#Chapter 105: The Ballroom and the Backlash

Amelia Lady Maris’s handwriting looked like it belonged on an heirloom spell scroll, not a tea invitation. But I accepted. A gathering of Council spouses wasn’t exactly in my comfort zone, but Richard had barely gotten the words "you don’t have to go" out before I’d already picked out a dress. If I was going to stop being a novelty, I had to let them look. The sunroom where we gathered smelled like lemon, polished silver, and an undercurrent of condescension. The table was set like a museum exhibit: porcelain as thin as eggshells, folded napkins with embroidered crests, sandwiches cut so neatly they looked factory-made. The women there wore designer grief and well-practiced smiles. When I introduced myself, Margot, Councilman Aldren’s wife, barely looked up from her teacup. "Oh. You’re younger than I expected." I let the pause sit too long. Then I smiled. "And you’re exactly what I pictured." There was the slightest sound of a stifled cough. I didn’t look to see whose. La