Her mind was always running two, sometimes three different scenarios; she was not simply intuitive but could sense the subtlest of cues and move to checkmate opponents in society with ease. One of the few she couldn’t beat was a young Viscount, whom she danced with now. Damn him and his boyish charm. Still, in time, she would wear him down.
“Elena, my dear!” an older noblewoman squealed as she flittered over, her gown of emerald green silk rustling. Visually, it was one of the finer dresses here, perfectly complimenting her alabaster skin and dark hair, pulled back into an elegant updo. Elena wanted her later look – she would wear a blue that night to compliment her eyes. “You look ravishing,” the noblewoman continued.
Elena curtsied, her back straight like a line drawn by the finest ruler. “Lady Monteverdi, such flattery. I fear my late nights working in my apothecary are starting to show on my face.”
“A woman who is knowledgeable is always the most beautiful in my eyes,” Lady Monteverdi finished.
Elena swallowed a retort, a retort that said: but men don’t agree, do they? Instead, she continued to smile, the perfect lady. Elena did not suffer fools but could never say such a thing during these societal gatherings.
Lady Monteverdi fluttered off and Elena continued on, a butterfly dancing through the hall, sipping nectar from flower to flower. The Viscount bowed deeply as she approached, his hazel eyes awaiting her.
“A dance, my lady?” he asked, holding out his hand.
Elena took it, seeing over his shoulder her friend, the young Rafael Torres. It had been ages since she saw him and their eyes met across the room.
“Of course,” Elena said to the Viscount, letting the music pull them away from the wall and into the fray of bodies.
“You look deep in thought,” he said as they started to glide around the dance floor. “Are you well?”
“Never better,” Elena said dismissively. She smiled up into his eyes. “I am just happy to escape my studies for an evening.”
“Such a shame,” the Viscount replied. “Your knowledge is one of your most attractive qualities, from what I hear.”
“So my parents say – they are most partial to me, as one might expect.”
The Viscount chuckled and Elena smiled, feeling a hint of victory as her eyes caught Rafael again. Rafael’s face brightened, his lips moving into a smile, from the stressed position they appeared to be in just moments before. Elena smiled back at him and Rafael whirled away, the arms of a young woman wrapped all over him. The Viscount was asking Elena something, but it didn’t register at first.
“My apologies,” Elena said quickly. “What did you ask?”
“I asked if you would join me for tea tomorrow?” he replied, eyes hopeful.
The dance concluded, and the Viscount, with all the grace afforded to him by his rank, awaited Elena’s answer. A sea of eyes, some envious, others curious, followed their every move.
“I must extend my apologies,” Elena said with a soft smile that barely touched her eyes. “I have an engagement that cannot be postponed.”
His expression fell ever so slightly—a shadow across a sunny meadow. “Another time then,” he replied, the practiced veneer of nobility never wavering.
Elena nodded and withdrew from his grasp as elegantly as the retreat of a retreating tide. Her gaze scanned the crowd, seeking the familiar form of Rafael Torres. The room seemed to breathe and sway with the rhythm of gossamer gowns and whispered secrets. Finally, her eyes found him in a secluded alcove, his features etched with quiet despair.
As she approached, she could see Rafael’s attempt to mask his sorrow with polite conversation to a young lady draped on his arm. But Elena knew him well—his eyes were distant seas hiding storms beneath calm surfaces.
“Rafael,” Elena called out softly as she neared.
He excused himself from the young lady with a gracious bow and turned towards Elena, relief evident in his stance. “Elena,” he sighed. “I’ve missed our conversations.”
Elena’s heart twinged at his forlorn tone. “And I yours,” she admitted. They retreated to a quieter corner of the hall, away from prying ears and lingering stares.
“Is everything well?” Elena asked, her voice laced with concern as they found seclusion behind a column wrapped in ivy.
Rafael’s gaze flickered before settling on her face. “As well as can be expected when one’s heart lies trampled under the weight of societal expectations.”
Elena reached out, touching his arm lightly. “You speak in riddles tonight.”
Rafael hesitated but decided against holding back; trust was not easily given but it had always been absolute between them. “The Viscount,” he confessed in hushed tones that barely carried over the din of the ballroom.
Understanding dawned on Elena; she had long suspected the depth of their connection, one not meant for the light of day nor for casual conversation over tea. “And he has said no?”
Rafael nodded solemnly. “It was inevitable,” he whispered, more to himself than to her. “We cannot all be as fortunate as you, to decline offers without fear of consequence.”
Elena felt a pang at his words—a mix of guilt and gratitude for her own freedom within society’s constraints.
“He wants me to choose a wife soon,” Rafael continued, pain seeping into his words like ink on parchment.
Elena offered no platitudes; there were none suitable for such a predicament. Instead, she changed course, hoping to steer them towards less treacherous waters.
“The letter’s will arrive soon,” she said instead. “Rumors are rife about who will venture to the New World.”
