The debutante ball was the most uneventful party I had ever attended. The prince was handsome, yes — radiant even. But he was not on my list of priorities. The man I wanted had slipped away like smoke between my fingers. I didn't even know where to begin again.
Now I was on my way back to Silveria's estate, months of planning and rehearsed words dissolving into nothing. Back to square one. My mind gnawed at half-formed strategies, a goal as sketchy as my future itself, when I realized the carriage had stopped.
A knock. Then Simon's voice, calm but edged.
"Princess, someone is here."
I opened the window. Simon's familiar face was framed in moonlight, his monocle catching a shard of pale silver glow. Behind him stood a cloaked figure.
"Good evening, Princess," the stranger intoned.
He wore a long blue coat beneath a hooded robe, his face hidden behind a white mask. Anonymous, faceless — yet his presence was heavy, deliberate.
I tilted my chin slightly, unafraid. "What brings a man of such caliber to the outskirts of town?"
"The princess knows of us?" His voice was polite, but there was steel threaded through it.
"I know enough." I let my gaze sweep him once, steady. "Silver is everywhere. We once ruled the land." My words rang with quiet pride. My name is Silveria. I carry it as armor.
For a beat, silence. Then a muffled chuckle. "Quite a bold statement, my lady. Yes, silver glimmers bright. But gold…" His voice sharpened, rich with mockery. "…the gold of the Empire runs deeper. It never fades, never tarnishes."
The insult was veiled, yet it struck true. The Empire's mark had always been gold — their crowns, their banners, their bloodline itself. Golden hair that never washed away, no matter how much common blood mingled with it. They were born gilded, while we were expected to bend and gleam in their reflected light.
My back straightened. My voice cut clean. "Gold may glitter, but silver endures. Empires rise and fall, yet silver remains buried in every stone, every vein of the earth. Even when covered, it waits to be found."
The words left me before I could weigh them. Bold. Reckless. True.
The man went still. Then, suddenly —
"HAHAHAHA!" His laughter tore through the night, sharp and wild. "You are strange, Princess. Strange and dangerous." His tone shifted, playful now, yet edged with something else. "You have piqued my master's interest. He wishes to see you."
The man's masked hand moved with deliberate grace, and from his coat he drew a box no larger than my fist. Black as midnight, its surface shimmered faintly under the moonlight — not the dull black of lacquer, but the subtle sheen of blackened silver, like metal forced to hide its brilliance beneath ash.
When he set it into my hands, I felt its weight at once. Heavier than it should be. Not just an ornament — a burden. A promise.
The edges gleamed faintly with inlaid filigree. Gold filigree. Thin lines that caged the silver beneath.
"Midnight," the masked man said. "In the sea of violets. My master will find you."
And then he was gone, a shadow erased into deeper shadow.
I stared down at the box in my lap. Silver bound in gold. The message was clear, though unspoken: silver can be dressed, wrapped, contained — but always beneath, it remains.
Simon's eyes narrowed as they caught the flicker of gold along the edges. His jaw tightened, though his voice stayed careful.
"Will you be all right, my lady?"
I turned the box over slowly, tracing the golden lines that imprisoned the dark silver. And then I smiled.
"I thought I wasted the night," I murmured, more to myself than to Simon. "But perhaps I have caught a bigger one."
The Empress Selection was no illusion. The ball had been a masquerade, a shallow distraction. The true game was already unfolding in secret, and this box was its summons.
My pursuit of Mr. Cato would have to wait. The Empire's prince had cast his net, and I — Silveria — was caught within it.
Yet as I held the weight of black silver in my palm, my smile widened.
"Gold may bind me," I whispered, caressing the box, "but silver does not yield. Silver endures."
And I laughed, soft and reckless, the sound curling like smoke inside the carriage.