Claiming His Luna

Cercei’s POVContent © NôvelDrama.Org 2024.

Amid the abundant design and meticulously crafted ambiance, the execution of the event proved to be surprisingly swift.

Monsieur, always a perceptive expert, had sought the assistance of highly skilled designers and a large group of one thousand workers. My occasional bouts of remembering the past fondly and brief periods of confusion went mostly unnoticed, or at least Madam Cecè appeared unaware of them.

It dawned on me that my presence would only breed chaos rather than aid in the proceedings. Consequently, I decided to lend a helping hand in the bustling kitchen. Naturally, I refrained from culinary duties, for they had enlisted the services of numerous seasoned chefs. However, I did contribute by preparing the utensils and sundry paraphernalia.

Lost in my own reverie for the most part, I eventually retreated outside to embrace the refreshing breeze of the evening air. The mistake I made earlier continued to trouble my mind and trying to clarify the subsequent events proved to be a difficult and challenging endeavour.

How do I even explain that?

The essential point is that achieving perfection is necessary. Although I am not the one getting married or receiving the abundant rewards of the union, no person in this grand gathering pursues flawlessness with a greater passion than I do.

Typically, I am not prone to clumsiness or mistakes, but I feel quite uncomfortable in social gatherings. The grand and elegant ball serves as evidence of my predicament.

After the finishing touches adorned every corner of the venue, I returned to the majestic mansion to change my clothes. Responsibility called me to serve during the upcoming social gathering, and, as expected, masks were required to be worn as per Vienna’s instruction.

While struggling to balance a tray filled with enticing cocktails, Maria looked at the magnificent ballroom and said, “This gathering exceeds the grandeur of the ball.”

An exasperated sigh escaped my lips, betraying my inner turmoil.

“Why the umm,” she playfully mimicked my sigh, her tone laced with curiosity.

“Oh, nothing of great consequence. It’s just that the previous soirée didn’t quite unfold as expected,” I confessed, a tinge of disappointment lingering in my voice.

She gazed at me with genuine concern and compassion radiating from her luminous eyes and uttered, “Oh, my dear.”

“I would love to hug you right now, but I can’t,” A pang of longing to be enveloped in her comforting embrace bathed over me, but her hands were occupied by the tray she dutifully carried.

A glimmer of tears moistened my eyes, yet I managed to muster a faint chuckle. “I, too, would embrace you wholeheartedly, but…” My gesture revealed the food and drinks I held in my hands.

“Serve them what you have,” she advised, her mischievous wink coaxing a genuine smile to grace my countenance. With her whimsical, audacious, and spirited disposition, Maria never failed to elicit joy within me.

Throughout the night, I approached my serving duties with utmost caution. I deliberately maintained a safe distance from the cluster of gentlemen, as well as from Vienna and her fiance.

My objective was to keep a low profile, avoiding any semblance of conversation. After all, such is the unwritten code governing the conduct of a servant.

Thus far, I have managed to steer the evening with relative success, despite the constant thudding of my heart and the relentless onslaught of paranoid thoughts. I was determined not to falter, to avoid any mishaps that could tarnish this meticulously orchestrated affair.

Amidst the bustling conversations and the collective gaze fixated upon the engaged couple, I remained a mere spectre, unseen and inconspicuous.

I exerted every ounce of effort to avert my gaze from their direction. The temptation to steal a glimpse of Lucian was overpowering, yet I steadfastly kept my head held steady. It was a challenge, especially considering the alluring, intoxicating aroma that emanated from him. I marvelled at my composure, avoiding misfortunes that might have betrayed my inner frenzy.

I vehemently resisted any thoughts that would remind me of that fateful, sinful night. To witness him now, entering into an engagement as if nothing had happened between us, was a bitter pill to swallow. I am well aware that men of his ilk are plentiful, scattered across the vast tapestry of society.

I learn the reality of such encounters and their transient nature. However, I cannot simply feign indifference, not when it holds such significance for me. It was my first kiss, my first encounter. I hesitated to even consider it as such, but the casual way he treated it gave me no option but to perceive it as a brief and insignificant affair.

