He quietly contemplated the people below, his brow furrowing as he stroked his graying red beard. I dared not break him out of his trance, not for fear of retribution; no, Father would never turn his rage on me. Lately he so often seemed to be planning that I feared if I tried to talk to him, I would cause him to lose a string of brilliant strategy.

Instead, I turned my attention to my surroundings, taking in the sights and smells of the amphitheater. The lingering mixes of perfumes and colognes from the noble families whose boxes were near, the slightly stronger smell of musk coming from the common citizenry, and the sweet and savory mix of food that the vendors were hawking.

I was careful not to look towards the Deracose box with its blue and black drapes, mixing the Sapphire of the house with the perpetual black of mourning. Theirs was the only other house besides mine that did so. There seemed to be an unspoken rule between my house members and staff that I was not to know of the reason why. The name Deracose was a name that instantly caused a hush to fall over the room and all conversation to fall dead in its tracks. It was not to be asked about, especially not to my father. I remember the first time I had said it, I must have been barely five, the color seemed to drain from his skin – leaving him deathly pale, just before his roar echoed through the dining hall. I had never been so scared in my entire life. The subject it was better left untouched. However, I could not help but wonder, our black drapes stood for the loss of my mother in childbirth, who had house Deracose lost?

Choosing not to linger on them, I turned my attention to the stage below where soon the sword dancers from Lian would exhibit their skills for us. It seemed that I would not need to worry about my questions breaking father’s focus. No, the dancers did that themselves. Father stiffened visibly and his hand halted mid stroke. “It can’t be,” he murmured so softly that had I not been sitting next to him, I would have missed it. I followed his line of sight to the dancers below and saw the girl from before, the one from the courthouse.

Notes

Me: Deracose is Natiselle's real father's house.

WriteOutofTime: Original: He sat there quietly contemplating the people below, his brow was furrowed as it often was when he was deep in thought. He was stroking his red beard, now shot with streaks of silver – closer to my own hair.

Edit: He quietly contemplated the people below, his brow furrowing as he stroked his graying red beard.

Yeah, I know. I cut out a lot. But it just flows better to me. It's better to be concise, especially about trivial details. You've shown very well that he's in deep thought, with the furrowed brows and stroking beard, so you don't have to blatantly say he's in deep thought.

You also end up using a good few run-ons. This is kind of a recurring thing in your writing. It's not a huge deal, but good grammar can really give your writing an edge. Look up the definition of a run-on sentence, find examples, and identify the run-ons in your story.