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The Ashsword property looked like a perfume box tipped on its side, with way too much reflected light and so many scents Oz's nose was just about ready to give up. Ozwald stood at the entrance, tugging at his collar for the third time in the last five minutes.
"Stop that," Fiona whispered, batting his hand away. "You look fine."
"Fine? I don't think I do, actually." He gestured at his borrowed formal wear, that might have been close to the shades of green that he enjoyed, but had way too much embroidery for personal comfort. "How do you people not get itchy all the time in these things?"
"You'll get used to it." Fiona's blue dress caught the chandelier light as she linked her arm through his. "And 'you people'? I'm wounded, Oz."
"You know what I mean." He managed a grin despite his nerves. "You fancy folk who eat with seventeen forks."
"It's only twelve," she retorted, fighting a smile. "Come on, the Ashswords are waiting, and the longer we stand here, the more you look like you're about to bolt."
"I am absolutely about to bolt."
"No, you're not." Her grip tightened on his arm, somewhat comforting, mostly restrictive. "You've dealth with duels harder than this. It's just talking and standing around looking polite."
"I'm terrible at both of those things."
"You're not, and even if you were, you'd be in lucky, because I'm excellent at those." She steered him forward, her voice dropping even lower. "Just follow my lead, don't do anything you don't see others doing, and for the love of the gods, don't do the hand thing while you're talking. Some people might take it the wrong way."
Ozwald's hands, which had indeed begun to gesture, fell to his sides. "Right, no 'hand thing'. Got it."
Astro and Florallyn Ashsword proved to be a warm-hearted but not exactly affectionate couple to their guests. Fiona led the introduction, repeating the lie that her new friend Ozwald Thornecroft was the son of Birchburrow's mayor, while Oz bowed exactly as Fiona had drilled into his knees for two hours, every day, for a whole week.
It went well, even if Ozwald had been unable to understand most of the conversation, with how heavy the couple's accent had been.
"See?" Fiona whispered as they escaped into the throng. "Painless."
"Our definitions of painless are very different, then." But Ozwald's shoulders had relaxed slightly. The main hall before them was mostly just a very tall ceiling and flowers everywhere, with the rest being almost invisible with amount of people gathered. "Where do we even start?"
"We circle around the hall, smile all the time, make quick chats and maybe drink something." Fiona paused to wave at someone on the other side of large chamber, and Ozwald waved as well, even if he didn't recognize the family who excitedly waved back. "And we try to avoid- oh no."
"What? What's 'oh no'?" Ozwald followed her gaze across the room and saw a young man in dark pink, his ginger hair swept back, talking animatedly with someone else. "Isn't that...?"
"My eternal rival." Fiona's voice had gone flat. "Of course he's here. The Ashswords and the Oleanders have been buddies for a century by now."
Ozwald didn't like the expression on her face, something between sadness and blankness that had replaced her earlier amusement. "Can't we go to the other side of the room?"
"And look like I'm avoiding him? Absolutely not." She lifted her chin. "Besides, his dad already saw us. Running now would be worse."
Canto Oleander had indeed spotted them, quickly nudging his youngest to cross the floor. Xander's expression flickered: surprise, wariness and something that might have been disappointment, all at the same time, before settling into the polite, half-bored expression that half the guests also had. He excused himself from the other person and crossed the floor toward them.
"Merryweather," he said, nodding.
"Oleander." Fiona's smile was so forced it could have cut glass.
The silence stretched for more seconds than expected. Ozwald watched them both, Fiona rigid beside him, Xander shifting his weight almost imperceptibly, and remembered all the conversations Fiona had avoided having about her rival. How she'd change the subject whenever their other dormmates mentioned the Oleander name, and how she'd gripped her clarinet case a little too tightly after losing her latest duel, knowing Xander had been in the audience, even if he hadn't done anything.
"Right then," Ozwald mimicked Eden whenever they spoke in a fancy way, extending his hand. "Since Fiona seems to have forgotten her manners, I'm her friend, Ozwald Thornecroft. Pleased to meet you."
Xander blinked, clearly thrown off balance. After a moment's hesitation, he shook Ozwald's hand. "Xander Oleander. Bard magic." His grip was firm but not aggressive. "Are you two really... friends?"
"Dormmates," Fiona answered quickly.
"Friends," Ozwald corrected, giving Fiona a pointed look. "We've known each other since I arrived in Weslyn, she's been showing me around the city. We got lucky to become dormmates." He vaguely began gesturing with one hand, then remembered he wasn't supposed to do it and let his arm drop. "I'm mostly just focusing on studies for now, I think."
A small smile tugged at Xander's mouth. "First high-society event?"
"Is it that obvious?"
"You're not exactly hiding it." The smile widened slightly. "You'll work your way in, I'm sure."
"I guess copying you isn't that hard." Ozwald turned to Fiona with a cheeky grin.
"Because copying me works perfectly well," Fiona muttered, but some of the tension had left her shoulders.
Xander's expression shifted to something that didn't quite have a name, before he glanced at Fiona. "Though I suppose the dueling practices prove otherwise."
Fiona's jaw tightened. "They certainly do."
