A kingdom can fall to swords.
But sometimes, it falls to tables.
Three days after the crown arrived, Selene received another invitation.
A royal banquet.
Not in Aerthrial, but in the Neutral Citadel of Orvath, a city-state untouched by war, bound by ancient oaths to host peace talks—no matter how false they were.
Lira read the scroll aloud in the war chamber.
Her voice was steady, but her hands shook.
To Her Grace Selene Valeburne,
Queen of the Rebellion, Keeper of the Crimson Veil—
You are cordially invited to sit among kings and lords of the Eastern Alliance.
We offer negotiations beneath the banners of peace. No blades. No blood. Only diplomacy.
Selene's crimson eyes narrowed.
"They want a stage," she whispered. "Not a treaty."
Lucien leaned beside her, golden gaze cold.
"They want you boxed in."
Lira swallowed.
"Or assassinated."
The Neutral Citadel was sacred ground.
Magic oaths forbade bloodshed there.
But political murder wasn't always done with swords.
It was done with agreements.
With alliances that cornered you until you had no way out.
Selene rolled the scroll back into its case.
"We'll go."
Lira's eyes widened.
"But—"
Lucien's hand rested briefly on her shoulder.
"She's right."
Because refusing the invitation would make Selene look weak.
Accepting it meant walking into a den of enemies wearing a crown they forced onto her head.
Outside, crimson snow drifted against the stone windows.
Selene stared into the frost.
"I'll attend," she whispered.
Her reflection in the glass wore no crown, but the weight was there anyway.
The war room grew quiet.
This was not a battlefield they could fight with swords or strategy.
This was about perception now.
Who smiled first.
Who bowed.
Who spoke last.
And who broke first.
Lucien moved closer, his voice low enough that only Selene heard it.
"If they try to humiliate you, I'll burn the citadel to ash."
Selene's lips curved into the smallest smile.
"We won't need fire."
Her crimson eyes gleamed.
"Just truth."
Because sometimes the most dangerous weapon isn't rebellion.
It's refusing to play the game the way they expect.
The invitations were sent.
The Neutral Citadel prepared its banquet.
The Eastern Alliance gathered their blades beneath the table, hidden behind golden smiles.
And Selene?
She prepared something worse.
A conversation that would break the foundation of their world—without drawing a single sword.
Crimson snow still fell outside.
But now the danger wasn't in the frost.
It was at the table.