The fourth day of the Candidate Trials was passing without summons.
For the first time in nearly a week, Valeria was alone.
No velvet invitations. No floating carriages bearing sigils. No endless cycle of measured smiles and polished laughter.
Just her, a quiet balcony shaded by mana-fed ivy, and the distant, filtered hum of the city's arcane arteries pulsing in time with the sun.
She exhaled, slow and deep, letting the silence settle into her bones.
The gatherings had ended.
Dozens of salons. More tea than her stomach could comfortably recall. An entire catalog of nobles, each more eager than the last to measure her—by her name, her posture, her connection to Marquis Vendor.
That was the thread they all pulled.
Not Valeria.
Not the knight who had taken five fortified keeps in two seasons.
Not the girl who had ridden through storms and carved warlords from their thrones.
No.
