"Just how much change has this place undergone?"
Isolde stood in front of The Great Hall of Aerendale Palace crowded with nobles, their masks studded with jewels that caught the chandelier light. Laughter filled the air, bouncing off stained-glass windows depicting ancient kings. The smell of roasted venison and rose oil hung heavy, and wine flowed in gold-rimmed goblets.
But Rowan Thorne stood at the head of the hall, stiff in his crimson cloak, the crowned wolf of House Thorne etched on his mask. His jaw was tight, his eyes scanning the crowd like he was waiting for something to go wrong.
Lady Elsinore of Greendale stood beside him, her silver gown shining under the lights. Her pale hair was braided with black sapphires, and she smiled like she owned every person in the room. Rowan didn't trust that smile. He'd seen it too many times, always when she was planning something.
Tonight was her big moment though, she'd propose marriage, sealing an alliance between House Thorne and Greendale.
Rowan didn't love her, but the kingdom needed stability, and he'd do his duty.
Isolde Raventhorn watched them, hidden under a black velvet cloak. Her heart pounded, but her face stayed calm. She'd spent months planning this, waiting for the perfect time to strike.
Tonight, Elsinore would try to claim Rowan, her ex-husband. Isolde wasn't going to let that happen. Her fingers gripped the scroll tucked inside her cloak, its wax seal hard against her palm. She was ready.
Elsinore leaned closer to Rowan, her gloved fingers brushing his hand. "You're restless, my lord," she said, her voice smooth and low.
"I don't like masks," Rowan said, keeping his tone flat.
Elsinore's smile didn't waver. "But you've worn one for years."
Isolde's stomach twisted. How dare she act like she knew him? Like she'd been there through his wars, his losses? When I'd been his wife, the one who'd stood by him until everything fell apart.
She couldn't watch them any longer. So, she stepped out of the crowd, nodding to the herald she'd bribed earlier.
Suddenly, the trumpets blared, and the hall went silent. Nobles stopped mid-sentence, turning to the dais.
The herald, dressed in Aerendale's navy and gold, stepped forward, his face pale. "A noblewoman seeks audience with the court," he said firmly. "She claims blood rights to the Raventhorn line."
Whispers broke out. Raventhorn? That house was dead. Its last heir, Lady Isolde, had died five years ago in the Eastern woods, her carriage smashed, her body lost. Everyone knew the story. Some glanced at Rowan, wondering what he'd say.
Elsinore's eyes narrowed, her voice sharp. "What proof does this woman have?"
The heavy doors swung open before anyone could answer.
Isolde walked in, her hood thrown back to show a half-mask shaped like a raven's wing. Her black gown dragged across the marble floor, and the crowd parted as she moved, like they were afraid to touch her. She didn't look at them. Her eyes locked on Rowan and Elsinore, standing on the dais. She stopped in the center of the hall, standing tall, her presence filling the room.
Rowan's breath caught. He knew that walk, that tilt of her chin. It was her. Isolde. His wife—or the woman who used to be. She was supposed to be dead. He'd seen the reports, the blood-soaked wreckage of her carriage. But here she was, alive, staring at him like he was the one who'd betrayed her.
The nobles whispered louder, some pointing, others clutching their goblets. "Raventhorn?" one muttered. "She's a ghost," another said.
Isolde's voice cut through the noise, clear and strong. "My name is Lady Isolde Raventhorn, daughter of Lord Gareth Raventhorn, niece to Lady Thelyra, last living heir of the coastal Raventhorn estate. I was wrongfully declared dead five winters ago."
Gasps echoed. A noblewoman dropped her goblet, and it shattered on the floor, the red wine spilling like blood.
Rowan couldn't move. His eyes stayed on Isolde, searching for a trick, a lie. But it was her—those sharp green eyes, that dark hair pulled back tight. She looked older, harder, but still her.
"I've returned to claim my father's legacy," Isolde continued, her voice carrying to every corner of the hall.
"My dowry, my dignity—everything this court took from me when I was cast out and my marriage annulled."
Her words hit like a punch. The crowd's murmurs grew frantic. Nobles leaned forward, hungry for drama. A few glanced at Rowan, waiting for him to speak.
Elsinore tilted her head, her voice calm but cold. "And why should we believe you? Anyone could claim to be a dead woman."
Isolde reached into her cloak and pulled out a scroll, its black wax seal stamped with the Raventhorn raven. "This is my father's testament," she said. "Written in his final days, witnessed by three coastal lords, sealed in the Temple of Ilyrion. It names me as his heir and proves who I am."
She handed the scroll to a steward, who hurried to Rowan's table, then he handed it over to Elsinore. She took it, her fingers tracing the seal before breaking it. She read in silence, her expression turning grim by the second.
Rowan found his voice, though it came out rough. "You were dead."
Isolde turned to him, her eyes like knives. "No, Rowan. You wanted me dead. You signed the annulment. You exiled me. You didn't even check if I was really gone."
He flinched, the words cutting deep. He wanted to say he'd searched, that he'd spent weeks riding through the Eastern woods, chasing rumors of her body. But he hadn't found her. He'd believed the reports and moved on.
"I was attacked," Isolde said, her voice steady. "My carriage overturned. I nearly died in a stranger's hut, bleeding for weeks before I could walk. And when I could, I didn't come back because you'd already erased me. Called me barren, weak, useless. But I survived."
Elsinore's smile was thin, "That's quite a story."
Isolde faced her, not backing down. "Convenient timing, don't you think? My convoy was attacked right after your council pushed Rowan to marry into House Draemor. Strange how fast my family's alliance with House Thorne fell apart."
The crowd gasped again. A few nobles whispered "treason," their eyes darting to Elsinore.
Elsinore's smile didn't falter, but her voice turned icy. "Are you accusing me of treason, Lady Isolde?"
"Not yet," Isolde said, her tone just as cold. "Unless you're admitting something?"
The hall buzzed with tension.
Rowan stepped forward, his voice louder now. "Why come back now? After all this time?"
Isolde met his gaze, unflinching. "Because now I have what I didn't then. Allies. Land. Wealth. The truth. And my father's seal."
The murmurs grew louder. A few nobles nodded, impressed by her confidence. Others looked skeptical, glancing at the Queen for her reaction.
"You don't have the right to—" Rowan started, but Isolde raised a hand, cutting him off.
"I have every right," she said. "You married me. You wore my crest. You took my dowry. Then you broke your vows. When you thought I was dead, you moved on without a second thought."
Rowan's jaw tightened. "I thought you were dead," he said, quieter now, almost pleading.
"Did you look for me? Did you even try?"
Rowan's silence was answer enough. He looked away, his hands clenching at his sides.
"Don't say my name," Isolde said, stepping closer. "You lost that right when you signed me away."
Elsinore clapped once, sharp and loud. "Enough," she said, her voice cutting through the room. "The court will look into this. For now, Lady Isolde will stay as a guest of the palace. But we'll verify every claim."
Isolde dipped her head, her voice calm but firm. "I'm ready for the truth."
She turned to leave, her cloak trailing behind her. As she passed Rowan, she leaned close, her voice a whisper only he could hear. "I didn't come back for you."
Rowan's eyes followed her, his chest tight. The crowd parted as she walked out, the doors closing with a heavy thud.
Elsinore's smile was gone.