[Page 68: You were beautiful that night. And I then realized one fundamental truth: I could never be worthy of you.]

"Marta, there you are. Mother’s looking for you," Emma called, smiling at her sister crouched against the wall. "Hiding with a book won't end the party, you know. Mother’s not leaving early."

Marta glared but closed her book. "Why do they bring us to these gatherings, anyway?"

“This is called building connections, dear sister,” Emma said as she helped straighten Marta’s sleeves and hair. “Many people here are friends with our family. Besides,” she tucked a few strands of hair behind Marta’s ear. “It’s been so long since Father is home.”

“I know,” Marta said, shoulders sagging. “But I would prefer a more intimate gathering between our family.”

“Hush now,” Emma said comfortingly. “Tomorrow, let’s suggest something to Mother. A family activity.” Marta nodded, allowing her sister to pull her back to where the gathering was centered. 

The venue was an old manor, its interior made of dark wood, floral wallpaper, and hanging glass chandeliers. The guests–all in colorful, elegant clothes and perfumes–gather around in circles, creating their own bubble. Some move from one group to the other, greeting old friends and sharing the latest gossip. The latter was mostly done by the ladies, where they found their mother animatedly talking. The servers moved around them seamlessly and easily, the glass-filled tray they were carrying perfectly balanced on one hand.

There were also more men in military uniform this time, Marta noted as they passed a few standing close to the side.

“Marta!”

The two sisters turned to see Camilla waving at them. “I was confused where you were when I saw your mother.”

“She was hiding,” Emma quickly replied, winking at her sister with a smirk. Marta slapped her by the arm, making the older girl chuckle.

The group moved to a quieter side of the room, Camilla picking a plate and filling it with finger foods for them to share.

“How was the courting, Emma?” Camilla asked with a teasing tone. “Word has it that the two of you were found riding a carriage around the city, looking cozy.”

Emma’s cheeks turned a slight red. “I’m always impressed by how you and your mother are always updated on the news, Camilla.”

“It’s a skill,” Camilla replied, tossing her hair to her back. “It looked like it was going well for you, though.”

Emma nodded. “I was… skeptical, at first, when Mother informed me of the arrangement. But John turned out to be a good person. A gentleman. He’s very attentive to my needs whenever we meet. We’ve only started meeting up outside family agreements around three months ago.”

Camilla sighed dreamily. “I wish I could meet someone just as great.” She nudged Marta with her elbow. “Don’t you think so, too, Marta?” 

The image of Benedict in the library crossed her mind. “... Not really. I think it’s too early for me to think about such things.”

“Well, I think it’s not a bad idea, dreaming of such a sweet future.”

All three girls turned behind them to see a young man standing with a familiar-looking smirk. He had a tray in hand, but he was not dressed as the servers.

“Benedict?” Marta asked, surprised and confused. “You’re an attendee, too?”

The young man shrugged, his smirk turning more into a smile. “Well, I am attending to see what kind of event has the town excited. Whether the host knows me or not… is a different question.”

It took Marta a few seconds before she understood what he was saying. “Wait… Are you saying you are gatecrashing?”

He raised his hands up in surrender along with the tray. “Dear Marta, do not make me sound like some troublemaker! In truth, I was merely around the vicinity, curious at the event, but someone seemed to mistake me as one of the servants here and pushed me to work.” He gestured at the tray he was holding. “I don’t really have a uniform, but no one seemed to notice.” He looked around, eyebrows raised. “I must say, it definitely lived up to the hype.”

“Is he a friend of yours, Marta?” Emma asked, looking at Benedict curiously.

“Benedict Clarke is the name, ma’am,” Benedict said with a playful curtsy. “I go to the same school as Marta.”

Emma chuckled, amused. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Clarke. My name is Emma, Marta’s older sister. I’m glad to know my sister has such charming friends. She barely even wants to step out here without me urging her to.”

“Emma!” Marta looked at her sister with wide betrayed eyes. So much for a supporting sister.

Benedict laughed, but he gave Marta a look that made her face feel warm. “Thank you for the compliment, but I believe it is more because of your sister. I’ve never… had such pleasant company before.”

Marta’s heart skipped a beat as the warmth from those words filled her down to the tips of her fingers.

Emma looked between the two of them, eyes widening, but before she could say anything, a shadow appeared behind them, followed by a low, warm voice. “So this is where you girls were.”

“Father!” Marta cried in surprise. 

Abraham Montmer was a tall, imposing man. A military veteran, hardly anything could cause him to lose his composure. He was known for the strict and upright way he brought the soldiers under him, and his military contributions had earned him a reputation that most people awed and feared.

The only time his cold composure would be gone and be replaced with something more relaxed was when in the presence of his family, particularly his daughters.

The Montmer patriarch put a hand on Marta’s head. “Enjoying yourself?”

All three girls gave him a nod. Their mother also appeared soon after. 

“How are your nights, girls?”

“It’s going well, we’ve only been talking,” Emma answered, gesturing to her sister, Camilla and Benedict. “Are you enjoying yourself, Mother?”

Their mother  hummed, but she was looking at Benedict with a confused look. “It’s been so long since I’ve met with many of the people here. It is always amazing to reunite with old friends.” She gestured at Benedict with a nod, “And you might be..?”

“Ah, Benedict Dean Clarke, ma’am,” the young man answered with a polite smile.

“Clarke? Your name’s unfamiliar to me. A family friend of the host, perhaps?”

“He and Marta knew each other at school, Mother,” Emma said, stepping a bit. “The two of them are good friends.”

