Azrayel left her alone for the rest of the day.
But the damage had already been done.
The glances were longer and heavier. The way the other students spoke to her had changed—subtle shifts in tone, and in posture.
They were more respectful.
It was awkward.
She wasn't used to being treated like someone important. Not in Dethryd, not in the academy, and certainly not here where everything felt like a trap.
So she avoided them. Spent the morning in the garden and skipped lunch entirely. When the sun lowered and the palace began to glow in its evening hues, she stayed hidden in her chambers.
That night, the palace was alive.
It was the celebration ball, meant to honor the kingdom's victory over a major insurgent force. Nobles from across the empire attended. Courtiers in embroidered robes, ambassadors in sleek black, officers in crisp military attire with polished medals pinned to their chests.
Metheea stood at the edge of it all, quietly observing.
The ballroom was breathtaking. Crystal chandeliers spun tiny stars across the floor. Music floated through the air, elegant and distant.
She couldn't help but notice the fashion.
Katarthan dresses, unlike the structured gowns of Dythrid, flowed like water. They were practical yet intricate. It was built for movement and not display.
Slits hidden along the sides, reinforced corsetry that didn't restrict breathing, leather details embroidered with metallic thread. The outfits whispered of warriors dressed as nobility.
While in Dythrid, everything was about symmetry and posture. Dresses there were made to contain.
It fascinated her. These weren't just clothes.
She wore a dress Kalistra had chosen for her—a flowing white gown, shimmery like moonlight, with a high slit that revealed her legs as she moved and bare shoulders that caught the chandelier light. It was the kind of dress that would've sent her mother into a coma. But tonight, she didn't care.
For the first time, she felt like she belonged in Katarthan.
Eyes were on her as they entered. She could feel the stares pressing from every direction.
"Chin up," Kalistra murmured beside her.
"They're looking," Metheea whispered, her voice tight. Still, she adjusted her posture.
"Of course they are," Kalistra said with a grin. "A goddess has just descended. You look every inch of one, Velista. Don't cower."
Her words warmed her chest, but Metheea knew the true reason behind the stares. It wasn't just the dress. It was the rumors and whispers of her and Azrayel.
They moved through the ballroom until they reached a small cluster of young women near the side columns.
Despite themselves, they actually grown closer to other students during their stay.
"Velista!" one of the girls beamed. "We thought you'd vanished."
"Not vanished," Kalistra said with a wink. "Beauty just takes time."
The girls smiled at them.
One girl leaned in, eyes sparkling with gossip. "Okay, so, has anyone else heard about the prince's... sleeping arrangement?"
Metheea blinked, caught off guard. She leaned in closer, curiosity rising.
"You mean the partners?" another said, eyes wide. "I thought that was just a rumor."
"Nope," the first replied, sipping from her glass. "It's a dragon tradition, apparently. They sleep beside him to trigger his sexual maturity or something."
Metheea's chest tightened. The idea of Azrayel lying beside other women night after night, burned more than it should. She had no reason to care. And yet, it stuck. Heavy. Uncomfortable.
"I swear I overheard someone from the inner court mentioning a list," the girl continued, voice dropping to a gleeful whisper. "A real list. For who gets to share the prince's bed."
She giggled. "Not that anything happens, but still. It's wild, right?"
"It is," the other girl nodded. "That's why it's so heavily guarded."
"Wait, how do you sign up?" another joked, sending them into a fit of laughter.
"I'd do it if it meant a crown," someone muttered, only half joking.
"I heard he hasn't even... you know," one girl whispered.
"He hasn't?"
They all turned to Metheea.
She blinked at them. "He hasn't what?"
Giggles erupted again.
"Not yet," Kalistra answered, cheeks reddening. She leaned closer. "And honestly, it's ridiculous we're talking about a man's parts like it's court strategy. But that's the reason they revived the tradition."
"If it were me, I'd demand jewelry first," another chimed in.
"Please," one of them added between giggles, "his face and body are reason enough. I'd sign up just for the view."
They all laughed louder, nudging each other.
Then one girl suddenly froze. "Oh no," she muttered.
"What?" Kalistra asked, glancing over.
"Lady Belin," the girl whispered.
Metheea followed their gaze.
A woman was making her way toward them, tall, poised, and dressed in deep violet.
Lady Belin.
The name echoed through every whispered hallway and etiquette lesson.
She was one of the most respected figures in Katarthan high society, known for her strict standards, unmatched influence, and terrifyingly sharp tongue.
"Be polite," Kalistra whispered, straightening.
"Very polite," another girl added with a tight smile.
"There you are," the woman said warmly. "I've been looking for you."
Metheea straightened. "I'm sorry...?"
Lady Belin didn't answer right away. Instead, she placed a firm but polite hand on Metheea's arm.
"If you wouldn't mind, Lady Velista, I'd like a word," she said smoothly.
Before Metheea could say anything, the entire group of girls around them scattered with surprising speed, suddenly fascinated with refreshments or the far side of the ballroom.
Kalistra gave her a sympathetic look then disappeared with the others.
"I was the royal nanny," the woman said. "I raised Prince Azrayel since he was in swaddling cloths. And I've been so eager to meet you."
Metheea blinked, already tense. Metheea's heart leapt to her throat. "There's nothing going on between us," she blurted. "Whatever you've heard, it's not like that."
The woman's smile didn't falter. "Oh, darling, aren't you one of his sleeping partners?"
Metheea froze, her entire brain stuttering in disbelief.
There was a beat of silence where she could only stare.
Was this woman serious?
"I saw your name," the nanny said confused at her reaction. "You're listed for tomorrow night."
Metheea's stomach dropped.
She hadn't signed anything. She hadn't agreed but somehow—
She was on the list.