The Song Of The Wolf (Unedited)

Chapter Twenty-One

There was a buzzing in Maebh's ears, and she had a sort of tunnel vision. All she could see was the way Fillin stood at the bottom of the staircase, gormless as a guppy. No more than a second passed before his expression vanished and an aloof demeanour slipped in place. Her face fell.

The man was endlessly switching between hot and cold but this time, his icy behaviour had shattered something within her, too painful to have just been a fraction of hope. She had been under the illusion they were making progress, that he was starting to warm up to her.

A frantic member of staff approached them and announced that the guests were –and had been– anticipating the arrival of the royal family for longer than was deemed acceptable. As the company of five were rushed in an eastern direction, Maebh walked ahead, next to the queen. She could feel the prince's topaz pools pierce into the back of her neck but she tried to ignore it.

At the entrance of the majestic dining room, the royals were called out to the high-societal crowd, one by one. Along with their names came the melodious blare of a wind instrument.

"His Majesty, King Maccon the 3rd."

The announcement of the king's entry was followed by his wife's, his eldest son's and then his youngest, Prince Marrok. From behind the maroon curtains that obscured the entrance, Maebh could see each of them shake hands and exchange small talk with the awaiting guests, the process was continuously repeated as they worked their way down the neatly organised row of people.

Lastly, it was her turn.

"Miss Maebh O'Sullivan, childbearer to his Royal Highness, Prince Fillin."

The words monotonously echoed throughout the room and came back to haunt her over and over again. In spite of having grown somewhat used to the title, it still possessed the uncanny ability of making her skin crawl. And to hear her be introduced to a –considerably larger than expected– cluster of lycanthropes, was overwhelming on a whole other level.

Squaring her shoulders, Maebh glided into the room. The glimmers in the eyes of the guests made her stomach swirl with nausea. They looked desperate to catch a glimpse of the elusive childbearer. She was thankful for the marble floor, the click clacking of her heels conveyed a faux confidence.

Precisely how the queen had instructed her, she blanked and robotically performed the correct civility, with her lips plastered in a welcoming but not overly courteous smile. Shaking hands with strangers wasn't rocket science, not shrieking with joy at the sight of Coinín, Maggie and her mother, was. Their attendance offered a bit of familiarity, reassurance.

Soon, everyone was lead to their respectful seats at the long table and Hèmène whispered a quick, "Well done, darling." in her ear.

Throughout the 6-course meal, Maebh refrained from conversing, only replying to questions whenever necessary. Everyone was contently munching, loudly complementing the culinary team's superb cooking skills with every new dish that was placed in front of them. Her mother was sitting near the end of the table, along with Coinín and Maggie. It was reassuring to know she wasn't left to her own demise.

She had become exceedingly aware of Fillin, and specifically the unfaltering presence of his stare, glued to her. A tornado of emotions rolled through every part of her peripheral nervous system, she prayed that others merely blamed her quietness on a demure type of character.

After dinner, all attendees moved to the tea parlour. Some were mingling and chatting, whilst others had taken the opportunity to dance to the classical music, played by a chamber orchestra set up in the corner of the adjoined ball room.

Alleviated to be able to put some distance between herself and the prince, Maebh gulped down a glass of unknown alcohol and made a beeline for Maggie. She gave her a hug and a kiss on the cheek in greeting and resisted the sudden urge to cry. "You have no idea how happy I am to see you."