(Kent’s perspective)

———

When talking and joking around with his sisters, he momentarily forgot how stuffy the ballroom could get. You would think with the huge open space it would allow for sufficient airflow.

It did not.

Stepping out of the room became a habit for him during these galas. Just a moment to breathe.

In and out. In and out. In and out.

He rested his back against the cool marbled walls of a small alcove just two turns from the ballroom. The chill seeped through his jacket, cooling his sweaty skin off his back.

The alcove in the wall could be easily overlooked, a square taken out of the marble that almost looked like a mistake of the builder. A stone pedestal with a large vase filled that space. The left of the square was not entirely closed off. The crack just fit Kent’s form. Once past the opening, he had much more room to relax.

Cove accidentally happened upon it years ago. Since then, the siblings used the hidden area when they needed to be alone.

The absolute silence calmed him. Almost all the guards were outside and inside the gala, so no hurried maids or loud boots of workers through the halls. Then a familiar set of footsteps echoed in the hallway. It jolted Kent upright and alert.

The clicking of Flent’s boots didn’t sound like anyone else’s shoes. Heels made a sharper, shorter clank. The common type of boots worn in Allaver had a lower thump on the tiled floors. His sounded as if someone clicked their tongue off the roof of their mouth. Not that Kent memorized the noise Flent’s shoes make. Definitely not.

From the volume of the clicks, Kent could tell Flent had not made the second turn yet. He maneuvered himself out of the hidden passage but kept himself in the cutout square. The siblings created an unspoken promise not to tell anyone about it, so he won't be the first to break it. The only one who knew about its existence other than them was Thorne, but that was to be expected.

Kent stepped into the hall just as Flent rounded the corner. “Kent? What are you doing out here?”

“Oh, just getting some air,” Kent answered. “What about you?”

“Same.” Flent leaned a shoulder against the wall. “These galas aren’t exciting at our age now.” He had a point. They used to be something to look forward to. His mother and sisters ran around trying on dozens of different dresses, switching out accessories and rating each combination. The process tampered down but still occurred at a lower level. His dad taught him and Spade how to dance with girls at the galas back when they had childlike coordination.

Now his parents organized formal events for suitors for Cove or for political reasons. Not necessarily preformative, more like a seriousness overtook them.

“Do you remember the first gala we met at? Three years ago?” Flent questioned. Kent positioned himself, mirroring Flent, against the wall. “Yes, it was a mess. Cove absolutely hated it. All the attention on her. She still hates being in the spotlight.”

“It is one of my favorite galas,” Flent said in a soft voice, almost a whisper. Kent’s eyes must have widened comically since Flent chuckled. “You were the only one who talked to me like you wanted to that day. I left the room for some air and then you were already there. We talked, sitting in a hallway like this one until the gala was done.”

The fond memory washed over Kent. Remembering the day like that was a welcome change instead of Cove’s version.

——

(The next part will be the flashback.)