The Mask of Autumn

Olive’s head swam as they stepped into the foyer. The dresses of Amber Falls suddenly felt colorless by comparison, as if magic was woven into the fabric itself. The tall ballroom doors stood open, funneling nobles and academics into the grand chamber. A nervous buzzing crept through her, settling deep in her core. She gripped her emerald, satin dress tightly—both to soak up nervous sweat and to keep the hem above her unsteady feet.

A wide hand slid between the fabric and her fist, fingers interlocking, but before she could register her surroundings, she was being pulled away from the others with haste.

Over her shoulder, Cael bowed to Liora who blushed deeply in return. At least she was in safe hands. One less thing to worry about.

Rowan's gaze flicked over her as they weaved through the crowd, quick but unfamiliar.

“Ol, look at the spread,” Rowan said excitedly, his long stride forcing her to hurry. “This is the only good part of these stuffy parties.”

“Slow down, I can barely walk in these,” she frowned. “Why is this stuffy? I mean, obviously I’m outside of my comfort zone, but you can talk to anyone.”

He dropped her hand as they approached the table, attention trained on the spread of tiny hors d'oeuvres laid out before them.

She had never seen him so clean before—newly trimmed, shag clipped close on the sides. The blonde waves glimmered, almost imperceptibly, just brushing his broad shoulders. The usual glimmer in his rich, brown eyes appeared absent.

“I think they’re just too formal for me,” his dismissive tone turned nonchalant. “You know me, Ol, I’m just a simple guy. You really should try one of these.”

She knew he would not discuss it further, not tonight at least. She took a small cracker from his plate, eyeing its toppings before finally eating it. It was strange to say the least; too many different textures and flavors overwhelmed her.

“I need a drink,” she sighed as she strode away.

Olive had been relying on him to carry the conversations tonight. She had never spoken to a noble, and she wasn’t much better with commoners. There was no use in worrying, and she should instead prepare herself for the eventual humiliation.

She grabbed a glass of bubbling alcohol from a tray as it passed, feet taking her to a large window overlooking the ocean. The moons had risen; both reflected in the glittering ripples. For a moment, her own image wavered in the glass. Her catlike green eyes, more piercing than ever. She barely recognized the woman staring back.

Olive sipped at the pale liquid, allowing her mind to wander back home. On an evening like tonight, she would spend time with Iria in the shop or in her room, occasionally with Rowan.

A voice broke through her daydreaming, clear and deep. Olive turned too quickly, almost slipping before catching the arm of a tall man. His brows furrowed as he helped her find her footing.

“I am so sorry,” she quickly apologized with a shaky curtsy, not daring to look him in the eye.

“No, my Lady, the apology is all mine,” he replied with a small bow.

His black brows softened, to match the brown, dimpled smile. His eyes glittered a deep maroon, matching his formal wear.

He continued, “Please allow me to introduce myself as your biggest fan.”

Confusion and concern grew. Why would this stranger know who she was, let alone have such a strong opinion?

“How so?” She asked.

“I am Lord Damian of House Ignisca, but you may simply call me Damian.” He introduced himself, then kissed the back of her hand. A shimmer traced the gesture.

She felt a flush spread across her sun-kissed, freckled face.

“My name is Olive Everly,” she replied, suspicion returning, along with her composure. She pulled her hand back, wary. “So… how did my biggest fan come to be?”

“Lady Everly, are you not Summer’s Bonded?” He asked, his smile somehow more charming. “You are of the same homeland as I, the Summer Kingdom of Calorai. Who else would I cheer on, than the chosen hero of Summer?”

His gaze softened, just enough to be noticed. “And tonight, the shining city of Solterra is nothing in comparison to your beauty.”

This was not information she was capable of processing at this moment, but there appeared to be no harm in playing along. Men were simple in that way, though, her knowledge of the subject was mostly from observation and not practice.

“Is that so,” she thoughtfully mused, as she sipped at her glass to hide the nervousness. There was no harm in allowing him to underestimate her. She continued, “I am sorry to inform you, my Lord, I’m no lady, just a simple apprentice from a village in Marowen.”

His confident smile widened. “Perhaps you once were, but that can no longer be. As a celestially chosen hero, the work you do for all of us is more than enough to earn a simple title. That makes you—first of her name—Lady Olive of House Everly, the sixth house of Calorai.” He finished with a deep bow.

“If I am to call you Damian, perhaps simply call me Olive, as well.” She attempted a sly smile, unsure if her efforts translated, and tucked an auburn curl behind her ear, just in case.

Just then, Rowan strode to her side, a handful of other party guests in tow.

“Damian, this is Autumn’s Bonded, Rowan Briar,” Olive introduced. “He’s also a close friend.”

She perceived a strangeness about Rowan’s demeanor as the two men shook hands. His eyes were distant as he looked at her new acquaintance.

“It’s nice to meet you, Damian,” he said through tight lips, the faint twitch at the corner of his mouth… something Olive hadn’t seen before. “I believe I had the opportunity to meet your friends already.”

