Dorian gestured toward the plush, velvet-upholstered settee near the center of the parlour, sunlight spilling across its soft folds. "Please, my dear, make yourself comfortable," he said, his tone gentle.
Elara sank gracefully into the cushions, smoothing the folds of her gown over her legs. Hale and Luella hovered unobtrusively nearby, ready should she need anything, but careful not to intrude.
The Viscount's eyes flicked over her with measured respect, though the eagerness beneath his formality was plain. "Lady Velhart," he began, stiff-backed, "it is a pleasure to see you. I trust all is well with your… household?"
Elara's fingers rested lightly in her lap. "Everything is well, thank you, Viscount Hallowen. And your estate?" Her voice remained calm, courteous, though her emerald eyes betrayed the faintest tension.
The Viscountess leaned forward with an almost imperceptible flourish of practiced grace, hands clasped together. "We are truly delighted to see you, Elara. Your union into the Velhart family is a blessing beyond measure."
Elara inclined her head politely. "I am grateful for your kind words, Viscountess."
Lunavel, seated slightly apart from her parents, lounged with the air of someone already bored with the proceedings, a half-smile curling at the corner of her lips.
Dorian sat down next to Elara, close enough to be comforting without imposing. "It is generou-," he was interrupted by a voice.
"Lord Velhart," called a familiar, confident voice. "May I enter?"
Hale and Luella sprang to their feet, startled. Dorian raised a brow; "Enter." Hale quickly went and opened the door.
The door revealed Matthias, broad-shouldered and grinning, Selene poised gracefully at his side. Matthias strode in with unbridled confidence, Selene inclined herself in a careful curtsy, voice warm and polite. "My lady Velhart," she said, addressing Elara, "it is an honor to be welcomed into your home."
Matthias's grin widened as he added casually, "We arrived as swiftly as we could. Friends first." The Hallowens stiffened visibly, their forced smiles now noticeably strained. Lunavel's smirk deepened, sharp eyes glinting with quiet mischief. Dorian's brow quirked, genuine astonishment in his voice. "Well, this is an unexpected pleasure." He said as he got up from the settee.
A grin split Matthias's face. "I figured you'd appreciate the timing," he said, stepping fully into the room. "And Selene insists we come as soon as possible."
Dorian extended his arms in a quick, familiar gesture, pulling Matthias into a firm hug. "I've been waiting for this chance," he murmured, leaning close enough for only his friend to hear. The words were hushed, teasing—an invitation, a challenge, and a silent cue all in one. Matthias's eyes glittered with understanding.
Selene bowed lightly, maintaining perfect composure, though her eyes darted toward the Hallowens, sensing the subtle tension in the room.
As Dorian released him, Matthias's grin widened. "You've got me occupied now, friend," he whispered, almost conspiratorially.
"Have a seat," Dorian said as he gestured toward the plush chairs with a sly smile, seating himself nearby, as if inviting Matthias to take the center of attention. The Hallowens shifted uneasily, their forced smiles faltering slightly under the weight of Matthias's confident presence.
The Viscount's eyes flicked repeatedly between Dorian and Matthias, a subtle unease threading through his carefully maintained composure. It wasn't fear—far from it—but an undeniable recognition of hierarchy in attention. Dorian's easy laughter, the low, private murmurs exchanged with Matthias, and the way his full attention seemed reserved entirely for his friend made the Hallowens' presence feel secondary, almost ornamental. Viscountess Hallowen pressed a polite smile to her lips, though it strained under the weight of this invisible shift, stretched thin over the gap between her intent to impress and the reality of Dorian's focus. Even Lunavel, ever perceptive, arched a single eyebrow, the faintest smirk curling at the corner of her lips as she noted the subtle dynamics. Her gaze flitted from Matthias' confident stance to Dorian's relaxed composure and back to her parents, a quiet amusement playing in her eyes at the gentle displacement of authority.
Matthias, leaning casually against the arm of a chair, kept his voice low, sharing private jokes and references with Dorian that underscored the depth of their friendship, each gesture a reminder that the Hallowens were no longer the axis of attention in the room. Elara, seated gracefully on the velvet settee, observed the subtle shift with quiet satisfaction, her fingers lightly tracing the folds of her gown as she noted the careful adjustments of her uncle and aunt. The Viscount stiffened imperceptibly, the practiced deference in his posture unable to mask the faint flicker of uncertainty, while Viscountess Hallowen forced her smile ever wider, desperate to reclaim even a fragment of Dorian's attention. Lunavel's half-smile deepened, the amusement in her eyes sharpened, as if silently cataloging every nuance of the social imbalance and storing it for later mischief.
Finally, Matthias straightened fully, planting his feet deliberately and inclining his torso in the precise angle dictated by tradition, hands folded lightly before him in a perfect gesture of respect. Selene mirrored the motion beside him, graceful and precise, eyes briefly flicking toward the Hallowens, who stiffened in quiet acknowledgment. "Viscount Hallowen, Viscountess, may the Light bless us all with happiness," Matthias intoned, his voice carrying both the warmth of sincerity and the subtle weight of authority, Selene followed his actions. The gesture, flawless in its execution, made it clear that he was observing every custom correctly. The Viscount's lips pressed into a tight line, a forced nod barely concealing his discomfort, while Viscountess Hallowen's smile stretched thin, strained under the realization that their position in the room had subtly shifted. Lunavel's half-smile widened, eyes sharp with amusement, noting the careful display of tradition that had simultaneously reinforced Matthias' prominence.
Viscount Hallowen, stiff-backed and formal, attempted to draw attention to himself first, clearing his throat with a careful precision and offering polite inquiries about the Velhart household, each word measured, each glance calculated, hoping to reclaim even a fraction of the attention that now hovered elsewhere. The Viscountess, hands clasped and a smile stretched across her face, leaned forward with the practiced grace of someone who had rehearsed warmth for decades, while their daughter, Lady Lunavel, lounged slightly apart, her half-smile carrying the sharp amusement of one who observed the subtle social shifts and cataloged them with quiet, knowing interest. Yet despite their careful attention, the room's center of gravity had shifted entirely toward the two figures who had entered most recently: Matthias and Selene.