Elira didn't sleep.
Not really.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw blue flame and silver eyes—one cold, one burning. A brooch in her pocket, a name on her tongue that tasted like frost.
She woke to a knock.
Not at her door.
But in her mind.
Someone had slipped something beneath her door.
A folded note.
Neat. Crisp. Scented faintly of violet and snow.
She didn't need to open it to know who it was from.
But she did anyway.
"Lunch. East wing balcony. No need to bring words.
—C."
Elira stared at the paper.
She wasn't hungry.
She wasn't anything.
Just tired.
Tired of eyes watching her when she turned. Of people bowing too low and asking too few questions. Of being seen.
She folded the note and placed it in the drawer.
She wouldn't go.
She went.
Of course she went.
The east wing balcony was quiet, bathed in pale light. A single table had been set. Linen white. Two cups. One full, one waiting.
Celestienne sat there already, legs crossed, a book in her lap she wasn't reading.
Elira approached with lead in her feet.
"You came," Celestienne said, not looking up.
"I didn't say I would."
"You didn't have to."
The way she said it—it wasn't flattery.
It was certainty.
Like gravity.
Like death.
Elira sat slowly.
Celestienne poured the tea.
Chamomile and elderflower.
"Soothing," she murmured. "You look like you haven't rested."
"Maybe because people keep showing up uninvited," Elira said flatly.
Celestienne smiled with her eyes.
"You're still here."
Before Elira could reply, the wind shifted.
A presence arrived.
Not by foot.
But by atmosphere.
Isolde.
She didn't ask permission. She never did.
Just stepped onto the balcony like she owned the sun.
Her white-blonde hair was loose today, cascading like snow down her back. Her uniform unbuttoned just slightly at the throat. Enough to draw eyes. Especially Celestienne's.
"Fancy seeing you here," she said, voice like honey laced with venom.
Celestienne's smile didn't waver.
"Elira and I were having a private moment."
"Were you?" Isolde pulled out the third chair. No one invited her, but the space made room anyway. "How darling."
Elira stiffened.
She wanted to melt into the floor.
Disappear between the cracks of stone.
Instead, she watched as the two most dangerous women in the academy shared tea and stared at each other like wolves.
And she was the meat.
"Quite the token you sent yesterday," Isolde said idly, lifting Celestienne's teacup without asking. "A bit early to be claiming her, don't you think?"
"It's never too early," Celestienne replied. "Not when something is mine."
"I don't remember you ever being that bold." Isolde took a sip and smiled. "Did I miss the part where she agreed?"
Celestienne's gaze didn't move.
"She didn't refuse."
That made Isolde laugh.
"Sweetheart," she said, turning to Elira. "Are you really so passive that a trinket makes you loyal?"
"I didn't say I was loyal to anyone," Elira whispered.
"Exactly." Isolde leaned in, her breath a cool brush against Elira's cheek. "So don't let someone else speak your choices."
Elira pulled back.
This was too much.
Too fast.
Too close.
Too intentional.
She stood, almost knocking over her chair.
"I need to go."
Neither woman stopped her.
But both watched.
Like predators letting prey run just far enough to make the chase interesting.
Later, alone in the library's shadowed archives, Elira pressed her forehead to a cool marble wall.
What was she supposed to do?
Say no?
Say stop?
They wouldn't listen.
They weren't built to.
They were forces.
And she was—
A soft sound.
A footstep.
She turned.
No one.
Just a faint scent of violet.
And a whisper left in the air like a kiss on her skin:
"Even prey can grow teeth… if cornered."