll things are getting real here.
A hush fell around Mercedes as she crossed the embassy hall, her emerald gown catching the light with each step. She refused to let the stares and whispers faze her; tonight, she had a purpose—whether she knew exactly what that was yet or not, she would hold her head high.
She reached the bar and gently touched the gleaming countertop, signaling for a drink. The bartender, wearing a crisp white jacket, nodded in acknowledgment. Before Mercedes could even speak, she sensed a presence behind her.
"Ms. Jones," came a deep, cool voice.
Mercedes turned to find King Dwight Evans regarding her, his expression a studied mix of authority and disapproval. He wore the regal Cordovan colors—navy and gold—and carried himself with an air of unmistakable power. Yet, she met his gaze without flinching.
"Your Majesty," Mercedes replied politely, inclining her head the bare minimum required by etiquette.
He glanced at the bartender. "Two glasses of champagne," he ordered, not bothering to ask her preference.
Mercedes pursed her lips. So that's how this is going to be, she thought. She accepted the flute he handed her but didn't raise it to her lips.
"Enjoying yourself?" Dwight asked, his tone clipped.
She forced a polite smile. "The evening is… interesting," she replied smoothly. "Certainly an event worth attending. I suppose I have you to thank for the invite?"
He gave a curt nod, his gaze assessing her from head to toe. "I'm surprised you agreed to come, given the circumstances."
Mercedes stiffened but refused to be rattled. "When given an invitation by the royal family, it would be rude to decline. Wouldn't it?"
Dwight's lips twitched—something between a smirk and a grimace. He leaned forward, lowering his voice. "You may find you've stepped onto a stage far bigger than you realize. Walking away is your only option."
Mercedes' chin rose a fraction. "I'll keep that in mind."
For a moment, neither spoke, the tension tangible. Then Dwight appeared to recall something and gestured for someone across the room to join them.
"Ms. Jones, allow me to introduce Roz Washington," he said, his tone suddenly formal.
A poised, self-assured woman in a sleek burgundy gown made her way over. She exuded authority, her posture regal as she offered a polite smile to King Dwight and then turned her attention to Mercedes.
"Dutchess Roz Washington," she said, extending her hand. "Of the Washington family, based in the Duchy of Cambria."
Mercedes set her champagne flute on the bar, freeing her hand to shake Roz's. "Mercedes Jones," she replied, meeting Roz's gaze with equal composure.
Dwight's eyes flicked between them, something calculating behind his calm exterior. "Dutches Washington, this is the young woman who—"
"Needed an invitation," Mercedes finished smoothly, preventing Dwight from framing her in a negative light. She smiled at Roz. "Thank you for allowing me to attend. It's a pleasure meeting you. I may not be familiar with your Duchy, but I am eager to hear about it."
Roz studied her, sizing her up like people in high society often did—quick, discerning, and not always kind. But instead of dismissing Mercedes, her expression shifted to pleasant surprise.
"I heard this event might be… lively," Roz remarked with a knowing smile. "I see I wasn't misled."
Mercedes let out a soft laugh. "I do my best to liven things up."
King Dwight cleared his throat. "The Washington Duchy is an essential ally to Cordova. I hope you'll find it enlightening to speak with her."
Roz nodded, shifting her attention more fully to Mercedes. "Actually, Ms. Jones, I've heard interesting things about you—some from word of mouth and some from tonight's rumors."
"Me? I didn't think I would be the talk of a kingdom that I knew nothing about." Mercedes said, confused.
"Oh, Ms. Jones, women like us can't help but be the talk of a town; it means we are powerful in our own right. Women like us when we speak; people listen; that being said, I'd enjoy showing you our Duchy one day if you're willing to travel. It might give you a broader perspective on… well, your position."
Mercedes blinked, momentarily taken aback by the unexpected invitation. She saw Dwight's mouth tighten in mild surprise from the corner of her eye. Clearly, he hadn't anticipated Roz taking such a liking to her.
"My position?" Mercedes questioned.
"Oh dear, you are quite powerful, you know that, right? And I, for one, would rather be an ally than an enemy." Roz said as Dwight bristled.
"That's… quite generous," Mercedes managed, keeping her voice poised even as her heart pounded. "I'd be honored."
King Dwight interjected quickly, forcing a polite chuckle. "Ms. Washington, you're far too gracious. Ms. Jones isn't exactly—"
Roz lifted a hand, gracefully interrupting the King's objection. "Nonsense, Your Majesty. I consider it a point of pride to invite those with spirit and intellect to see the Duchy's inner workings. No reason to be stingy with an invitation."
