I. The Crown — Auren at the Ball
He arrived late.
He always did. And when he did, he made the entire room turn.
Laughter floated behind him like perfume. Golden threads caught the light as if the gods painted him by hand.
"Prince Auren," someone gasped.
"He's smiling again," whispered another.
Elara barely glanced his way as she sipped her wine—until he appeared beside her.
"You look dreadful," she said, tone flat.
"Thank you," Auren replied with a perfect bow. "I practiced in front of my tears."
She rolled her eyes.
He grinned.
But later, as a noble near the dais muttered too loud:
"Maybe the prince has finally tired of her. She's only the duchess in name now—"
Auren's expression didn't shift. He simply walked over, slow and smiling.
"Pardon me," he said. "Did you say something?"
"Ah—no, Your Highness. I—"
"Because if you did, I'd hate for your tongue to say it again somewhere... less attended."
"O-of course, Your Highness."
He smiled. Brighter than ever.
And when he turned back to Elara, it faltered.
Only for a moment.
---
Later that night, in the Hall of Mirrors again, Auren faced his reflection.
Still dressed in opulence. Still standing straight.
"Still smiling," he muttered. "That's all that matters, right?"
No answer.
Just a prince, and all the things he couldn't say.
---
II. The Blade — Elara's Confrontation
Lady Durnelle met Elara at the terrace edge, cold-faced and cautious.
"You sent a forged letter accusing me of cowardice."
"Did I?"
"You dare deny it?"
Elara smiled softly, like drawing a knife through silk.
"If I wanted to insult you, Lady Durnelle, I'd do it while holding your hand. And I'd let you thank me for the favor."
The baroness flinched.
"I didn't write that letter," Elara said. "But I know who did. And so should you."
She left the baroness alone with the wind.
---
Meanwhile, Cladus stood beneath the torchlight, examining the ink sample.
"Too fluid," he murmured. "Cheap. Rushed. Not our seal."
Elara joined him quietly.
"You trusted the wrong hands," he said without looking up.
"No," she replied. "I just didn't realize how slippery they were."
For a moment, their silence hummed with more than strategy.
Then he tucked the scroll away.
"You have enemies," he said.
"I know."
"So do I."
---
III. The Serpent — Serina and the Empress
The moon spilled silver over the imperial chamber floor.
Serina knelt at the Empress's feet—lilies sewn along her hem.
"She's gaining favor too quickly," she whispered. "She's rebuilding the court."
The Empress tilted her head.
"And what have you done?"
"Planted doubt. In the baroness. In her knight."
At that, the Empress's eyes narrowed.
"Her knight?"
Serina produced a single document.
A forged noble seal. A family tree. A name long erased.
"He may be more than he claims. And if the court learns he's no commoner..."
"...They'll want him tied."
"Exactly."
The Empress smiled like a guillotine in gold.
"Let's see how loyal her knight remains—when his own blood damns him."
---
At the edge of the palace, a shadow slipped a letter under Elara's door.
"Your knight may not be yours for long."
She opened it at dawn.
And did not sleep again.