“Likewise,” he replied, posturing slightly. The dimples, now missing from his polite smile.

“I was just about to ask Lady Olive if I could bother her for a dance.” He said with an outstretched hand.

“I appreciate the offer, but I must decline.” Olive replied hastily. She paused for a moment, trying to think of a reasonable excuse.

“Yeah, sorry we need to make our rounds. Spread hope, and all.” Rowan replied for her; his look unreadable.

“Very well,” Damian said, taking her hand. “When your journey takes you to Calorai, please visit me in the Capital.” He finished with a second kiss to her hand, then turned and walked away. His embellished posse offered polite goodbyes, before following.

“Well, that was weird,” Olive said, to break the silence between them. “Apparently we are lords and ladies now.”

“Maybe in name alone. Need some fresh air?” Rowan asked in response.

She was beginning to understand Rowan’s opinion of nobility. If she pushed the matter now, it would only lead him to shut down. She gave him a nod and let him lead her to the balcony.

The noise of the ballroom dulled the moment the doors closed behind them. He was uncharacteristically quiet as he led her to the railing. The salty wind cut through the perfume as she breathed deep.

“Are you doing alright?” Olive asked, voice wavering.

“Yeah, of course I am,” Rowan chuffed. “I figured you’d want to decompress.”

Rowan plucked a petal from the arrangement pinned to his breast, letting it dance as it fell.

Olive watched the petal fall, almost feral in its restraint. “You’re quieter than usual.”

Rowan shrugged, not looking at her. “Guess even I run out of stuff to talk about sometimes.”

“That’s… unsettling.”

A corner of his mouth twitched. “Yeah. Imagine how I feel.”

She watched the waves crash into the high cliffs below, sipping at her glass. The violence contrasted the calm ocean before her.

She studied him for a moment, then turned back toward the doors. “Come on. We shouldn’t linger.”

Rowan hesitated, then nodded. “Right. Duty calls.” A hint of mockery in his tone.

Olive turned back toward Rowan; arms crossed.

“Our purpose here is to mingle and reassure people that the world is not going to end, and those are two things that I’m not capable of without you,” she finally said. “You’re the talker.”

“I don’t know, Ol. You seemed pretty comfortable with that fancy prince,” he replied hastily, looking over the balcony. “I cannot say that I enjoyed his friends’ company, to say the least.” His tone took on a mock regality.

“And what is that supposed to mean?” Olive replied, brows furrowed. “And he wasn’t a prince.”

He was silent.

Rowan replied without turning. “He was, actually. Ignisca, right? That’s the Royal House in Calorai.”

She did not reply. Damian technically never said what his station was, but she probably would not have given him the time-of-day, had she known.

“Funny thing,” he muttered. “His friends worked awfully hard to keep me occupied while he got you alone.”

“Rowan… just because he’s a noble doesn’t make him a bad person.” Olive exhaled slowly.

“What? No." He shook his head and leaned on the railing, gripping the edge.

Olive studied him. "Then what is it?"

"I’m jealous, Olive.”

His voice was low, hesitant… and for the first time, she saw the tightness in his jaw, a rare emotion. “Not just as a friend… not when one of the four Crowns himself admires you.”

Olive stared at the back of his head, processing. Her grip tightened around the stem of her glass until her knuckles blanched.

“Now?”

Rowan finally turned, mouth parting like he might explain himself, but no words exited.

“We are here to do a job,” she said, voice tightening as she continued. “To keep people calm. To make nice. To save the world, or something. I do not have the capacity for this right now.”

“I wasn’t trying to—”

“Yes, you were,” Olive snapped. “Whether you meant to or not. Dropping this on me in the middle of everything, and I don’t get to just… set it aside to think about my own feelings.” She crossed her arms, grounding herself. “It's unfair.”

“I just couldn’t pretend anymore,” Rowan’s shoulders dipped. “I was going to tell you at the Overlook the night of the festival.”

“You kept it a secret for who knows how long, you couldn’t have waited until our lives were no longer in danger?” She threw her arms wide in exasperation.

“He withheld his status from you, and I guess… I couldn’t hold it in anymore.”

“At least Damian was honest about what he wanted. You’re never authentic, Rowan.” Her lips responded before she could finish the thought, and they did not stop. “I barely know who you are, which is sad, because I know you better than anyone. You always withhold what you’re thinking, and it’s like you have this happy mask on. You're not real, Rowan!”

He remained silent and expressionless, as he stared at his shoes.

She had let her anger take control again. Olive rubbed her brows with a groan.

“We don’t need this. I don’t need this,” she said. “If you have a problem with that, you should have kept it to yourself until after the mission was over.”

After a moment, he finally replied. “I really thought it was more of a quest, myself.” A brittle smile found his lips before faltering.

“See, you’re not even capable of being serious when it actually matters.”

Olive turned back to head inside, leaving only the sound of waves crashing. Rowan did not call after her, nor did he follow.