The clinking of crystal glasses blended with the hum of voices, a background song she couldn't tune out no matter how hard she tried. Nerine sat at the edge of the gathering, the stem of her glass balanced delicately between her fingers. She wasn't really drinking — just sipping, enough to make it look convincing. The golden liquid shimmered under the hall's glow, reflecting the chandeliers overhead.
Her eyes drifted across the crowd, skimming over silks, jeweled collars, painted faces. Too much perfume. Too much laughter that didn't sound real. And then she spotted her.
Penelope.
The lady's pale figure stood out, her beauty untamed even amidst all the glittering nobles. She was laughing, too loudly, leaning too close to a handsome man who seemed more than eager to keep her glass full. Nerine's brows knit as she watched Penelope tilt her head back and down another sip, her dark hair spilling over her shoulder like a waterfall.
"Of course," Nerine muttered to herself, setting her glass down with a soft clink.
She rose, weaving through the crowd until she found a table a little closer, not close enough to be obvious but enough to keep her eyes on Penelope. The music swelled, the chatter rising and falling around her, but Nerine was fixed on the way Penelope's hand shook just slightly as she reached for another drink.
It didn't take long for Penelope to sense her. Nerine didn't have to call her, didn't have to wave — she just waited with that steady gaze. Sure enough, Penelope's smile faltered, her laughter dimmed, and she excused herself from her male companion with a graceful gesture.
She crossed the tables,her gown brushing the floor, lips already curving into a knowing smirk.
"You could try to be less obvious," Penelope teased, her voice pitched just low enough to keep it between them.
Nerine lifted her glass again, this time taking a deliberate sip before answering. "And you could try to drink less."
That earned her a laugh — short, almost bitter — as Penelope leaned against the table. "I'm doing fine. You should be applauding me. Kael doesn't think so, but I've been keeping myself together."
Nerine gave her a pointed look, eyes flicking to the discarded empty glass Penelope had left behind. "If this is what you call keeping yourself together, I'd hate to see what falling apart looks like."
Penelope rolled her eyes, but the faintest blush crept up her pale cheeks. "You sound like him. Always watching, always judging. Are you sure you're not already turning into another Blackthorn?"
That earned a smile from Nerine — quick, sly. "I don't think Kael would appreciate that comparison."
Penelope tilted her head, studying her. "But he appreciates you."
The words hung between them, heavy, but Nerine let them pass without reply. Instead, she leaned closer, dropping her voice into something softer, almost sisterly. "Penelope… just for tonight, slow down. Please."
For a moment, Penelope's expression softened. The sharp, reckless edge dulled, and she looked almost like a child caught in the middle of mischief. "You worry too much."
"Someone has to," Nerine answered.
Penelope huffed, clearly torn between irritation and affection. Finally, she sighed, pushing herself upright. "Fine. I'll pace myself. But only because you look like you'll faint if I don't."
"That's all I ask," Nerine murmured with a teasing smile.
Penelope smirked and glanced back toward her waiting company. "I should return before he starts thinking I've abandoned him. Don't sit here brooding the whole night, Nerine. If you're bored, you can always keep me company at home but her you have to enjoy tonight."
"I'll hold you to that," Nerine replied.
With a swirl of her flay, Penelope returned to her seat, leaving Nerine alone with her half-finished glass.
Across the hall,where Kael had excused himself.
The king's attendant led him through a private passage, away from the noise of the ball. The further they went, the quieter it grew, until all he could hear was the echo of his boots against polished stone. When the attendant stopped before a gilded door, Kael didn't wait for an invitation. He pushed it open himself.
Inside, the king and queen were waiting.
The king, robed in deep crimson, straightened immediately. The queen, her jeweled crown tilted just so, regarded him with a mixture of caution and deference.
"Lord Blackthorn," the king began, his voice measured.
Kael didn't bow. He didn't lower his head. He simply stepped into the room as though it were his own, his presence enough to silence the rest of whatever the king had intended to say.
"Report," Kael said calmly, his tone not that of a guest but of a master demanding information.
The king's jaw tightened, but he obeyed. "The disturbances in the other realm are spreading. Borders are no longer holding as they once did. We have… sightings, whispers of movement that should not exist."
The queen added, her voice quieter but sharper, "It is as if the veil itself is weakening."
Kael's gaze darkened. He clasped his hands behind his back, pacing once across the chamber before turning to face them both. "And you waited until tonight to tell me this."
The king swallowed hard. "We thought—"
"You thought wrong," Kael cut in, his voice like steel. "If the veil breaks, it will not be your realm that suffers first. It will be mine. And I will not have your hesitation cost us both."
Neither king nor queen spoke. The air in the room seemed to grow colder, heavier.
Finally, Kael straightened, his voice dropping into something low, deliberate. "Send word to your watchers. Tighten the guard. If the veil trembles again, I want to know before dawn breaks. Am I clear?"
"Yes, Lord Blackthorn," the king said, bowing his head.
Kael gave a final glance — nothing more — before turning on his heel and leaving. His cape trailed behind him, the door shutting with a resounding finality as though the conversation had been carved into stone.
Meanwhile, Nerine had decided she needed air.
The music, the perfume, the endless chatter — it pressed down on her like a weight she couldn't shrug off. She slipped out of the hall quietly, no one noticing as she passed through the tall doors into the dimly lit corridor.
Candles flickered in their sconces, shadows stretching along the stone walls as she walked. Each step echoed faintly, her gown whispering across the floor. For a moment, it was almost peaceful — away from the suffocating stares, the questions, the endless performance of pretending she belonged.
She exhaled, shoulders easing. "Just a moment," she told herself softly. "Just a moment to breathe."
But the peace didn't last.
A sudden grip closed around her arm, iron-tight, yanking her sideways. Nerine gasped, her glass slipping from her hand and shattering against the floor.
"Wait—!" Her voice was caught in her throat as she stumbled, dragged toward a heavy wooden door she hadn't even noticed was there.
She twisted, tried to pull free, but the hand only tightened, dragging her inside with a force that stole her breath in a bad way.
The door slammed shut behind her.
Darkness swallowed the space, broken only by the thin sliver of candlelight seeping through the crack beneath the door.
Her back hit the wall, her pulse hammering. She opened her mouth to demand, to scream, to do something—
But the words froze as the shadowed figure stepped closer.
And she realized she had strayed far, far from the safety of the hall.