The trio engages the Commissioner in more conversation than the latter typically permits, although the Commissioner actively obstructs the older man’s attempts at inclusion.  Instead, the Commissioner discusses the mining trade with the woman and talks about travel and international politics with the younger man.  The latter mentions the prince of the Emerald Isles’ ascension to kinghood, and the Commissioner, to my astonishment, laughs aloud.

The Matron smiles and touches the Coordinator’s wrist.  “I’ve missed that sound.”

The Coordinator nods and pulls at the gold glove over his hand.  “He’s nearly fully healed after the accident.  His firstborn son is finally married.  I suppose all he would need now is for Angelo to announce he’s finally obtained an apprenticeship.”  He punctuates the final statement with an overt glance at the full-bearded brother at his side.  

The Young Sir grins and rubs the closer-shorn hair at the sides of his head and jaw.  “If I did anything like that, Dad’s heart would explode.”  He shrugs and drapes an arm over the back of his chair.  “I’m just trying to keep him out of an early grave.”

While the Commissioner’s family laughs with various levels of intensity, the trio splits up.  The two men remain talking with the groomsman next to the Commissioner, but the woman is already conversing with the Heir and his bride.  I did not identify this woman while she held the Commissioner’s attention, but I appreciate her apparent distaste for this amount of pretense.  But then, the Young Miss catches my attention.

She leans forward in her seat and looks toward the oncoming guests with wide eyes.  She starts fussing with her braided tiara of hair.  She puts her hands flat on top of each other on the table, then clasps them, then presumably puts them in her lap before placing them back on top of the table a dinner plate’s width apart.  She glances back toward the line, breathes deeply, and pulls her stole tighter around her shoulders.

“I must return to my post,” I tell Three.  I do not await a response before I walk directly toward the Young Miss.

The woman clasps the bride’s hand, turns, and walks past bridal attendant after bridal attendant.  The woman stops in front of the Young Miss just before I reach her.  Despite my earlier fondness of this guest’s directness, I prepare to remove her from my path to protect both my position and the Commissioner’s daughter.

The Young Miss’s eyes flick from the visitor to me.  To her credit, despite the sharp intake of breath, the Young Miss maintains her practiced smile.

“Ah, Judah!”  The Young Miss stands and waves an open hand from me to her visitor.  “I would like you to meet Madame Genevieve Benoit-Dumas.  Madame Benoit-Dumas, this is Judah, my personal security coordinator.”

Madame Benoit-Dumas leisurely turns to assess me.  Her height reaches just above my elbow, but her full figure and narrow facial features betray nothing but cool detachment.

Madame Benoit-Dumas grins and points her folded, white-and-turquoise fan at me. “Ah, yes.  I recognize the fine construction.  I recall seeing you on the edge of the dais with your counterparts.”  She turns to the Young Miss.  “Your father and I failed to discuss his own chief.  He can be quite the shrewd showman, debuting his newest assets without warning at the biggest social event of the year.”  Madame Benoit-Dumas clasps her fan over the stomach of her matching dress.  “May I suppose Don Maximilian has retained your services indefinitely?”

I have no reason to abstract any response, but years of avoiding detection by greater outside of direct conflict have not engendered easy communication with folks.

“Yes, you may suppose as much.”

“Splendid.”  

The Young Miss sits.  “It’s wonderful to see you again, Madame Benoit-Dumas.  It’s been too long!”

Madame Benoit-Dumas nods once.  “I merely board the trains from the north, I cannot drive them.  Had my son made it into the groom’s party, I’d not have left the city-state in the first place.”

The Young Miss lowers her head.  “I understand, Madame.  I assure you, Benicio was on Max’s list, but he missed out by only one spot.”

Madame Benoit-Dumas flicks her hand.  “The trouble is neither yours nor your brother’s.  These things are decided and passed; they mustn’t be fretted.”

“Oh, but please believe me; I tried to persuade Maximus to give Benicio a spot.  He would be a much bet—”  The Young Miss pauses, closes her eyes, takes a shallow breath, and smiles with a sly glance to the bridesmaid to her left.  “I would prefer his company to many of the options left available to me.”

Madame Benoit-Dumas raises her chin, then looks over to the other members of her trio.  The Heir chatters animatedly with the younger of the men.  

The corner of her mouth rises.  “May I suppose that you are another of his admirers?”

The Young Miss sits up and back against her chair.  “Oh, yes!  But not like that.  I simply appreciate his writings.  His prose is so detailed, yet so vivid.  The research alone on each article must take weeks.  How does he create such quality columns on a regular basis?”

“Benni is very dedicated to his craft.”  With a tilt of her head, Madame Benoit-Dumas adds, “He also manages his time quite closely.  We all have our talents, Miss Klóe.  I hear you’ve taken lessons under Sinmaryil Onlarion.  Perhaps you will, one morning, find your own fortunes bolstered by my son’s evocative composition?”

The Young Miss’s gaze darts around before she lowers her head.  “Maybe.”  She interlaces her fingers on the tabletop and taps her thumbs together.  “I-I’ve just started my lessons, and there’s no knowing when Benicio will be back around, or if I’ll even be good enough to warrant any wide notice…”

While the Young Miss continues, Madame Benoit-Dumas looks over her shoulder at me.  “May I hold the girl’s hand?” she whispers.

As I consider the request, I study the floral blue swirls on her wide-sleeved ivory suit; they form no magical inscription I know.  I see no suspicious markings or tattoos on her neck, face, or wrists.  The cloth fan has no obviously dangerous components to its lining or frame.  My proximity precludes any sudden physical attack on her part from causing permanent, lasting, or serious damage to the Young Miss.  Madame Benoit-Dumas’s two companions are still two seats away; I could easily intercept them, should the need arise.