The warmth in Xander's face dimmed. "Right. Well. I should get back to-"
"Your sister is looking for you," Fiona said, nodding toward a pair of young women wandering around the hall, one of them having the same ginger hair as Xander. "Better prepare yourself for the next twenty minutes."
"Thank you for the warning." Xander's tone was careful, like he was dealing with an animal. He nodded to Ozwald. "Good to meet you, Thornecroft. Maybe I'll see you around campus."
"Yeah, definitely." Ozwald watched him go, then turned to Fiona. "He doesn't look-"
"Don't."
"I'm just commenting-"
"I know what you're about to say, so don't." She quickly grabbed a glass from a passing tray, and drained half her champagne in one go. "Can we please talk about literally anything else?"
"Your wish is my command, oh my gracious guide." Ozwald scanned the room, looking for a distraction. "What's the protocol if I need to sneeze?"
Despite herself, Fiona laughed; a real one, not the soft sound she was used to producing. "You're ridiculous."
"I'm serious..! All the stuffy stuff is catching up to me. It's making me queasy."
"Don't you dare feel sick just yet." Fiona finished her glass, some of her earlier lightness returning. "Come on. I know the Grimms want to talk to me, and you need to experience at least one boring conversation to complete your high-society education."
"Me and 'boring' don't go well."
"Trust me, you're not ready for the eccentric stuff I've seen before." Fiona straightened slightly as they cam closer to an older couple; a young man about their age trailing behind them. "Mr. and Mrs. Grimm, how lucky to see you both."
"Greetings, my dear," Lady Grimm air-kissed both of Fiona's cheeks. "And who is this handsome young man?"
"Ozwald Thornecroft, son of Birchburrow's mayor," Fiona said smoothly. "Oz, this is Lord and Lady Grimm, and their son Ambrose."
Ambrose didn't say anything, just looking between Fiona and Ozwald before turning to look at his mother.
"Ambrose, really," Lady Grimm chided, her smiling disappearing. "It's only polite to greet others."
"Are you two an item?" Ambrose finally spoke up.
Ozwald felt Fiona's hand squeeze around his arm, and the pain was so unbearable that, despite knowing he had been told to not do any strange expressions, he couldn't help but bare his teeth and close his watering eyes, lest anyone see his pupils reach behind his eyes.
"I'm really sorry about him," Lord Grimm interjected. "We don't know what's gotten into his brain."
At this, Fiona finally let go of Ozwald's arm, and when the pain lessened enough, he lowered his head to look at her, and found that her face had turned redder than a tomato.
"I'm not sure-" Ozwald tried to conjure up an answer, but was quickly interrupted.
A gloved palm pressed against his mouth, with its owner looking like she could burst out crying from embarrassment at any moment; eyes shut tight but obviously tearing up.
"No no! Stop talking!"
Fiona's face only returned to normal after many apologies from both Grimm parents, and Ambrose's silence when prompted to do the same, after which she excused herself and Oz from their presence and took him to make another circle around the hall.
"That was mortifying," Fiona spoke up after setting her glass down on a table. "But I guess it wasn't as bad as it could have been."
"Then I guess I survived my first major test." Oz offered his arm again. "What's next on the gauntlet?"
They eventually found more people, whom Fiona recognized but Ozwald certainly didn't, to engage in conversation with, and Oz found himself actually relaxing after so much time in the party.
The encounter with Xander had cast a shadow, but it was fading now, receding into the background, like the strings of quartet music someone was playing in the distance. Fiona's shoulders had lost their rigid set, and Ozwald had stopped tugging at his collar.
"You know," Fiona murmured as they escaped into a quiet alcove near the corner of the hall, "you're doing remarkably well."
"I am?" Ozwald snagged a tiny pastry he had picked up that looked like it could keep his stomach full alone. "I feel like I'm one wrong word away from exposing myself as a complete fraud."
"Everyone here is a complete fraud, Oz. That's the point." She said it lightly, but something flickered in her expression, something between tired and honest. "We're all just playing parts. You're actually the most genuine person I've talked to during one of these events."
"Is that why you brought me? So you'd have at least one genuine person to talk to?"
"Maybe." She picked at the edge of her own pastry without eating it. "It's exhausting, you know. Being 'Fiona Merryweather of the Merryweathers' instead of just... Fiona."
"For what it's worth," Ozwald encouraged quietly, "I prefer just Fiona."
She looked at him then, really looked at him, and smiled, truly relaxed and not rehearsed.
"That's why I brought you."
The music swelled, warning couples that it was time to move toward the dance floor. Fiona watched them with an expression Ozwald couldn't quite read.
"Do you want to dance?" he asked.
"Gods, no! Do you know how many hours of lessons that would require?" She shook her head. "For you, anyways. Besides, I've walked plenty for just one evening."
"Fair enough." He popped the rest of his pastry into his mouth. "Want to hide in here and watch instead?"
"Now you're talking my language."
They settled in, shoulders nearly touching, and Ozwald launched into a running commentary on the dancers that had Fiona pressing her hand to her mouth to muffle her laughter.
The party continued around them, no less grand, not paying attention to the two.
They could just be themselves for the rest of the night, until Fiona's parents told her it was time to leave.