Triune
an excerpt

“Marry me,” he whispered before he raised me to my feet. From around us came the sound of applause, the kind people gave when they were more focused on their gossip. Whether it was about us or about any of those who had dared to perform the dance, I did not know. The intoxication in his eyes, both from the alcohol and from something else entirely, told me he was utterly serious.
“Don’t be foolish.” I turned away from him to leave the floor, but did not release the hold I still had on his hand. He followed willingly, close enough for our bodies to occasionally brush.

“Affairs of the heart have always been my downfall,” he confided. Then, again, “marry me.”
“So you can rescue me?” I teased as we rejoined the crowd. A server passed us with drinks, staring murderously at me all the while. The captain took a glass for each of us and, when I refused mine, downed the other completely as I continued.
“So you can take me away from this horrid life and bestow upon me wealth and riches and all the love you have to offer until some other young thing catches your fancy?”
He smiled without pretense, and it was beautiful. “Something like that.”
He was a romantic. That much was obvious. While other women, some of them at this moment watching us with envy, might agree wholeheartedly to his whim, I had already suffered quite enough at the hands of romantics. “How can I give you my heart when I don’t even know your name?”
He would’ve given it to me, his name and then gods only know what else, but we were interrupted once more; this time by the one I loathed even more than Lord Wethby.
“You!” Lord Breydend would never lower himself to learn the names of his servants. He approached in anger that was accentuated by the red overcoat he’d chosen for the occasion, the one that was covered with cords and trim and ensured he would stand out every bit as much as his status demanded he should. I curtsied as he neared us. The captain beside me stiffened and straightened in what I supposed was some gesture of respect.
“As a member of my staff, you will refrain from making a spectacle of yourself with my guests. I’ll be sure to have the matron beat you to remind you of your place.”
“My lord.”
“And you -- ” he turned his anger on the officer before he could attempt to use his charm. “You name, your rank and your immediate commanding officer.”
He sipped at his drink, a deliberate pause that served only to frustrate Breydend further. “I wasn’t aware I answered to you.”
“As of tonight, you’ll go down on your knees and lick my boots if I tell you to. Insolent wretch. Your name, your rank and your commander. Now.”
“Of course.” Another polite smile, the kind that served as a warning.” Gnaeus Ferlae, Captain of His Most Imperial Majesty's Divinely Ordained Elite Guard and Preserver of Peace in the Outermost Territories. Due to the nature of my duties, which are none of your damned business, I report directly to General Dasarnus. If you wish to complain to him about my choice of dancing partners, I‘m sure he‘ll inform you that he‘s too busy to give a rat‘s ass and to bother him again when you have some legitimate complaint about how I or any of his others go about our jobs of keeping the Thendash, the Duldruns, the Bastion or any of your other enemies out of your borders.” He offered a small bow. “My lord.”
I was staring at him, somewhere between awed and in fear for his life. Breydend’s face had grown increasingly redder and redder during the introduction, until I feared he would either start screaming orders like a child or attempt to strike the officer for his audacity. His fists were clenched at his sides, shaking from the tension. He’s always possessed a short temper, the result of being bowed to since birth and of having never been denied anything he desired. He was not above making a spectacle of himself by attempting to assert his dominance, even in front of his guests. Especially in front of his guests. The scandalous display would only serve to remind them that they would soon be among those groveling to appease him.
Captain Ferlae, for his part, took another sip of his drink while he waited for Breydend to snap. “I suppose General Dasarnus will be receiving a report about my atrocious conduct,” he said at last, as Breydend continued to silently boil.
“Indeed.” The one word was all he could manage, and even that was spat from gritted teeth.
“I expect it will call for a discharge without honor.”
The threat, though it came from Ferlae’s lips, helped the young lord to regain some of his composure. “It shall.”
“I see.” He finished his glass, the second in only a handful of minutes, and glanced around for another. He found one, carelessly abandoned by another reveler, on a pedestal holding one of the room’s many rare lilies. “In that case, I shall make it a point to enjoy the rest of my evening. I shall be enjoying it with the young lady, and shall not be dissuaded unless she herself has some objection to my company.”