Six months earlier:
Late May
· · ─ ·☽𖤓☾· ─ · ·
The imperial capital of Evelina was nothing like Bellafonte.
That was Aurelian’s first thought as his family’s carriage rolled through the grand city gates.
His second was that Evelina was entirely too loud.
Horses trotted over stone roads polished smooth from years of traffic, their hooves clacking beneath the noise of merchants, laughing children, passing nobles, and carriage wheels.
Elegant buildings lined every street, their white stone walls rising high above him with arched windows, iron balconies, and flowering vines trained into graceful patterns.
Banners bearing the imperial crest hung from lampposts and balconies.
Fountains decorated nearly every square, their clear waters sparkling beneath the sunlight as if the city itself had been built to shine.
Aurelian had seen paintings of Evelina before.
He had read poems about it and listened to traveling merchants describe the capital as the jewel of the empire.
None of it had prepared him for seeing it in person.
He rested one hand against the carriage window and watched the city pass in overwhelming scenes.
Ladies walked beneath lace parasols, their gowns made of fine silk and intricate embroidery.
Gentlemen in tailored coats stood outside cafés, speaking with the ease of people born into a world that expected them.
There were bookstores on corners, social parlors with golden signs, flower stalls overflowing with color, and bakeries that sent the scent of sugar and warm bread drifting into the street.
Aurelian might have enjoyed exploring all of it under different circumstances.
Unfortunately, he had not come to Evelina as a tourist.
The carriage passed a group of young noblemen gathered outside a gentlemen’s club, all dressed in the latest capital fashion.
Aurelian sat back from the window.
Across from him, his mother watched the streets with far more enthusiasm.
Carina Bellafonte sat with her gloved hands folded neatly in her lap, while his father had remained quiet for most of the journey through the city.
Snyder occasionally looked through the window with the expression of a man remembering something from long ago.
Aurelian wondered whether they had felt this overwhelmed the first time they came to Evelina.
Then again, they had not brought him here when he was younger.
His older brother, Sterling, had visited the capital years ago before marrying the daughter of a respected merchant family and settling near the southern coast.
The marriage had caused its share of whispers, though Sterling’s wife came from enough wealth, influence, and valuable trade connections that sensible nobles knew better than to openly insult the match.
The capital had whispered anyway.
Aurelian suspected Evelina enjoyed whispering.
“Sit up straight, Aurelian,” his mother said.
He straightened immediately.
“I am sitting straight.”
“You are sitting as though you are prepared to escape through the carriage door.”
His father coughed into his fist.
Aurelian glanced between them.
“I am not.”
Carina gave him a look.
Aurelian looked away.
“I am considering it.”
“Aurelian.”
“It was only a consideration.”
His father finally laughed, the sound low and warm.
His mother sighed, though there was no true anger in it.
She reached across the carriage and smoothed a wrinkle from the front of Aurelian’s coat.
“You will be fine.”
Aurelian wanted to believe her.
“I still do not understand why I must attend this season.”
Carina’s expression softened.
“We have discussed this.”
“We have discussed it many times.
That does not mean I understand it any better.”
“You are the second son of the Bellafonte family,” Snyder said.
“But you are still a Bellafonte.
Our territory may be far from court, but it is important.”
That much Aurelian understood.
Bellafonte goods traveled throughout the empire.
Their tea, coffee, fruit, spices, and other crops reached noble households that would likely never see the southern fields they came from.
Their merchant connections stretched beyond the territory and through the coastal towns.
None of that, however, explained why Aurelian needed to spend several months surrounded by strangers who could apparently identify a social mistake from across a ballroom.
“Connections must be maintained,” his father continued.
“Alliances must be respected.
Whether you like it or not, the social season is where many of those relationships begin.”
Aurelian frowned.
“I thought the social season was where nobles danced, gossiped, and pretended they were not searching for marriage prospects.”
His mother smiled.
“That is also true.”
“That does not comfort me.”
“It should.
Most people will be too occupied searching for spouses to notice your every mistake.”
Aurelian turned toward her in mild horror.
“That is worse.”
His father laughed again.