Never quite sure what to do at these events, Samuel found himself like a useless appendage, dangling close to his father at the bottom of the grand staircase that had brought the queues of guests into the ballroom. His father, due to his city-position, and by extension Samuel as his son, were part of the official welcoming party. While the ball was technically a bureaucratic and civic affair that was held by the council as a whole, Samuel’s father was the face of the council tonight. So while others danced and chatted and drank, making alliances and plotting downfalls, Samuel and his father had to stay rooted to their spot at the bottom of the stairs, shaking hands and waiting to receive the foreign delegation when it eventually arrived.

The delegation was late, and Samuel was bored and uncomfortable. He could feel sweat pooling at his collar, making his neck icky. His suit hung off him, and while everyone had complimented his attire, it felt as though he must look like a scarecrow. He gripped his champagne glass tighter and took a small sip, trying to sink even further back behind his father; trying to ignore the talk about hydroponic bills and food-supply motions that his father was currently engaged in having with some minor council clerk or other — he couldn’t remember who the man was.

Samuel cast his eyes around, looking up the staircase, only to wish he hadn’t. Councillor Tain had just entered, and with him was his son, both of them immaculately dressed and looking as confident as any family who knew that their word was law would. Samuel stepped up reluctantly next to his father; best to get it over with. The clerk was gently nudged on to make way for this preeminent civic leader whose family had taken a primary role in directing city-affairs for generations. They had power, prestige, and persuasion on their side. Samuel’s family had that too once, but then his father had adopted a very different political and social philosophy to the one held by those before him. Samuel’s father had led the family into disrepute among the establishment, and had been sidelined as a result. He was now an embarrassment to the council, but one that after a lifetime of dedicated service, was difficult to get rid of. Besides, he was basically harmless, and quite genial at that; easy enough to get on with.

“Tain, great to see you.” 

Samuel could never understand his father’s warmth for the man in front of them. The two councillors were on opposite sides of every debate. Tain had even attempted on more than one occasion to get his father removed from office. Yet Samuel’s father never seemed to have second thoughts about welcoming the man and treating him as though they were the best of friends. It made Samuel cringe.

“Martin, would have guessed you’d be on door duty. Your sort of people coming tonight after all. I don’t know many here who’d envy you, having to play it sincere; but then I suppose you actually are.”

Samuel ground his teeth and tried to play cool for his father’s sake; but everyone in earshot had heard the insinuations underneath Councilman Tain’s introduction, and it would quickly spread through the room. Martin consorted with primitives from the edge, he took their side in debates about city expansion, championed visas and visits, medical aid, and the recognition of foreign sovereignty within the reservation communities. He was prepared to treat these diplomatic delegations with a level of respect that suggested they had something to offer Megacity society; and that was a joke. No, this ball was just a charade, a bit of politically correct play acting to placate the natives; and Tain wanted to make sure everyone knew he was against that. Close the gates and lose the key, that was Tain’s position. While we allowed the edge-landers in, we risked the integrity of city society and culture, and that couldn’t be countenanced.

Nonetheless, Samuel’s father laughed it off, continuing to exchange pleasantries. No reason to start another fruitless argument; and Tain played along. His original thrust had hit home, he could be magnanimous for a while.

“You know my son of course,” Tain indicated, “and this is yours, hello Samuel.”

Shaking hands wasn’t beyond him yet, thank goodness, but Samuel had to school his face well as Tain’s son followed behind him down the receiving line, gripping Samuel’s hand in a vice for a few uncomfortable moments too long. 

“Good to see you Samuel, but what have you done to your face?”

“I’m fine Vince, do have a nice evening,” Samuel ground out between his teeth, staring his bully in the eye. He wouldn’t give Vince the satisfaction of seeing him squirm, or complain to their fathers. Vince’s father would probably be proud of his son, he might even know already the torment that was dished out in Samuel’s direction so regularly.

With a parting smirk Vince left him behind and followed Tain off into some conspiratorial corner, wherever it was the hyper-nationalists were meeting in not-so-silent opposition to the events around them. Samuel watched him go, his lips curling in disgust, while a stab of jealousy lit his insides. How was Vince able to go from such a vicious thug, into the charming sliver-spooned heart throb who turned every head in the room just by walking by? How was Vince able to wear a suit so well, while Samuel continued on like a scarecrow?

He felt a gentle nudge from his father and a hush seemed to fall over the ballroom. Turning his attention back to the staircase he saw what had caused the sudden quiet. A group had entered looking unlike anyone else in the room. A man, older than his father, led the new group in, while the others followed a step behind in quiet dignity. 

They all seemed to be older, and all men. They wore their hair in similar ways, long and shock white or grey. It wasn’t that Samuel wanted to laugh. In the city, creativity in clothing and style often reigned supreme day to day. But while the city was quick to embrace sheer lines, functionality, and tight-fitting silhouettes, with these outsiders it seemed like everything was about volume and impracticality. They were swathed in yards and yards of cloth. Great skirts encircled them and stood out from their bodies. There were flashes of bare arms and torsos but these were hidden behind heavy upper-body cloaks, draped at impractical angles. Some of them wore jewellery, torques and heavy chain; and some wore swords, holding the scabbards firmly as they descended. Parts of their faces were painted in varying designs that meandered up their necks. The man in front wore a diadem on his head made of great arched enamel panels. To Samuel it all looked ridiculous.

“Councillor.” 

“Your Serene Highness, I’m so pleased that you could join us.”

To the shock of his son and the room, Councillor Martin bowed. It was a small thing, but noticed with disapproval by most of the people there. Only the Sovereign Prince of Aerska en Cantaer showed no reaction, having been used to such a greeting for many years. Instead, his eyes scanned the room lazily.

“My son was late home, he was walking in your sky-park across from our rooms. It almost ruined all our plans to be here; but, we are here now.”

“Of course, and your son is coming?”

“Oh yes, he’s just behind me. Ah, here he is now!”

If the room had quietened, now it went truly limp. Conversation died and the band even stopped for a moment as all eyes fixed themselves to the top of the staircase. Samuel looked up too, following his father and the prince’s gaze. His face fell and he swore beneath his breath, hoping no one would hear. Throwing back a gulp of champagne he stood and observed cooly, through eyes like flint, the Prince’s son. A man he had previously seen dressed all in black.