As a servant, I am accustomed to tending to the needs of the aristocracy, but not in this manner. At the very least, I had expected him to show a minimum level of decency-a conversation, an apology for crossing the boundaries of that secluded cabin.

Yet, I resolved to handle the situation with maturity. I refrained from stealing even a single glimpse of him throughout the night, focusing instead on perfecting my stride to avoid any untoward spills.

After dutifully delivering beverages to the guests at the rear table, I seized a fleeting moment for rest. Even though breaks were not included in our responsibilities, I found myself overwhelmed by the internal restlessness. The memories of those two wretched nights intertwined in my mind, creating an unbidden remix of anguish and despair.

Overwhelmed, I sought comfort outside the confines of the mansion, escaping to the embrace of the moonlit night. Gazing upon the radiant full moon, a part of me yearned to transform-to lose myself amidst the mysterious depths of the forest and momentarily forget my burdens.

To roam freely, to hunt, and revel in my primal nature. It was an activity my father and I once shared, a cherished bond we forged. While my mother instilled in me the values of decency, sophistication, and etiquette, my father taught me the ways of the hunt, instilling bravery and self-discovery within me.

Now, with his absence, it feels as though his teachings have faded into oblivion. Oh, how I longed to immerse myself in those majestic forests. Unfortunately, the price of such an indulgence would require me to give up everything that is dear to me.

“Cercei, what are you doing here?” Startled, I leapt to my feet as a voice abruptly pierced the stillness behind me. I stammered, taken aback by the sudden presence.

“Madàm,” I responded, my voice betraying my nerves.

“Why are you here?” she repeated, her tone insistent, demanding an explanation.

“It’s just… it became overwhelming inside, and I needed… I was about to return,” I gestured clumsily, my fingers pointing aimlessly in various directions, desperately searching for the right words to justify my presence.

Her gaze bore into me, fierce and unyielding. My legs quivered involuntarily beneath me. Yet, with a sigh, her eyes softened, and a fleeting tenderness replaced her earlier intensity.

“Go back inside, child. We have a multitude of hungry guests awaiting their food,” she instructed, gently placing a hand on my back and guiding me towards the entrance.

Relief washed over me as Madàm Cecè chose not to reprimand me. I knew she possessed some awareness of what had occurred to my father-perhaps not the entirety of it, but she understood the heartless detachment Monsieur had inflicted upon him.

Resuming my duties, I continued serving drinks and delicacies to the guests. Ensuring to maintain a safe distance, I steered the room with measured steps. One particular table, occupied by a group of men, summoned me and inquired about my name. I merely bowed in deference, abstaining from uttering a single word. Luckily, they didn’t possess the persistent insistence displayed by those who came before them.

A sudden pang of distress gripped me, causing my hand to clutch my abdomen instinctively.

“Oh god, I have a stomachache,” Sophia exclaimed. I happened to be in the kitchen, getting more wine, when I noticed Sophia grimacing and sitting on the floor, clutching her stomach. She’s the girl I spoke to earlier, the one who helped me when I was lost due to my traumatic experience.

“Sophia, are you alright?” I inquired, hastily setting the tray aside and rushing to her side. Beads of sweat dotted her forehead, and her complexion had paled noticeably.

A disturbing realisation rinsed over me as I surveyed the bustling kitchen. Countless servants darted about, their attention consumed by their respective tasks. How could they so easily disregard the dilemma of another in pain? While the demands of the occasion were pressing, it troubled me deeply to witness such apathy.

“I can no longer attend my assigned table. Could you please take over and serve their meals, just this once?” Sophia’s voice strained with each word, her agonized grunts betraying the severity of her discomfort. Panic surged inside me as I witnessed her suffering.

“What about you? Let me help you to your room,” I implored, my concern overriding any thoughts of the impending responsibilities that awaited me.

“No, I can manage on my own, but you must serve them, please,” she begged, her words laced with desperation.

“Alright, alright. Which table?” I acquiesced, my mind clouded by sympathy, blinding me to the potential consequences of my actions.

“The gold one at the center,” she replied, and I nodded absentmindedly. Little did I realise that the goodwill of empathy could sometimes lead one down a path of careless foolishness.