The chandeliers blazed above the Golden Court like captive suns, jeweled arms scattering firelight across marble floors polished to a mirror's gleam. Nobles crowded the hall, wrapped in silks and satins heavy with embroidery. Their jeweled masks of civility stretched into smug satisfaction, for they had gathered to witness a spectacle. Tonight, the prey was not some criminal to be tossed into dungeons. No, tonight the court demanded something grander.
They demanded the ruin of Lady Calista Veyra Thornheart.
Her name cracked across the chamber as the herald struck his staff to the floor. The air seemed to shiver with anticipation. Every gaze followed her as she advanced, skirts whispering against stone, crimson velvet trailing like spilled wine. She moved slowly, deliberately, as if she commanded this room instead of standing accused before it. A fan of black lace dangled from her fingers, tapping idly against her palm with each step. Silver-blonde hair poured over her shoulders like a silken waterfall, catching the glow of a thousand candles. Her eyes, those infamous amethysts, burned cold and sharp—twin blades hidden in the loveliness of her face.
"Lady Thornheart," the herald declared, "you are summoned before the judgment of the Crown Prince and the assembled peers of the realm."
Calista curtsied low, mockery dancing in the tilt of her head and the curl of her lips. When she rose, her elegance was so sharp that even her enemies flinched and looked away, reminded too clearly of why she was dangerous. Beauty with wit was never safe. Beauty with wit and ambition was a storm waiting to be unleashed.
On the dais, Crown Prince Adrian Solmere leaned forward upon his gilded throne. Candlelight flickered, making his golden hair gleam like a halo. His eyes, blue and bright, sought to burn with righteous indignation. But Calista knew that expression was practiced. He had rehearsed it, just as he rehearsed the tragic lines he was about to deliver. Adrian loved nothing more than his own reflection—or the applause of his audience. And tonight, his audience awaited a performance.
"Lady Thornheart," he began, voice resonant across the vaulted chamber, "you stand accused of grievous offenses. Of conspiring to spread falsehoods. Of laying poisons to harm your rivals. Of weaving deceit to ensnare my heart for ambition's sake. What say you in your defense?"
The crowd hushed, leaning forward. They expected her to beg. They wanted to see the proud Thornheart crumple, confess, and be carted away in chains. They were hungry for the fall of a woman too clever to be their pawn.
Calista let the silence stretch, savoring their anticipation. Then she smiled.
"My Prince," she said, voice smooth as silk drawn over steel, "if I had truly poisoned anyone in this court, do you think they would still be standing here gossiping about it?"
Gasps rippled through the chamber. A few nobles stifled laughter, others whispered in shock. Adrian's jaw tightened, his carefully composed nobility cracking just enough for Calista to savor. Across the chamber, Lady Serene Elowen Marcellis pressed a hand to her chest, emerald eyes wide, lips parted as if she might faint from scandal. Serene—the fragile dove, the darling of the realm. Calista almost applauded her act. Almost.
Her gaze swept the room like a hawk scanning prey. "Is it not convenient," she murmured, "that whispers arise whenever I enter a hall, yet vanish when I am absent? That every shadow of wrongdoing somehow points in my direction, though no proof ever clings to my hands? If such gossip is enough to condemn, then let us all be judged guilty of being disliked."
Murmurs spread like wildfire. A duke shifted uncomfortably. A marchioness bit her lip. Near the back, a raven cawed, its cry echoing like a warning bell. Calista's lips quirked faintly. Obsidian had arrived.
The prince raised a hand for silence, knuckles white. "Lady Thornheart, this is not a game. Lives are at stake."
Calista laughed softly, edged with mockery. "Oh, but Your Highness, everything in this court is a game. A dangerous one, certainly. But a game nonetheless. Shall I pretend not to see the pieces moving across the board? Or admit the truth—that someone has set their hand against me, and the rest of you are only too delighted to play along?"
Gasps rose again, like music. She basked in it. If they wanted a villainess, she would play the role to perfection. Better a snake with fangs than a lamb led meekly to slaughter.
From beside the throne, Serene fluttered her lashes, voice trembling with perfect fragility. "Your Highness, you should not allow her to twist words so. I—I fear for you." She clung to his arm like Calista's very presence poisoned the air. A chorus of sympathetic sighs swelled. Calista almost rolled her eyes. Serene had been playing the fragile dove so long, she should have sprouted feathers.
Calista dipped in another curtsy, her smile curving like a blade. "By all means, Lady Serene, tremble prettily for the crowd. I shall stand accused with dignity while you practice your fainting spells."
The court erupted. Some laughed openly before catching themselves. Others hissed her name like venom. The prince's glare promised retribution. But Calista only folded her fan and waited, every inch the villainess they claimed she was. Inside, her thoughts spun faster than any courtier's tongue. Who had engineered this? Who had twisted whispers until even the prince turned against her? She had enemies, yes, but there was a mastermind pulling strings.
The herald struck his staff once more. "The accused will be taken to await final judgment."
Guards moved forward, armor clattering. Calista's heart thudded once, heavy, but her face betrayed nothing. She lifted her chin, regal even as chains closed around her wrists.
As they led her away, her gaze found the far corner of the hall. Lord Darius Evernight stood half in shadow, storm-grey eyes unreadable. He had not spoken, not moved, but his presence was like a coiled blade waiting to strike. Their gazes met, and something in his expression told her he was not convinced. Interesting. Perhaps not all allies had abandoned her.
The doors boomed shut behind her. The echo of laughter and whispers lingered, sweet as poison. Tonight they thought her finished. Tonight they celebrated her fall. But Calista Veyra Thornheart was not so easily broken.
As the raven's caw echoed again from beyond the windows, she allowed herself a small, secret smile. If they wanted a villainess, she would give them one. And before the blade fell, she would uncover the truth buried in the shadows of the Golden Court—even if she had to play detective with her own life as the wager.