The dining hall of Arkenfall was already aglow with flickering candlelight and the shimmer of golden goblets when Gwen padded softly through the arched corridor, her hands folded behind her apron and her mouth rehearsing the words she would say.
She stepped lightly, respectfully, though the air in the royal east wing felt far less tense than she'd expected — no sharp corners, no glaring justicars or brooding advisors. Just warmth, laughter, and the clink of silver on porcelain.
Lady Rhea of Braemorin and Lady Kaelith sat at a small, elevated corner table, overlooking the long court feast still in progress. Their chairs were turned toward one another, wine glasses in hand, gowns of blue and green silk pooling elegantly around their feet.
Kaelith was halfway through a story — something about a merchant, a goat, and a bucket of stolen plums — and Lady Rhea's laughter rang like silver chimes.
"I swear on my mother's lace," Kaelith was saying between sips, "the man blamed the goat. Said she had a wicked tongue and a jealous heart. I've never seen a guard so confused."
Lady Rhea was still laughing when Gwen approached.
The sound faded gently as the two women turned to her, both eyes alert — not suspicious, just perceptive, as if they knew every corner of the castle and everyone inside it.
Gwen bowed deeply. "My ladies."
Rhea gave her a small smile. "Gwen, is it?"
"Yes, my lady."
"What brings you?"
Gwen straightened, cheeks flushed. "I came to inform you… Lady Neriah won't be attending dinner tonight. She — well — she fell asleep."
"She fell asleep?" Kaelith echoed, arching a golden brow.
"She did, my lady," Gwen said with a sheepish smile. "She was so tired from the journey. I didn't want to wake her. She looked so peaceful."
Rhea waved her hand lightly. "Of course. The journey from Halemond isn't kind. Let the poor girl sleep."
Kaelith tilted her head with a little grin. "Besides, it's not as if the king's here to sweep her off her feet tonight. Let her rest while she still can."
"Oh please," Rhea chuckled. "You're acting like she's walking into a den of wolves."
"Isn't she?" Kaelith smirked. "Court ladies in silk fangs, sly-eyed lords circling the fresh prey, and our dear Storm Lord returning soon with that crown half tilted like he doesn't care he's the most watched man in the realm."
"Not to mention the most desired," Rhea added slyly.
Kaelith sighed dramatically. "And tragically oblivious."
"He's not oblivious. He's deliberately disinterested."
"Worse!"
They laughed again — a quiet, elegant cackle shared over the rim of goblets, the kind only two women who had survived a thousand court intrigues together could share. Rhea and Kaelith were more than allies in the Royal Circle — they were sisters in mischief, bound not by blood but by wit, secrets, and the exquisite patience required to survive a court ruled by men.
Gwen hesitated for a heartbeat longer, not certain whether to stay or excuse herself.
Lady Rhea noticed. "That was all, Gwen?"
"Yes, my lady."
"You did right not waking her. I imagine she'll need all her strength soon enough."
Kaelith leaned back in her chair, eyes dancing. "She'll need a blade of her own before long."
Rhea elbowed her playfully. "Oh hush. Don't scare the girl's maid."
Kaelith only smiled wider. "I'm not. Gwen doesn't scare easy."
Gwen dipped her head again, a bashful grin tugging at her mouth. "Thank you, my ladies."
"You may go," Rhea said warmly. "And when your lady wakes, tell her we'll save her a slice of the honey tart."
"If Lord Gareth doesn't eat it first," Kaelith muttered.
The sound of their laughter followed Gwen out as she turned on her heel and swept back down the corridor — lighter in step, and secretly thrilled that her new mistress had not just found herself a palace… but an entire theatre of strange, beautiful, formidable women.
As Gwen's footsteps disappeared down the marbled corridor, the glow of candlelight danced lazily across the silk-paneled walls of Lady Rhea's receiving chamber. The night outside had deepened, cloaking the palace in a hush that only the high walls of Arkenfall could hold.
Kaelith tilted her head and narrowed her eyes. "So," she began, stretching the word out with unmistakable mischief. "How does it feel?"
Rhea sipped her wine without looking up. "How does what feel?"
Kaelith smirked. "Knowing your beloved Storm Lord is finally taking a wife?"
Rhea arched a brow but said nothing.
Kaelith pressed. "Come now, don't play the stone-faced emissary with me. I know you. You're trying very hard not to care, and doing a poor job of it."