Dwight's expression remained impassive, but a flicker of annoyance crossed his features. He cleared his throat and inclined his head to Roz. "As you wish."
Mercedes felt a swell of triumph beneath her composed exterior. She glanced at Dwight, carefully masking her satisfaction with polite indifference. He was very upset, and it was clear.
Roz tapped her flute against Mercedes's, offering a small toast. "To new possibilities and alliances," she said before taking a sip.
Mercedes followed suit, allowing a genuine smile to touch her lips. "To new possibilities and alliances." she echoed, meeting Roz's gaze.
King Dwight stood there, quietly observing the unexpected rapport between the two women. He had aimed to unsettle Mercedes, considering Roz didn't like most people, but instead, she'd managed not only to hold her own but to earn an invitation from one of the most influential figures in the room.
Though Dwight was disappointed, he hid it beneath a veneer of neutral politeness. But Mercedes could almost feel the undercurrent of tension radiating off him. She briefly wondered what he might try next—because it was clear, from the look in his eyes, that this wouldn't be the last time King Dwight Evans tested her. And she didn't have long to wait as he placed his hand on the small of her back.
Mercedes froze, looking at him as King Dwight inclined his head toward Roz Washington and Mercedes, signaling the approach of another guest. "Excuse us, Ms. Washington, but Ms. Jones," he said, fixing his attention on a tall, impeccably dressed man cutting through the crowd. "There's another individual I'd like you to meet."
Before Mercedes could react, Dwight guided her a few steps away, the polished floor reflecting the shimmer of her emerald dress. The man they approached smiled broadly, his dark hair swept back in a style that highlighted his sharp features. He carried himself with the easy confidence of someone used to admiration.
"Ms. Jones," Dwight said, keeping his tone polite yet firm, "may I introduce Duke Weston, heir to the Weston name. His family has been crucial to our negotiations."
Brody extended his hand, the charm practically radiating off him. "Brody Weston. A pleasure to meet you, Ms. Jones." His eyes flicked over her attire—appraising, perhaps even admiring.
Mercedes offered her hand in return, maintaining composed politeness, but he grossed her out, and she figured that was the point of this. "Mercedes Jones. It's a pleasure, Duke Weston."
"Ah, just Brody," he said, taking her hand lightly but deliberately. "No need for formalities. Especially between two... intriguing people." A playful spark lit his eyes, and he held onto her hand a moment longer than necessary before releasing it.
King Dwight stood by, a neutral expression on his face, though Mercedes didn't miss the faint satisfaction note in his posture. Probably hoping I'll make a fool of myself, she thought, forcing a polite smile as she retrieved her hand.
Brody turned on his most winning grin. "So, Ms. Jones, or should I say Mercedes? You look far too glamorous to be standing in the corner with a mere glass of champagne. Care to join me for a stroll around the hall? Perhaps we could find a quieter spot to... get acquainted?"
Mercedes's eyebrows rose slightly at the blatant flirtation. She spared a quick glance at Dwight, whose gaze was fixed on her, waiting for her reaction. Steadying herself, she returned her attention to Brody.
"That's kind of you," she replied with measured courtesy. "But I'm perfectly content enjoying the festivities here. Besides"—she gestured lightly to the swirl of guests, each dressed to the nines—"it's quite the event, and I'd hate to miss what's happening around us."
Brody chuckled, undeterred. "I like a woman who knows her own mind. Hard to find that quality in these circles. Let me guess—you're not easily impressed by wealth and titles, are you?"
A small, knowing smile curved Mercedes's lips. "I've learned those can fade pretty quickly if there's no substance behind them."
A flicker of surprise crossed his face, but he recovered quickly, leaning in. "I appreciate your honesty," he said in a lower tone. "I also happen to be a big fan of ambition and drive. Rumor has it you're quite the phenomenon. You could do well under my…guidance."
"Rumors tend to exaggerate," Mercedes said, giving a graceful shrug. "I'm just someone who knows what she wants." She gave him a piercing look. "And what she doesn't."
Brody's grin widened, and he offered a small laugh. "Fair enough. Perhaps we'll have a chance to talk more tonight." He cast a quick glance toward Dwight, then back to Mercedes. "I, for one, would love to hear more about your perspective on things. Cordova could use fresh eyes."
King Dwight cleared his throat, interjecting. "Brody, I trust you'll continue to enjoy yourself. I have some more introductions to make."
Mercedes caught a fleeting look of amusement on Brody's face—perhaps he sensed Dwight's subtle attempt at steering the evening's social interactions. But before Brody could respond further, Dwight pivoted toward Mercedes, clearly expecting her to follow him toward the next cluster of dignitaries.
