Chapter 6 - The Whispers of High Society
The grand ballroom of the Luminary Gala was a sea of glittering diamonds, champagne flutes, and suffocating hypocrisy. Evelyn had insisted on attending, wheeling herself into the den of her political enemies with Mia by her side and Arthur walking a half-step behind her, dressed in a tailored suit that felt like a straightjacket.
The moment they entered, the music seemed to falter. The whispers began—a low, venomous hiss that rippled through the noble crowd.
"Is that the child from the slums?" "Look at the father... you can take the man out of the mines, but you can't take the coal dust out of his skin." "Evelyn has finally lost her mind. To bring that filth into the light of the upper tier..."
Mia clung tightly to Evelyn’s hand, her small fingers trembling. She didn't understand the complex political machinations of the adults, but she understood cruelty. She could feel the hundreds of sharp, mocking eyes staring down at her.
"Chin up, my dear," Evelyn whispered down to her, her voice steeling. "Never let them see you flinch. You are a Vance."
Suddenly, the crowd parted to reveal a tall, sharply dressed man with silver-streaked hair and eyes like a winter frost. Lord Sterling, the High Prosecutor and Evelyn’s fiercest rival on the council, stepped forward with a predatory smile.
"Chief Justice Vance," Sterling purred, bowing slightly, though his eyes remained fixed on Arthur. "And her... fascinating new entourage. I must admit, the rumors did not do justice to the sheer absurdity of this spectacle."
"Lord Sterling," Evelyn replied, her tone sharp enough to cut glass. "I did not know the High Prosecutor had time to indulge in ballroom gossip. I assumed you were busy preparing cases that actually have legal merit."
Sterling laughed, a dry, humorless sound. He stepped closer, leaning down toward Mia, his smile turning malicious. "I am simply curious about the miracle child. The one who claims she can cure the incurable. Tell me, little one, where did your mother find that magical little tin? Because the last time I checked, stealing state secrets from the royal archives is punishable by the gallows—even for dead women."
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Arthur instinctively stepped forward, his massive frame shielding Mia from the prosecutor. "Watch your tongue, milord," Arthur growled, his lower-district protective instincts overriding his fear of nobility.
Sterling’s smile vanished, replaced by an icy glare. "Know your place, rat," he hissed. "Your execution order is already drafted. It only waits for the council's signature."