Rafael’s expression shifted from personal sorrow to professional curiosity—a transformation Elena had witnessed many times before.
“Yes,” he mused, a spark igniting in his eyes. “They say it will be a sanctuary for those like us.”
“Imagine it,” Elena breathed out dreamily, her voice alive with possibility. “A society governed by our traditions—by our rules.”
“The freedom to live openly… It is an intoxicating thought,” Rafael admitted.
They stood together in comfortable silence for a moment before Rafael asked hesitantly, “Who do you think they will choose?”
Elena considered this carefully before answering. Her fingers played with the ribbon in her hair—a habit when lost in thought.
“I suspect they’ll want people full of experience and knowledge.” Her hazel eyes met Rafael’s gaze once more. “And someone skilled in herbal alchemy would be invaluable…”
Rafael nodded in agreement but didn’t miss the hint of longing in her voice.
“And what of your talismans?” Elena pressed gently. “Your family has adorned nobility for generations; surely your craft is equally vital.”
He shrugged—a casual gesture that failed to mask his true hopefulness at being selected for such an honor.
“We shall see,” Rafael said with forced nonchalance.
Their conversation wove between hopeful aspirations and somber reflections until they were interrupted by Lady Monteverdi’s approach once again.
Elena leaned against the cool marble of the column, her eyes scanning the room with a predator’s precision. The glint of candlelight on crystal and the murmur of high society swirled around them, a tapestry of privilege and pretense.
“See there?” she whispered, tilting her chin toward a group of young nobles laughing too loudly at a jest. “The Marquess de Lefèvre has had one too many again, and by the looks of it, his retinue follows suit.”
Rafael followed her gaze, a smirk playing on his lips. “A sure sign of noble breeding,” he replied with sarcasm that dripped like honey from a spoon.
Elena’s laugh was soft but sharp, a silver bell in the night. “Noble indeed. It’s a wonder he remembers his own title by the end of these affairs.”
They shared an amused look before Elena’s attention shifted to another target. Her eyes settled on a duchess whose fan fluttered like a trapped bird.
“And the Duchess,” Elena said with an air of confiding secrets to the wind. “Her feathers are ruffled tonight. One would think she’d been slighted by the attention paid to her new lady-in-waiting.”
Rafael leaned in closer, drawn into Elena’s web of words. “Is that why she wears such an ostentatious display around her neck? To outshine her own retinue?”
Elena’s nod was imperceptible. “She may as well wear a noose for all the subtlety that monstrosity affords.”
Their conversation turned to lighter fare for a moment—discussing recent fashions and art—but Elena was always watching, always noting who danced with whom and which glances lingered too long.
It was then that Lady Monteverdi approached Rafael once more, her intentions as transparent as glass.
“Elena,” Rafael said under his breath, apprehension knotting his brow. “She has been relentless tonight.”
Elena placed a hand on his arm, reassuringly. “Leave her to me,” she murmured before turning to greet the lady with all the warmth of a midsummer’s day.
“Lady Monteverdi,” Elena beamed, “how enchanting you look this evening!”
The lady preened under Elena’s praise like a peacock in full display. “My dear Elena, you flatter me! But tell me, have you considered my nephew, the Viscount? He seems quite taken with you!”
Elena feigned surprise well enough to fool an actor on the stage. “Your nephew is indeed charming,” she conceded with grace.
“But alas,” she continued, her tone tinged with regret so practiced it could have been genuine, “my heart belongs to my work. There is little room for romance amid vials and herbs.”
Lady Monteverdi clucked her tongue in disapproval but did not press further—a small victory won through delicate maneuvering.
As the lady departed, Rafael let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. “I owe you greatly,” he said quietly.
Elena brushed off his gratitude with an airy wave of her hand. “What are friends for if not to shield one another?”
Their laughter was swallowed by the orchestra’s crescendo—a wave crashing against the shore—before they returned to their game of observation.
“Ah, but look there,” Elena pointed discreetly toward two gentlemen engaged in what appeared to be a heated discussion away from prying ears.
“The Duke of Burgundy seems quite animated this evening,” Rafael commented dryly.
“Animated? No.” Elena’s voice carried confidence like an empress carries her crown. “He is enraged—enraged because his secret dealings have not gone unnoticed by certain… parties.”
Rafael’s eyes widened slightly at her implication. “And do these parties have names?”
Elena leaned in closer; conspiratorially they stood shoulder to shoulder amidst the grandeur and gilt. “Names that carry weight enough to crush even the most fortified of reputations.”
Her words were veiled yet sharp as knives hidden beneath silk—a warning wrapped in velvet—and Rafael knew better than to pry further.
A lull fell upon them as they continued their watchful surveying until their attention was drawn to an altercation near one of the refreshment tables—a young lord had spilled wine on an elder statesman’s coat.
The room seemed to pause for just an instant before returning to its rhythm—a heartbeat skipped and regained—as servants scurried to mend what could be mended.
