The court moved like clockwork—predictable, polished, and utterly false.
Aveline sat in the conservatory, sunlight streaming through tall arched windows. Courtiers drifted past like petals on water, their laughter delicate, their glances sharper than glass.
She felt them watching.
Not directly, never that.
But the weight of their attention settled over her shoulders like an invisible shawl—woven from silk and suspicion.
The rumors had started the moment she left the Queen's solar.
Aveline saved Brielle?
No, she orchestrated the whole thing.
She bribed the healer.
She poisoned the girl and played the savior.
She's trying to charm the Queen.
She's trying to challenge the Crown Prince's betrothal.
None of it mattered.
And all of it did.
Elise poured her tea with practiced grace, her eyes flicking toward a group of noble ladies whispering behind fans.
"They've started calling you the Thornless Rose," she murmured, almost apologetically.
Aveline lifted her teacup, unbothered.
"Then they've forgotten what thorns are for."
She sipped slowly, letting the flavor settle—jasmine, lemon, a hint of bitterness.
Perfect.
But even as she kept her expression unreadable, her mind raced.
The Queen was right.
They wouldn't strike so obviously next time.
And someone—someone—had turned the court's gaze toward her like a blade drawn in daylight.
She would need allies.
Real ones.
Not flattery, not forced loyalty—power.
Which meant it was time… to make a move.
Later that afternoon, a message left the Everwind wing.
It was unsigned. Sealed with plain wax.
Delivered into a servant's palm with quiet instructions and a coin to buy silence.
Lord Lucien Vael received it just before dusk.
The conservatory. After moonrise. Come alone.
He arrived, naturally.
The man never could resist a good mystery.
Aveline stood at the far end of the garden, beneath an arch of moonflowers. The petals glowed faintly in the pale light, their sweetness drifting like a siren's breath.
She didn't turn when she heard his footsteps.
"You came," she said, voice even.
"I'm flattered you think I'm useful," Lucien replied, stepping into the silver light. "Or perhaps you just enjoy the company of villains."
"Useful," she confirmed. "Charming, but also… calculable."
He grinned. "I'll pretend that wasn't mildly insulting."
She finally turned to face him, her expression unreadable.
"You've played this game longer than I have," she said. "You understand the shadows."
Lucien tilted his head. "And you're finally ready to step into them?"
"No," Aveline said. "I'm ready to reshape them."
A beat of silence.
Then she continued, softer now:
"I need eyes. Ears. I need to know who moved against me… and who's waiting to strike next. I can't protect myself from whispers I don't hear."
Lucien's smile faded just slightly.
"You're asking for an alliance?"
"No," she replied. "I'm offering one."
He studied her—really studied her—then slowly folded his arms.
"You're dangerous, Lady Everwind."
"I intend to be."
Another beat passed, thick with tension and something else.
Then he said, "Very well. I'll play your little game, Aveline."
She arched a brow. "It's not a game."
Lucien stepped closer, close enough that the scent of her perfume mingled with the wild moonflowers.
"I'll give you a taste," he said softly, like a lover sharing a secret. "But only because I'm curious what you'll do with it."
Aveline held his gaze, silent, waiting.
He glanced over his shoulder—no one. Then leaned in, his voice barely above a whisper.
"The Queen wasn't the only one who knew about Brielle's illness."
Aveline's expression didn't flicker, but her heart did.
Lucien continued, his tone now edged with something darker.
"The information reached one of the Crown's advisors before the banquet. And it didn't come from your wing."
He met her eyes fully now.
"Ask yourself this—who profits most if you're framed as the villain?"
She stayed still.
Cold. Composed.
But inside?
The gameboard had just changed.
And the first real piece had fallen into place.
Lucien smiled—this time, slowly. Sharper. Quieter.
"It always is."