A Night of Celebration by Yelyzaveta Horbachova

 Revision of "Celebration by Anna Andriychuk"

A delicate glass, filled nearly to the brim with deep crimson liquid, appeared suddenly in front of Catalina’s face, blocking her view of the wild festivities below. The tavern roared with laughter, boots thudding against the wooden floor in a chaotic rhythm as soldiers revelled in their hard-earned victory.

Catalina barely spared the offered drink a glance. The wine—undoubtedly expensive—sloshed recklessly inside its fragile prison, handled with none of the dignity its price commanded. More refined than her rowdy squad mates would ever be.

“Not interested,” she murmured, gently pushing the glass away. Her voice felt distant, detached, as if she were only half-present at the moment. Perhaps it was just the overwhelming noise, the endless cheers swallowing up the need for personal thought. Or maybe she simply didn’t belong in this celebration.

And yet, the wineglass returned. Again.

Catalina sighed.

“Wyn, I swear to the gods—” She finally turned, meeting the playful smirk of the woman beside her. Wyn, dressed in the same ceremonial uniform, held firm, unwavering, as if offering this drink was a battle she refused to lose. Without waiting for further protest, she pressed the glass into Catalina’s hands and dropped onto the stool next to her.

“Relax,” Wyn chuckled, nudging Catalina’s side. “This ‘once-in-a-lifetime grandiose celebration’—” she lifted a hand before Catalina could interrupt, silencing her with a mock-stern look, “—is happening because of you. And here you are, brooding instead of enjoying it.”

“You know I don’t like these kinds of gatherings,” Catalina muttered, fingers tracing the delicate rim of the glass.

“Doesn’t mean you have to suck the joy out of the room.”

“Wyn!”

“What? Am I wrong?” Wyn arched a brow, crossing her legs with practiced ease. “I’m not asking you to jump on a table and dance like a fool.” She took a slow sip of her wine before setting it down with a soft clink. “Just… maybe stop looking like someone told you your entire family died of the plague five minutes ago.”

Catalina rolled her eyes. “Incredible observation. Truly insightful.”

“That’s what I’m here for.” Wyn grinned as the bartender slid another glass into her waiting hand. She swirled the liquid thoughtfully, watching it catch the dim candlelight. “Look at them.” She gestured toward the celebrating soldiers. “Their captain—the woman they admire—just received the highest honor a knight can be given, and yet she looks like a scolded child.”

Catalina didn’t respond, only stared at her own reflection in the deep red surface of her drink. She did look miserable. Ridiculously so.

“I just…” She hesitated, fingers tightening around the glass. “I don’t know if I—”

“You do.”

Wyn’s voice was steady, certain. No hesitation. No doubt.

“You deserve this,” she continued. “And they know it, too.”

Laughter and cheers filled the air, a chorus of voices celebrating not just victory, but her. Catalina watched them, her soldiers, her people. They believed in her.

How could she let them down now?

She exhaled, a quiet chuckle slipping past her lips as she lifted the glass in a small, silent toast.

“Thanks, Wyn.”

“My pleasure,” Wyn grinned, clinking her glass against Catalina’s. The two of them sat there, letting the warmth of celebration finally settle between them.