“I… see.” Mrs. Montmer is now looking at Benedict with a hint of suspicion. “Friends… I suppose it's good.” 

The way her mother said the word ‘friend’ made the warmth that Marta felt earlier evaporate and was replaced by sudden nervousness. Beside her, she also noticed how Benedict seemed to straighten his shoulders more.

“Speaking of,” their mother suddenly said, her smile now back and her tone turning sly. “One of the attendees here is someone both of you are quite familiar with.” She looked at her daughters, her eyes lingering on Marta.

Before either of the girls could ask, a young man appeared behind their mother, a charming smile on his face. He was tall; their mother barely reached his chin, and his back and shoulders were straight. For some reason, Marta was reminded of a male peacock she saw in a zoo once.

“Evening, ladies.” His voice was clear and confident. “It is good to see you again.”

Marta looked at the familiar face, trying to put a name to it, when Emma suddenly gasped, “Wait, you’re… Antoine, right? You were in the same year as our oldest brother, Michael’s class.”

The man, Antione, chuckled. “I’m glad I’m not as forgettable as I’ve feared.”

Marta blinked and tilted her head slightly. She seemed to remember a skinny boy who his older brother often hung out with…

“Ah! The beret boy!”

Someone snorted–Marta thought it sounded suspiciously like Camilla–and Marta quickly covered her mouth, mortified. She looked at her older sister for help–no, she’s trying hard not to laugh. Traitor. Even Benedict looked amused.

Antoine, thankfully, didn’t look offended. “Could I take it that I, at least, made an impression on you?” He smiled, giving her a warm look that would make anyone swoon. 

“O’nner,” Mr. Montmer addressed Antoine. “How are things by the border?”

“Currently under control, sir,” the young man answered. “There was another skirmish two weeks ago, but our troop managed to subdue the enemies before the day ended.” He smiled, “Michael led the defense. Complete success with minimal injuries to the troops.”

Mr. Montmer nodded, but Marta noticed that he held his chin slightly higher at the mention of  their eldest brother. “I’m glad he’s safe,” Marta sighed.

Antoine nodded, giving her that weird look again. “He’s a brilliant leader. Everyone in the troop had nothing but the highest respect for him.” 

“There were whispers of war brewing,” Benedict suddenly said. “There were no declarations, I am aware, but the people are afraid. These sudden fights… they have now started to affect the people’s occupation.”

Antoine looked at him, polite and confused. Marta herself was taken aback at the sharp tone, even though he sounded polite.

“I would imagine so,” Antoine replied. “And I sympathize with them. But I can assure that the military has everything under control. There was never any real concern for fear.”

 “And as I’ve said, the citizens are much more affected by these threats than you realize. It’s getting more evident, whispered by every passerby on the street.”

“I could see where this is a source of concern,” Marta’s mother said, “I’ve heard a couple of similar comments when I went out yesterday afternoon. But these comments sound more like an overblown panic caused by the news.”

“There is no reason for concern,” Mr. Montmer added, his voice firm. “As O’nner said, these little troubles are easily handled by our soldiers. They are well-trained to handle any obstacles that will arise.”

“But what about the civilians there?” Benedict asked, voice much lower. “Unlike soldiers, none of them are equipped to handle these kinds of situations.”

“That… is true,” Marta murmured. She never really thought about what it felt like to live in such turbulent places. There would probably be many sounds of shootings. Would they sound louder during the night than daytime? Then, will there also be deat—

Marta shook her head, not wanting to imagine such horrible detail. Even so, the cold has already travelled through her chest.

“Ah, of course,” Antoine nodded. “They are, of course, being taken care of and provided with as much assistance as possible.”

Benedict nodded and lowered his gaze, but his lips were pressed firm and his hands were clenched into fists. He looked haunted. Marta wanted to ask him what was wrong, but her mother started talking again.

“You grow to be quite charming, Antoine,” Mrs. Montmer said with a light laugh. “Tell you what, you should visit us this coming weekend for some afternoon snacks. It’s been so long since you came to our home, after all.” She looked at Marta with a smirk. Marta wasn’t sure if she liked it.

Antoine nodded, but he was looking at Marta when he gave his answer, “I would be more than happy to pay you a visit.”

“O-oh, well–”

“That’s wonderful!” Mrs. Montmer gushed. “An accomplished and refined young man like you will always be a great company for our family.” She looked at her younger daughter, “Isn’t it right, love?”

“Um, yes,” Marta replied. She looked at Antoine. “We’ll be glad to have you.”

Antoine smiled. He then grabbed her hand and kissed the back of it. “Then I will see you this coming weekend.” The gesture was appropriate and sweet, and his fingers felt cooler than her own.

Camilla, who had been silently watching everything, couldn’t help but gasp. Marta, too, was taken aback. She stood rooted on her spot for a few seconds before her mother gushed again, bringing her back to reality. She looked at all the watching faces around them, her parents’ proud gazes feeling too heavy that she had the urge to swallow something.

She unconsciously looked to the side. Only to notice Benedict’s back moving through the crowd without as much as a lookback, shoulders tense.

Marta wanted to follow; she couldn’t help but feel as if something was wrong, but Antoine was still holding her hand, and her mother looked as if she was having the best night as she looked at them.

I’ll try asking him at school, she thought to herself in consolation.

However, by the next weekday, even the following week, she had not seen Benedict anywhere. She tried asking some of the students, only to find out that she never asked what classes he was taking.

She was left with no options, and it made the feeling–one that had grown at the withdrawn look Benedict wore that night–grow.