“I will allow it.”

Madame Benoit-Dumas nods and faces the Young Miss.  She reaches out with an empty hand and places it on top of the Young Miss’s clenched fingers.

The Young Miss stops rambling.  She breathes deeply, then focuses on her elder.

Madame Benoit-Dumas leans forward.  “Your worry is misplaced, Young Miss Klóe.  Your father’s faith in you and your ability is not.  Not once have I known your father to invest in a venture or a vision without absolute certainty; you, your brothers, your mother, none of you are exceptions.  If you lose faith in yourself, keep the faith your father has in you.  Do you understand?”

Madame Benoit-Dumas’s companions arrive at the spot next to us.  Even in my blurry periphery, their eyes betray impatience as they try to hurry through the bridal party members.  Could the Madame be stalling for her companions to rejoin her?  I turn to bring the men’s hands into focus as the Young Miss nods.

“Yes, Madame.”

The woman blinks one eye.  “I gave this same advice to Benni when he was your age.”  She turns her head to acknowledge the men approaching her.   “It seems to have done you well, wouldn’t you say?”

The younger one smiles and offers his hand to the Young Miss; it seems empty, as well.

“I’ll say it has.  Benicio Diego Benoit-Esperanza, at your service.”

The Young Miss lifts one hand briefly before she hides both behind the table.  “Yes, I know,” she says with a smile.  The next moment, her eyes widen and she laughs. “I mean, I remember.  You visited my brother often before he began his studies to join our father’s business.  Maximus, that is.  Clearly.”  The Young Miss coughs and slowly offers her hand. 

Benicio gasps.  “Little Klóe Miranda?  Ha-ha!”  He grasps the Young Miss’s hand between his and pumps it.  “I don’t believe it; I hardly recognized you!”  He turns to the older man.  “Perhaps you should warn Donna Talia, Papá.  Time will be short before this one is fending off her many suitors with a large stick.”

The father frowns at me.  He leans toward his son and attempts to whisper, “I believe Don Maximilian understands her future troubles full and well.  Now, let us finish this tour and return to our seats.”  

Mr. Esperanza-Benoit casts another glance at me.  He then engages the Young Miss with the same tone of obligation that I have heard far too many times this evening.  By the cadence of both the guest and my charge, the interchange will be mercifully brief.

Perhaps sensing the same conclusion, Madame Benoit-Dumas turns to me.  She unfurls her fan to reveal a stylized ram in its bright teal inks.

“Please, forgive my husband.  And do take care of Miss Klóe, Hest Judah.”  Madame Benoit-Dumas nods to the Young Miss and fans herself.  “Have a wonderful night, Miss Klóe.  May you sleep well at its end.”

The Young Miss returns the gesture.  “And you, too, Madame Benoit-Dumas.”  

Madame Benoit-Dumas looks to the maid-of-honor’s spot.  Without another word or gesture, she turns around and walks back into the main reception area.

The younger man knits his eyebrows and shakes his head wistfully.  “I suppose we should get after her before the dire whispers start.  It was a pleasure-and-a-half seeing you, Klóe.  I’ll look forward to it again.  The baby shower’s only a matter of time, right?”

The Young Miss bobs her head like any number of sea birds.  “Yes, of course.  I mean, I would assume so.  I don’t know the inner workings of their relationship, so I couldn’t possibly give you a schedule.  Or anything.”

The younger man laughs.  He bows toward the Young Miss.  “I wish you a pleasant and relaxed evening, Miss Klóe.”  He turns to me and grins.  “You have a good evening, too.  Don’t work too hard, okay?”

That is a ridiculous sentiment.  What other manner of work should there be but effortful?

Once the two men continue down the line, I walk past them and around the table to the Young Miss.  Both times I cross the older man’s path, he flinches from me.

I return to my position behind the Young Miss’s chair.  The Young Miss breathes in deeply and exhales.  She twists in her seat.

“Judah?”

A pale, elderly man with a four-footed cane and a trim gray beard toddles toward the Heir and his bride.  He very likely poses no threat, but I keep my focus on him.

 “Young Miss?”

“I don’t suppose you have the ability to protect me from embarrassing situations like the one I just suffered, do you?”

The question is triply preposterous.  I am a security coordinator, not a social counselor.  Does the Young Miss not recognize this?

“You conducted that round of genuine conversation competently enough.  You have no need for my interference.”

The Young Miss nods twice.  She looks at the table with a silent wince.  

I have produced similar looks of greater magnitude on my opponents in combat.  Perhaps such a reaction comes from a similar place of pain.  If the Commissioner has ensured that the Young Miss lives free from physical danger, sour social interactions may be the highest threat that she has to face.

Why does the Commissioner expect me to prevent what I was made to cause?

“If it passed as poorly as you believe, I will endeavor to deepen my understanding of folks’ more sophisticated social interactions so as to prevent such embarrassing situations in the future.”

She offers me a small smile.  The gesture seems genuine, but forced, as if that simple act of gratitude were… a full bucket pulled from a deep well by someone dying of thirst.

“I appreciate that.”

The man makes a dry, creaky sound that vaguely resembles laughter.  The Heir frowns; his bride wears a crooked smile.

I lean forward just enough to bring the guest into focus.  “Do you know that man, Young Miss?”

She sighs.  “No.  I do not.”  The Young Miss resets her position in the chair.  Her distantly cordial smile returns once again.

The old man shuffles one spot closer.

He will be merely the seventy-ninth party to initiate this obligatory exchange.