"She wanted to humiliate me in front of nobles—all for what? Jealousy?"
Cara's voice cracked. "I wasn't jealous! I was—I was angry. You always act like you're better than the rest of us. You get opportunities others don't."
"I never asked for special treatment," Nysa snapped. "I just work hard. You wouldn't know what that's like."
The note fluttered to the floor as Cara's fingers trembled. The room fell into a stunned silence. More workers were now crowding around, forming a small circle.
Nysa swallowed hard, her throat tight. "I trusted you," she said, barely above a whisper. "I told you everything. And you used it against me."
The truth was, Cara had stopped treating her like a friend long ago. The distance between them had grown quietly, unnoticed—until now.
Cara opened her mouth but couldn't form a single word. Her gaze dropped to the floor.
Nysa turned away, the unspoken end between them heavier than any declaration.
Back at her station, Nysa sat down and tried to breathe. Her chest felt lighter, yes, but her heart was bruised. Saying it out loud hadn't erased the hurt. But at least it was no longer hidden.
Madame Selene, who had arrived just moments ago and seen part of the scene, approached Nysa quietly.
"Everything alright?" she asked.
Nysa nodded, though her eyes were misty. "It will be."
The older woman didn't pry. She gave Nysa a small nod and moved along.
As the day stretched on, Nysa busied herself with her craft. Her hands were steady, but her thoughts drifted — to the palace, the prince, the pendant, the betrayal, and everything in between.
The confrontation with Cara had stirred more than anger. It had awakened something deep within her — a clarity. She had spent years bending to the will of others, keeping the peace, and letting people walk over her for the sake of avoiding conflict.
But not anymore.
Nysa didn't know what tomorrow would bring, but she knew one thing for certain: from now on, she would protect her light — even if it meant standing alone.
And as she hammered the delicate frame of a new pendant design, her fingers trembling slightly from the weight of the morning, she smiled.
---
A month had passed since the royal celebration, and Windale had returned to its usual rhythm. The town's colors had faded back to the browns and greys of normal life, and the sounds of laughter and excitement had dulled to the soft clinks of tools, chattering merchants, and footsteps on cobbled paths.
For Nysa, however, the world hadn't quite settled.
The echoes of that night still haunted her—soft, terrifying sounds that clawed at the back of her thoughts when she tried to sleep. The image of the maid collapsing after Prince Auren demanded her blood was etched into her memory. She hadn't told a soul, not even Murda, who had asked her once, in a whisper, "Why are you so shaky?"
Nysa had brushed her off with a small smile and a vague excuse. She couldn't say it. She couldn't even describe it. What she had witnessed didn't feel real, and yet it had happened. She kept returning to the details in her mind: the cold marble floor beneath the maid, the gleam in the prince's eyes. No name came to mind for what she had seen, but it hadn't been natural. She had whispered to herself once in the dark, "Witchcraft?" but quickly shook the thought away. She didn't believe in such things. Or… she hadn't.
The world around her moved on. Orders came in. Deliveries were made. Tools were cleaned. Madame Selene hummed while she sorted rubies, and Damos cracked jokes when things got too quiet. But for Nysa, something had shifted permanently.
Then there was Cara.
In the entire month that had passed, Cara hadn't spoken a word to her. She avoided her completely—no glances, no sarcastic remarks, no petty insults pretending to be jokes. It was as though they were strangers. At first, Nysa had been angry, waiting for Cara to come around and say something. Anything. But nothing came.
Instead, silence.
Disappointment settled deep within her. She didn't want to fight. Cara had been there for her when others weren't. Through heartbreak, bad days, and lonely moments. Nysa had thought their bond would survive anything. But perhaps she had been wrong.
Now, her days were filled with routine—silent, numbing routine. Work at the shop. Chores at home. A few polite greetings from neighbors. A smile here. A nod there. No true conversation. No laughter that reached her heart.
Nysa had always known loneliness, but this—this was different. It wasn't just the absence of others; it was the hollow realization that no one in this world cared if she disappeared. The sting of Kaeli's slap had faded to a dull ache, but the memory of her cousin's sneering face, the way Lina had pulled her away rather than defend her—it clung like a sickness.
The afternoon was unnaturally cool, the kind of damp breeze that slithered through the cracks of the workshop, carrying the scent of wet stone and metal. Nysa hunched over her workbench, sketching a pendant design with hands that still trembled faintly. The lines were shaky. She crumpled the parchment and tossed it aside.
Then—chaos.
Madame Selene stormed in like a hurricane, her usually immaculate braids coming loose, her cheeks flushed with fury. She slammed a pouch of half-polished emeralds onto the table so hard Nysa jumped.
"I could scream," Selene hissed, her voice trembling with barely contained rage. "That thieving weasel of a supplier—he just sent word. No stones until the next full moon!"
Nysa's stomach dropped. "But… that's weeks away."
"Twenty-eight days!" Selene snarled, pacing like a caged wolf. "Twenty-eight days, and Lady Tannis's celebration is in twelve. Do you know what happens if we fail her?" She whirled on Nysa, eyes blazing. "We lose the patronage of the entire Tannis family. And then the Veynes. And then—" She made a sharp, slicing motion with her hand. "Gone. All of it."
Lady Tannis. The name sent a shiver through Nysa. She remembered the girl—tall, regal, always dressed in lace so fine it looked like spider silk. Cara had once handed her a design for a butterfly hairpin, studded with opals that shimmered like trapped starlight. "For Lady Tannis," Cara had said, smirking. "Try not to ruin it."
Nysa clenched her jaw.
Selene dragged a hand through her hair, muttering curses under her breath. "I don't trust a single other supplier in this damned city. Liars, cheats, every last one of them. Remember that fool who sold me 'rubies' that turned out to be glass?"
Nysa nodded faintly. She remembered the way Selene had thrown the entire batch into the street.
Then—silence. A terrible, calculating silence.
"You'll go," Selene said decisively. "You've worked with these stones before. You'll know if he tries to cheat you."
"Wait… me?"
.
.