~Isolde’s Point Of View~
Isolde Bellamy has never liked ceremonies. They’re noisy, sweaty, and the air is always filled with the scent of nerves, cheap perfume, and a little too much testosterone. The only saving grace tonight is that she will finally—finally... be out of the auditorium where everyone’s hormones were bouncing off the walls like hyperactive fleas.
Now, Ms. Vesper is droning at the front, announcing dorm arrangements with such severity as though she were someone signing a peace treaty. Isolde actually listens, not because she cares deeply but because Ms. Vesper is one of the few adults in this madhouse who knows how to lace practicality with menace.
Her voice sounds like chalk scraping over slate, and though she’s addressing hundreds of students, she has the uncanny talent of making it feel like a scolding directed at each individual listener.
"Those whose parents are members of the Alpha Council, including the Bellamys, the Crowhursts, the Trevors, the Castells, the Graymores, and so on—will be quartered in suite accommodations in the Betas, Gammas, Deltas formation. All others..." Ms. Vesper glances down her list as though the lower classes are nothing more than a bothersome afterthought, "...will occupy the dormitory towers, ground floors for year ones, second floors for year twos, and so on."
The hall buzzes with chatter, eager relief after the tension building since Heidi’s bizarre test. Isolde exhales as her shoulders sink. One circus ends, and another begins.
When Ms. Vesper dismisses them to head for the ballroom, and so, chairs begin to screech. Voices rise and everyone is already buzzing about mates, music, and the buffet.
Across the row, Morgan and Grayson are already plotting out loud.
"She’s our target for the ball," Morgan says, adjusting his cufflinks like he’s about to duel Heidi with fashion instead of fists.
Grayson’s grin is as sharp as a wolf’s bite. "Absolutely. The girl has secrets, and if anyone can drag them out, it’s us."
"And we need to get to the bottom of this Darien-Heidi mess. They are hiding something. She’s our slave, so she’s going to get it if she’s gone behind our back to serve Darien." Morgan sucks his teeth.
Daphne, predictably, screeches. "Why would you even want to talk to her in the first place? She’s not worth your time!"
Isolde rubs her temple with a single elegant finger. Her sister’s voice drills into her skull worse than Ms. Vesper’s chalkboard tone. "Because they want to get to the bottom of what happened," she answers dryly before either brother can explain again.
Then, louder: "Good luck with your interrogation. I’m sure harassing a Moon Blessed girl who has been terrified since the beginning of this annoying party will end marvelously for you."
Daphne glares at her like she’s just betrayed the entire Bellamy bloodline. "Seriously, Isolde? You too? You’re having that nobody’s back?"
Isolde lifts one shoulder in a slow, unbothered shrug. She doesn’t have the energy to bicker tonight.
Her attention flicks instead to Darien who is already striding toward the exit with his characteristic brooding silence. The crowd is parting for him like he’s a storm cloud no one wants to be drenched by.
"Wait up, bro. I’ll rather walk with you," she calls after him, standing. Her boots that are black leather, heavy-soled, and distinctly more gothic than the jewel-toned silks and bright satin heels everyone else is flaunting—thud against the floor as she pushes through the dispersing crowd.
Darien doesn’t slow, of course. But Isolde lengthens her stride and catches up anyway.
The hallways are alive with motion. Students flood out of the ceremony, glittering in extravagant outfits chosen for the mate ball. Sequins shimmer, silk swishes, colognes and perfumes cloud the air in dizzying waves. It smells like a bouquet got drunk and staggered through a nightclub.
Isolde resists the urge to sneeze.
Her own black velvet dress with lace sleeves, silver rings clinking softly as her hands sway—feels like a shadow drifting among a parade of fireworks. People look, of course, but most quickly glance away. Isolde has cultivated a reputation for being aloof, unapproachable, and rational to a fault.
Perfect.
Her mother would call it wasted potential. Isolde calls it freedom, however limited. She turns her head, studying Darien as they walk. His expression is carved from stone, eyes locked on some invisible horizon.
"Something’s wrong," she says flatly.
His lips twitch in a humorless almost-smile. "Rich, coming from you. The queen of gloom herself."
Isolde smirks. "Touché. But I’m a consistent queen of gloom. You, on the other hand, seem like someone just poisoned your wine."
"Maybe they did."
She bumps his arm with her elbow, the lace on her sleeve brushing against his jacket. "Very funny. Now, be serious. What’s gnawing at you?"
"You’re acting so suspicious tonight, sister. Do you by chance, have a mischievous plan up your sleeve?" Darien asks, turning to her.
If that mischievous plan is her plotting to attend the mate ball unlike what everyone must be thinking, then maybe yes. However, she’s not ready to explain why to Darien right now.
Hence, she smirks faintly. "Takes one to know one."
For a second, just a second, the heaviness in her brother’s features eases. Then it returns darker.
"I’m serious, Darien. You’ve been in a mood all night. Spill."
He’s about to answer when a gaggle of girls sidles into their path.
They’re blushing, whispering among themselves, giggling behind their hands with painted nails. Silk skirts flutter as they step forward, blocking the siblings like a pack of brightly-feathered birds.
"Good evening, Darien. Isolde," the boldest one says, dipping her head in a polite nod.
Isolde inclines her head coolly. "Ladies."
"Can we have a moment with you, Darien?" One of them shyly blushed.
Argh... not this brother of hers! Isolde hates when he’s like this. Darien has yet to find his mate. The first duty of an eligible Alpha’s children is to find their mate. Somehow, this has become a constant topic between Darien and their mother who believes her son is a step back where Amias is soon to be engaged to Lira, the most outstanding young lady of the pack who is also the Beta’s daughter.
However, from the look of things, Isolde doesn’t think her brother will ever be mated judging from his chronic indifference to women.
The Moon Goddess can’t be cruel enough to subject some girl to a life with her emotionally available brother, can she? Isolde has always wondered.
However, a part of her believes that with the right woman, Darien would come out of his shell. That shell of her brother’s just happens to be one with responsibilities bigger than his age—all infused by none other than their mother.
Matter of fact, it’ll be better for everyone if Darien is fated this year. That way, her brother will have some semblance of peace at home once again, Isolde decides.
And... she’s going to help him find her—wherever and whoever she is.