“Clumsy oaf,” Elena remarked without sympathy. Her gaze lingered on the young lord whose face had turned as red as the spilled wine itself.
Rafael chuckled at her candor but sensed there was more beneath her critique than simple disdain for poor manners.
“It is not merely clumsiness,” she confided in him alone. “He has eyes only for Lady Clarice and not where he places his drink.”
Rafael nodded appreciatively at her insight; nothing escaped Elena’s notice—not even love-struck folly amid the swirls of decadence that surrounded them.
As they spoke, their conversation flowed from scandalous affairs to veiled insults traded behind smiling facades until finally resting upon quieter matters—their hopes for the new world and what it might mean for each of them personally.
The party waned around them as candles burned low and shadows grew long; their dialogue remained vibrant—an island amid receding tides—as Elena continued proving herself both guardian and guide within their gilded cage.
As she bid her farewells with practiced elegance, her departure from the party as smooth as the silk of her gown. Rafael Torres, her friend and confidant, offered his arm, and together they navigated the cobblestone streets of their city. They walked under the canopy of stars, each a silent witness to the dreams that danced within Elena’s heart.
“Your company has made this evening far more bearable,” Elena confessed as they turned down the lane leading to her family’s estate.
Rafael’s laugh was a soft sound in the quiet night. “And you have saved me from countless dances with partners who mistake my steps for interest.”
Their shared mirth faded as they approached the iron gates of the Ortiz home, where lanterns glowed like amber eyes in the darkness. The guards nodded their respect, opening the way for Elena and her escort.
“Will you not come in for a nightcap?” she offered as they paused at the entrance.
Rafael shook his head. “I fear if I delay my return any longer, my mother will send out a search party.”
Elena nodded in understanding. “Then I shall not keep you. Thank you again, Rafael.”
With a final bow and a promise to call upon her soon, Rafael departed into the night, leaving Elena at the threshold of her home. She entered, the grandeur of her surroundings wrapping around her like a familiar cloak. Servants scurried to take her wrap and offer refreshments, but she waved them away.
“I shall retire for the evening,” she informed them, already ascending the sweeping staircase.
Once in her room, Elena allowed herself a moment of solitude. She removed her ribbon and let her hair cascade down in waves of chocolate brown, a stark contrast to her fair skin that still held the flush of an evening spent under watchful eyes. Her gaze caught sight of herself in the mirror—a reflection of duty and desire entwined like vines around an ancient oak.
A soft knock on her door interrupted her reverie. “Señorita Ortiz,” came a servant’s voice from beyond the polished wood. “Your father requests your presence in his study.”
Elena’s heart quickened; it was late for such summons. She fastened her hair back up with swift fingers and donned a more modest robe over her gown before making her way to meet him.
The study was a sanctuary of knowledge and power—bookshelves lined with leather-bound tomes, artifacts from distant lands adorning every surface. Her father sat behind his desk, his presence commanding even in silence.
“Father,” she greeted him with a nod as she entered.
He looked up from his papers, his expression unreadable—a trait Elena had inherited along with his keen intellect. In his hand was an envelope sealed with wax—the insignia pressed into it one she recognized immediately: The Witches Council of Spain.
“Sit down, Elena,” he beckoned with an air that brooked no argument.
She complied, settling into one of the chairs opposite him. The letter lay between them like an uncharted territory—one that held promise and peril in equal measure.
“You have been chosen,” he said simply, pushing the letter toward her.
Elena’s breath caught in her throat as she reached for the letter, her fingers trembling slightly. The seal of the Witches Council. She broke the seal carefully, unfolding the parchment with a sense of reverence and apprehension.
The letter was concise, its message clear. Elena had been selected. Her father watched her as she absorbed the contents of the letter, his eyes revealing a mixture of pride and concern. “This is a great opportunity, Elena,” he said, his voice steady. “But it is also a great responsibility. You will be far from home, in a land unfamiliar and untamed.”
Elena nodded, her mind racing with thoughts of the future. The New World held promise, but it also held danger. She would be leaving behind everything she knew—her family, her home, and her garden.
“I understand, Father,” she replied, her voice firm despite the turmoil inside her. “I will not let you—or the Council—down.”
Her father smiled, a rare show of emotion. “I have no doubt, Elena. You have always been destined for great things.”
Elena stood, clutching the letter to her chest. “I must begin preparations immediately. There is much to do and little time.”
As she left the study, the weight of her new responsibility settled on her shoulders like a mantle. She felt a mix of excitement and fear, but above all, determination. She would face whatever challenges lay ahead, forging a path for those who followed.
The night was deep as she returned to her room, the stars hidden behind a veil of clouds. Elena stood at her window, looking out into the darkness. The future was uncertain, but for the first time, she felt truly alive. She was ready to embrace her destiny, to venture into the unknown and make her mark on the world.
And in that moment, under the cover of night, Elena Ortiz made a silent vow. She would build Societies sanctuary in the New World.
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