Kourtney reached the palace gates, adjusting the brim of her dark felt hat. The crisp night air swept gently beneath the arch, stirring the fabric of her long, sharply tailored coat.
A sleek pair of glasses veiled her gaze, but even behind the tinted lenses, the unmistakable flicker of her prismic eyes did not go unnoticed—a depth of color that seemed to shift with light, neither wholly green nor blue, but something far more arresting. There was sharpness there. Awareness. The kind that saw more than it ever revealed.
Her coat cinched elegantly at the waist, restraining what it didn't conceal—grace in motion, power in silence. Her auburn veiled in ash blonde hair was mostly tucked beneath her collar, though a few strands had slipped loose, catching the bright lights with muted glints of bronze.
Jenna stepped beside her, carefully holding a wrapped parcel in her hands. Her scarf had slipped off one shoulder again, and she tugged it back nervously. The brim of her hat drooped a little too far over her brow.
"Are you sure about this, Kourt?" Jenna's voice was quiet but taut.
"I am," Kourtney replied, her tone composed. Resolute. Unshaken.
They continued forward. The stone path beneath them echoed with the steady rhythm of her boots as the grand façade of Lord Michael's palace emerged—columns gleaming, the great marble staircase aglow in soft gold. At the base of the steps stood six men ascending in dark tuxedos, mid-conversation. Their posture was polished, shoulders squared beneath tailored jackets that caught the light just right.
Kourtney didn't falter. She passed them without a glance, a quiet silhouette of grace and purpose. Her pace wasn't hurried, but purposeful—neither proud nor performative. The men paused their words, instinctively aware of something unfamiliar passing between them. A presence, quiet but commanding.
Jenna followed a few paces behind, clutching the parcel tighter with every step. She adjusted her footing—but her heel caught the polished edge of the stair.
She stumbled—barely—and bumped into one of the suited figures at her side.
"Oh! I'm so sorry," she gasped, pulling back quickly, visibly flustered.
The man steadied her gently, hands poised. His icy violet-blue eyes held hers with a quiet sort of clarity.
"It's alright," said Prince Nicholas, voice low and level. "No harm done."
Jenna gave a nervous smile, color rising in her cheeks. "I didn't mean to—thank you."
Up ahead, Kourtney's steps paused mid-stair. Her head turned sharply at the sound of Jenna's voice. She descended back with quiet urgency.
Just as she reached her friend's side, another voice cut through the moment—sharp and thin, like glass tapping porcelain.
"Do you always charge into people when entering palaces," came the cool murmur, "or do we get special treatment?" it was Prince Keith.
He stood slightly apart from the others, one hand resting lazily against the stair rail. His posture was casual, but the tone of his voice was anything but. His gaze lingered on Jenna, but the words—those were clearly for Kourtney.
Jenna's shoulders stiffened.
Kourtney's hand rested gently on her friend's arm. No heat. No urgency. Just quiet reassurance.
She tilted her head—not to Keith, but slightly, acknowledging the hostility without indulging it.
"I believe she already apologized," Kourtney said evenly. Not cold. Just… complete.
Keith raised an eyebrow. "Some people barge in. Others trip in. Either way, not a subtle entrance."
"She meant no harm," Kourtney said evenly looking straight.
"She should've watched her step," Keith added, now arms folded. "If she's that shaken by a staircase, maybe she's not for places like this."
His expression sharpened in the shadows. Jaw tight. Voice faintly mocking.
Kourtney turned her head slightly. She didn't flinch. But she did look at him—direct, unblinking.—her tone calm, yet incisive.
"Or maybe some people mistake silence for permission to be unkind."
That struck just enough to shift the mood. Her voice wasn't raised, but it landed like a quiet slap against polished stone. The other men around were silent some interested and some unbothered.
Prince Jacen stepped forward then, his expression unreadable. He glanced at Prince Keith first.
"She was already flustered. You could've just let it go."
His tone wasn't harsh—but it wasn't warm either. A measured check on Keith's temper.
Then, his eyes shifted to Kourtney.
"But for someone passing through, you don't seem very concerned with humility."
Kourtney's gaze met his—not confrontational, but calm and cutting.
"And you don't seem very familiar with context," she replied.
"But then again, it's hard to recognize what you've never had to navigate."
Jacen blinked, momentarily caught off guard. His mouth opened slightly, but no reply came.
Edward stepped forward, tone diplomatic. "It was nothing serious. Let's not make a mountain out of a misplaced step."
Kourtney gave a nod, gracious but curt.
But Keith wasn't done.
"Still," Keith said, voice low and pointed now, "one might expect a bit more self-awareness before clattering through places like these like a stray tourist."
That's when Kourtney's eyes truly locked with his.
"What a curious observation," she said. "Though I suppose not everyone is taught that grace runs deeper than fabric and footing."
His jaw clenched.
Robert's smirk twitched at the corner. Wysten didn't move, but now something in his gaze flickered—just briefly. Nicholas exchanged a subtle glance with Edward.
"You have a sharp tongue," Keith said finally, his tone taut. "Might want to watch it." anger evident in his tone.
Kourtney's answer was soft—but no less pointed.
"From where I'm standing, it's restraint you should be watching." Her eyes narrowed faintly. "Unless, of course, outbursts are part of your charm."
Silence stretched—tight as string.
Prince Robert suppressed a grin. Nicholas gave a quiet cough.
Kourtney turned to Jenna, prepared to walk on. But she paused—just long enough.
"And do take care with that temper," she added smoothly. "It's giving the impression of a man still governed by nursery rules."
That blow landed hard—and visibly. Clean. Effortless.
Robert turned to the side to hide his laugh. Jacen's gaze turned stern, lips pressed. Edward glanced at Keith, but said nothing. Nicholas had a very faint smirk.
Kourtney, composed and poised, turned her attention back to Jenna. "Come on," she said, voice lighter now. "We've wasted enough time here." she threw a cold glance at them.
And just like that, she led her friend forward, past the wall of silence, her heels tapping against marble with calm defiance.
Kourtney walked on. Calm. Untouched. The silence in her wake rang louder than any reply.
Keith looked like he had been burned in public. Robert broke into a restrained chuckle, shoulders shaking slightly.
Keith shot him a glare sharp enough to slice velvet.
Edward gave a slow exhale, as if releasing a tension he hadn't realized he'd been holding.
Jacen muttered under his breath, more amused than offended, "That was… surgical."
Robert, unable to hold it in, let out a low laugh—dignified, yet unmistakably delighted.
"I'll admit," he said, looking at Keith with a crooked grin, "I did not see that coming."
Wysten, who hadn't spoken until now, tilted his head slightly, still watching Kourtney's retreating figure.
"That stare," he remarked dryly, "could probably freeze boiling water."
Even Nicholas arched a brow faintly at that, lips twitching into the ghost of a smile.
Keith, however, wasn't amused.
He shot Robert a sidelong glare sharp enough to cut stone.
"It's all your fault." he snapped, his voice clipped.
"Next time, try being on time."
And with that, he strode up the stairs alone, frustration tucked neatly under the clean flick of his coat—every step echoing with the taut pride of a man who'd just been bested but refused to show it.
The others exchanged silent glances—some curious, some bemused.
But none said another word.
Not yet.