Nora von Velkaris
They say every girl dreams of her eighteenth birthday.
I doubt "every girl" includes the future ruler of an empire.
I stared at my reflection in the mirror, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach my eyes. The girl looking back at me didn't seem real, more statue than human.
My hair, white as fresh snow, flowed in perfect waves down my back, pinned in place by strands of silver and blue crystal. My eyes, a shade of blue so bright they looked almost artificial, caught the light like cut gems. I hated how still they were. Too polished. Too majestic.
The dress wasn't helping.
Layers of white silk and pale sapphire fabric cascaded down in elegant folds, stitched with threads of mana-light that shimmered whenever I moved.
The bodice hugged tight, embroidered with the imperial crest, and a soft cape of translucent lace trailed from my shoulders. It was beautiful, flawless, breathtaking, and utterly exhausting.
I sighed, adjusting one of the diamond clasps on my wrist.
"Eighteen years old, and I still feel like a decorative vase."
Somewhere outside, I could already hear the orchestra rehearsing, the sound of laughter, the soft murmur of nobles pretending to be friends. Half of them were probably here to curry favor, the other half to gossip about who I'd dance with first.
Wonderful.
A hundred nobles, counts, and heirs. The best and worst of Velkaris, gathered under one gilded roof to fawn over a princess they didn't actually respect.
I'd have to smile through all of it, the fake compliments, the hollow praise, the endless talk about alliances.
But…
There was one reason I wasn't dreading tonight entirely.
Belle Ardent.
A woman so terrifyingly brilliant that even generals bowed when she passed.
My idol.
Just thinking her name made my pulse quicken a little.
I'd seen her once before from a distance when I was twelve. She'd stood at the edge of a battlefield in that long black coat, her hair catching firelight like spilled ink, eyes cold enough to silence entire armies. They said she ended wars with a word. They said she smiled while doing it.
And now, tonight, she'd be here.
I bit the inside of my lip, trying to suppress a grin.
Of course, I couldn't show that. A Crown Princess doesn't "fangirl," as the younger nobles would say. She maintains dignity. She commands the room.
But if Belle Ardent so much as looked my way, I was fairly certain that dignity would die a very quick death.
I caught my own expression softening in the mirror, something almost childish peeking through all the practiced poise.
"Get it together, Nora," I muttered under my breath, smoothing out a wrinkle in the dress. "You're not supposed to look excited. You're supposed to look like destiny incarnate."
Still, I couldn't help it.
Somehow, despite the tedium, despite the politics, despite every pompous noble that would step on my gown before the night ended, I was looking forward to this.
Because for once, I wouldn't just be the Crown Princess of Velkaris.
I'd be a witness watching my model.
The echo of my heels followed me through the long corridors of the Imperial Palace, each step sinking into the soft red carpet woven with the crest of Velkaris, twin dragons circling the crown.
Servants bowed as I passed. Guards straightened.
The air itself seemed to shift, heavy with ceremony.
"The Imperial Princess, Light of the Empire," one of the heralds murmured as I approached the grand stairway, voice carrying through the marble halls. "Her Highness, Nora von Velkaris."
Titles. So many titles. Each one more grand than the last.
The golden doors swung open, and a wave of light and sound struck me, the Imperial Banquet Hall unveiled in all its impossible splendor.
It was a masterpiece born between eras. Crystal spires rose from marble pillars, etched with runic circuits that pulsed like veins of living light. Holographic banners shimmered overhead, displaying the empire's crest alongside floating orbs of firelight and illusory constellations.
It was medieval majesty rewritten with mana and machine.
The empire's pride — and my cage.
I descended the stairs with the composure drilled into me since birth, chin high, smile perfectly measured. Applause rippled through the crowd below.
Dozens of nobles waited at the base, jewels and silk reflecting the starlight above.
And the moment my feet touched the polished floor, they came —
Like hounds catching the scent of fresh blood.
"Your Highness, felicitations on this blessed day!"
"May the gods extend your reign for a thousand years!"
"Perhaps, Princess, we might discuss the border tariffs between our provinces—"
"My family would be honored if you—"
A blur of smiles, bows, and desperate eyes.
All of them clawing for a sliver of favor.
I smiled back, practiced and perfect.
"Thank you. You're too kind."
"I'll be sure to review that in the coming council."
"I appreciate your concern. Please, enjoy the evening."
Each word precisely chosen. Polite daggers wrapped in silk.
And just as another baron leaned in, too close, too eager salvation arrived.
The great doors at the far end of the hall groaned open.
A hush swept through the crowd, sudden and absolute.Even the orchestra faltered.
The announcer's voice rang clear across the silence:
"Entering the hall — General Belle Ardent… and her guest, Sebastian Nekros."
The air changed.
The energy in the air seemed to tremble, the lights dimming ever so slightly as if the world were adjusting to their presence.
Belle walked in first, draped in black silk that drank the light around her, her embroidered blindfold glinting faintly with silver thread. Diamonds traced her collarbone, subtle yet impossible to ignore. Each step she took was measured grace, quiet, deadly and commanding.
And beside her walked her guest—
Sebastian Nekros.
Tall, sharp-featured, dressed in a tailored black suit that fit him like shadow to flame. His golden eyes caught the chandelier's light and threw it back brighter, his calm expression cutting through the tension like a blade sheathed in poise.
They walked in as if they owned the place.
Every gaze in that hall followed them, nobles, generals, courtiers all momentarily stripped of words, of masks, of composure.
They had the kind of presence that demanded awe, not words.The art of aura farming, perfected.
And I
For the first time all evening—
Actually forgot to breathe.