Brody tapped the rim of his champagne glass in a polite salute. "Don't be a stranger," he said, voice warm and confident as he took his leave, weaving back into the sea of guests.
With Brody gone, Dwight regarded Mercedes, seemingly searching for any sign of frailty in her composure. But Mercedes only offered a polite nod.
"He's quite charming," she acknowledged, her smile polite but never quite reaching her eyes. "Thank you for the introduction, Your Majesty."
Dwight inclined his head, eyes narrowing at her composed reaction. It was clear he'd hoped she'd be flustered or put off-balance, but Mercedes gave him no such satisfaction.
"Charming, indeed," Dwight murmured. "I suggest you keep your wits about you, Ms. Jones. The Westons can be... intense negotiators."
Mercedes's chin lifted, her voice steady. "I am sure that is what you were counting on, but I assure you, I won't forget. Thank you for the advice, Your Majesty."
It was clear he didn't like her response because, without another word, Dwight moved on, scanning the room for his next social maneuver. Mercedes watched him, making a mental note of each tactic he attempted.
She suspected the night was far from over—and she wasn't about to let herself be rattled by flirtation or intimidation. Not when so much was at stake.
The embassy hall buzzed with soft laughter and muted conversation, the clink of champagne glasses punctuating the air. Mercedes had just disengaged from a friendly chat with Nick Duvual and Harmoney Pearce; they weren't as bad as Mercedes thought they would be. She glanced to find Sebastian's conversation with Blaine closely, and Santana had caught the eye of a Blonde woman in a bright yellow dress.
She couldn't find Jane, but she hadn't seen Stevie either, so there was that. Sam's eyes hadn't left hers, and she was tempted to walk over to him. But then she a looming presence behind her. She turned to see King Dwight Evans regarding her with an uncompromising glare.
"Ms. Jones," he said curtly, his voice low enough that no one else would hear. "Let's take a walk, shall we?"
"Haven't we spoken in length already?" Mercedes asked, confused; this man was up to something."
He smirked. "I am the King; I can speak with you as often as I choose."
Mercedes raised an eyebrow but nodded, following him down a short, less crowded corridor. Ornate paintings and gold-flecked wallpaper lined the walls, but the grand décor offered no comfort against the tension emanating from Dwight.
He stopped near a curtained alcove and turned sharply to face her. "I don't know what your game is," he began, his tone measured but brimming with anger, "but rest assured, I'm not amused by it."
"My game?" Mercedes folded her arms, keeping her posture poised. "I'm not playing games, Your Majesty," she replied evenly.
Dwight's lips tightened. "Don't insult my intelligence. First, you show up here, flaunting yourself in front of Sam and Stevie, using your charms to sway my allies—"
Mercedes cut him off, her voice calm and unwavering. "I was invited, remember? By you. And I'm not 'using' anything. I'm simply existing in the space you put me in. It's not my fault I am not some weak-willed woman you can control."
His gaze hardened. "Have you forgotten who I am—or who you are, Ms. Jones? You think you can make a fool out of me and my kingdom by strutting around with the likes of Roz Washington or Brody Weston?"
A small smile played at the corner of Mercedes's lips. "I'm not the one making a fool of you, King Dwight. That would be your own paranoia. You are the one who allowed me to make such a great impression on them." She took a measured breath. "And for the record, I'm not intimidated by you."
Dwight's posture grew rigid, fury evident in the tightness around his eyes. "You'd be wise to remember your place. You'll never be with Sam. I won't allow it."
Mercedes lifted her chin, the faint echo of music from the main hall playing in the background. "I don't need your permission," she replied, voice like steel. "I care about Sam, but I won't be bullied into staying, walking away, or bending to your whims."
Dwight inhaled sharply as though readying a final barb. "You're nothing but a momentary distraction," he hissed. "A piece in a game you don't even understand. You're gravely mistaken if you think you can stand toe-to-toe with me."
"I've managed so far to come off unscathed," Mercedes smirked as she stepped closer, meeting his glare head-on. "So I tell you, do your worst, Your Majesty." She let the words hang in the air, her tone cold but unwavering. "I'm still not backing down."
They locked eyes, the silence between them crackling with tension. Finally, Dwight huffed in disdain, straightening his jacket as though to reassert his authority.
"Suit yourself," he said icily. "But don't say I didn't warn you."
He pivoted on his heel and stalked back toward the main hall, leaving Mercedes behind in the corridor. She released a quiet breath, her heart pounding from the confrontation. No turning back now, she thought, steeling herself. I've come too far to be scared away.