A soft flicker passed over Rhea's face — a fleeting shadow, quickly masked by a refined smile. "Damon is my king," she said. "And my friend."
"Ah," Kaelith said, wagging a finger. "Friend. That lovely, tragic word."
Rhea placed her cup down with measured care. "Kaelith—"
"You liked him," Kaelith cut in, her voice gentler now, teasing fading into something more earnest. "You did. Don't deny it."
Rhea's gaze drifted toward the hearth. She didn't answer at once. Instead, she watched the flames curl and sigh. "I made a small advance," she said finally, her voice even. "Some time ago."
Kaelith leaned in.
Rhea let out a short breath. "He didn't return it. His mind was… elsewhere. It always is. So I stepped back. I have my pride."
"Hmm," Kaelith murmured, studying her. "That doesn't mean you stopped caring."
Rhea turned her head slowly, meeting Kaelith's eyes. Her lips curved, but it wasn't a smile.
"It means," she said, "that I am not a fool."
Kaelith tilted her head, her expression unreadable.
"I'm not interested in the king that way anymore," Rhea added smoothly, lifting her cup once more. "Not in the slightest."
Kaelith let out a soft, knowing hum.
They both fell silent for a moment. The fire crackled softly. Outside, the wind stirred the tall banners that hung from the palace towers.
But Rhea's mind wasn't on the wine, or the fire, or even the new bride asleep in her chamber.
It was on a smile that used to tug at the corner of a certain king's mouth when he was half-amused. On the way he leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled, eyes half-lidded as he listened. On the rare softness in his voice when no one else was near.
She had told herself she no longer cared.
But that was a lie only she knew.
And Kaelith — clever Kaelith — knew better than to believe her.
******************
Neriah had barely opened her eyes when the chamber doors flew open with a flourish.
"My lady!" Gwen's voice rang out like a trumpet, full of giddy joy and far too much energy for the early hour. "Oh! You're awake—perfect! Today is the day!"
Neriah blinked, her lashes still heavy with sleep. "What… day?"
Gwen practically danced across the chamber, her slippers making no sound on the polished floor as she made her way to the heavy curtains and threw them wide. Light spilled into the room like liquid gold, bright and bold and far too cheerful.
"Why, your wedding day, of course!" Gwen beamed. "You're to be wed to the King tonight!"
Neriah sat up so fast the covers tangled around her legs. "What?!"
Gwen turned with a wide grin, completely unfazed. "Yes, my lady! The court is already in a flurry!"
Neriah stared at her. "But… I just arrived yesterday."
Gwen waved a hand as if brushing away a speck of dust. "Everything moves fast in Arkenfall, my lady. Like a river in spring. Once it starts, there's no stopping it!"
Neriah's mind reeled. She had expected—what? Days of preparation? A formal courtship? A chance to… to breathe? To think?
Not this.
Not barely twenty-four hours in a strange place and now she was to stand beside a king she had never met.
Gwen, meanwhile, was completely caught in the thrill of it all. She bustled about the room, humming to herself as she opened the wardrobe and peeked at the wedding gown nestled in its silken folds.
"The seamstresses worked all night," she said with pride. "You should see what they've made for you. It's heavenly. Ivory silk from Stonecrest, silver-threaded lace, and oh—the bodice is embroidered with the royal crest. Just subtle enough to make a statement."
She turned, practically glowing. "And your hair, my lady—your hair! I've never seen anything like it. The court will be gasping when they see you. Even a blind man would call you beautiful."
Neriah's throat was dry. She swung her legs over the side of the bed slowly. "Gwen…"
Gwen didn't pause. She was already drawing the morning bath, steam rising gently as she poured lavender oil into the warm water.
"You've got the perfect shape, my lady. That gown was made for you, truly. And your eyes—sunset and fire all in one. The King won't know what hit him. Oh! And your bath is ready—come now, in you go, we've only a few hours before the maids arrive."
"Maids?" Neriah asked faintly, still trying to anchor herself in the whirlwind.
"Half the palace, my lady," Gwen said cheerfully. "You'll be fussed over like a spring queen. Hair, perfume, jewels… oh, I cannot wait to see the look on everyone's faces."
But Neriah barely heard her.
She walked slowly to the bath, the marble cool beneath her feet, her thoughts roaring louder than Gwen's chatter. Her skin prickled at the warmth of the water, but she hardly noticed.
She was to marry the Storm Lord tonight.