Two days later, the palace was restless. Whispers traveled faster than footsteps in the halls—about silk gowns, royal carriages, and a queen whose tongue was sharper than any blade.
Nystrix heard it all.
By the time she entered the grand hall, the weight of expectation pressed down on her chest like an anchor. The high windows spilled golden light across polished stone, making the banners shimmer. Nobles and guards lined the room, their whispers fading the moment the sound of carriage wheels echoed outside.
Her pulse thudded.
So this is it.
The heavy doors swung open.
First came the queen.
Daphane swept inside with a grace that cut the air like glass. Her gown trailed behind her, emerald silk embroidered with threads of silver, every detail screaming power. Her beauty was undeniable, but it was the cold, calculating sharpness in her eyes that commanded silence.
Behind her strode a boy—no, a young man. Lymid. His posture screamed arrogance, every step deliberate, chin raised as though the floor itself should be grateful to touch his boots. His eyes swept the hall with disdain, lingering on Nystrix with a smirk.
And then came the twins. Salatia and Malatia—mirror images, from their sleek dark hair to their mischievous smiles. They moved like dancers, elegant, playful, but their eyes glimmered with the cruelty of girls who enjoyed breaking toys just to watch them shatter.
All four stopped in the center of the hall.
The silence stretched until Daphane's lips curved in the faintest of smiles. "So… this is the girl."
Nystrix stood taller, though her palms itched to spark flame. She met the queen's gaze with steady defiance. "My name is Nystrix."
The queen's brow arched delicately. "Bold. Do you always forget your place so easily?"
"Depends," Nystrix said evenly. "On whether someone is trying to remind me of one I never agreed to."
A ripple of murmurs traveled through the nobles.
Daphane's smile thinned, but she didn't strike. Instead, her son stepped forward, voice dripping arrogance. "Mother, you waste words. She's nothing but a little hybrid dressed in borrowed robes. Power she doesn't deserve, protection she hasn't earned."
Nystrix's jaw clenched. "And yet here I stand, while you're still hiding behind your mother's shadow."
Lymid's face flushed, anger flashing. He moved quickly, stepping too close, his height looming over her as though intimidation could bend her spine. "Careful, little hybrid," he hissed. "You may think yourself special now, but when the true storm comes, you'll be nothing but ashes under our feet."
Her magic stirred, a flicker of heat at her fingertips, but she held it back, raising her chin instead. "Funny. I've already survived more storms than you've seen seasons."
The twins laughed softly, circling her like predators who'd found their prey.
"How quaint," Malatia cooed.
"Bravery looks so cheap when it cracks," Salatia added, eyes gleaming.
Their words cut sharp, their presence suffocating.
Still, Gadmyne didn't move from her place at the side. Her golden eyes watched, calm, unreadable. Nystrix knew—this was a test. Gadmyne wouldn't interfere. She had to stand her ground alone.
So she did.
Nystrix's voice didn't waver when she spoke. "You can throw your shadows, your laughter, your titles. None of it changes the truth—you're afraid. Afraid that someone outside your perfect little family threatens the balance you cling to."
The hall froze. Even the air stilled.
Daphane's eyes darkened, her veneer of grace slipping for the first time. "You dare—"
And then a voice cut through the tension.
Calm. Smooth. Amused.
"Oh, let her dare."
The sound rolled like silk over steel, and every head turned.
Luthien.
He strolled into the hall as though he had always owned it, his steps unhurried, his presence a storm wrapped in velvet. His dark cloak whispered against the floor, his expression playful—yet his eyes, when they found Nystrix, held something else. Something quiet and unreadable.
The nobles bowed their heads. Even the queen's lips pressed tight in irritation.
Nystrix's heart leapt despite herself.
Luthien stopped beside her, his gaze sweeping lazily across the queen, her son, and the twins. "I wondered what had the hall so noisy. Turns out it was just the royal family ganging up on one little hybrid." He tilted his head, his smile sharp. "How charming."
Lymid bristled, his pride wounded. "You speak out of turn—"
"No," Luthien interrupted smoothly, his eyes moving to yhe idiot that dare to talk back at him, and surely,.the boy trembled, though trying hard to hide. "I speak exactly in turn. If you cannot handle her defiance, little prince, perhaps you should stop inviting it."
The twins' smiles faltered. Daphane's knuckles whitened against her gown. Jamyd himself, who had been silent at the far end, finally rose, his gaze hard on Luthien.
" King Luthien, a suprise to see you here but...You tread dangerously," Jamyd said.
Luthien's smile widened, soft and mocking. "Do I? Or is the danger that your family's pride looks thinner than I expected?"
The tension was unbearable, coiled tight enough to snap. Yet no one moved. No one dared.
Because it was Luthien.
Untouchable. Unstoppable.
Nystrix exhaled slowly, the pounding of her heart loud in her ears.
The queen's eyes burned with fury, but she did not lash out. The son clenched his fists, the twins' laughter died, and Jamyd's silence was heavier than stone.
Luthien placed a hand lightly on Nystrix's shoulder, the gesture casual but protective. "Stand tall, little hybrid. Let them choke on their own pride."
Then he laughed, low and soft, turning his back on the royal family as though they were nothing more than dust in his path.
And just like that, the moment was over.
But the storm he left behind lingered in every heart.
The hall didn't return to normal after that. Whispers swirled like smoke as nobles avoided Nystrix's gaze, some with awe, others with disgust.
Daphane's lips curved into a cold smile that didn't reach her eyes. "You've made quite the protector for yourself," she said softly, her venom wrapped in silk.
Nystrix opened her mouth, but Luthien's hand squeezed her shoulder once—warning, steadying. His lazy grin never faltered. "She doesn't need protection. She just needs a reminder that dogs bark loudest when they're afraid."
Gasps scattered through the nobles. Jamyd's jaw clenched, and for a moment Nystrix thought he'd explode. But he didn't. He only turned away, his voice clipped.
"Enough. The Luminara Festival is coming. That is what matters. Not this child's arrogance."
The queen and her brood stiffened but obeyed, retreating with sharp glares. Nystrix's heart pounded, her mind spinning. The tension didn't break—it only folded itself into a heavier silence.
Luthien leaned down as if sharing a secret, his voice brushing her ear. "See? You didn't fall. Proud of you, little hybrid."
Her cheeks warmed, though she scowled. "Don't call me that."
He only chuckled, stepping away, but his presence lingered like a shadow she couldn't shake.
~~~~~~~~~~
The next days moved quickly, the palace consumed with preparations. The Luminara Festival wasn't just a witches' celebration—it was a beacon to every realm. Nobles, warriors, and envoys streamed in, their carriages painting the courtyards in colors of gold, crimson, and midnight blue.
Everywhere Nystrix turned, there was motion. Servants hung glowing orbs along balconies. Musicians tuned strange, otherworldly instruments. The air thrummed with magic so thick it almost hummed in her bones.
Yet beneath the glitter, tension boiled. The queen's family never stopped circling her, their glares sharper than knives. Lymid brushed past her in corridors, muttering curses under his breath. The twins mocked her openly, their laughter lilting like bells dipped in poison. And Daphane—she never spoke directly again, but her eyes followed, promising retribution.
Only Gadmyne stayed the same—watching silently, never interfering. Nystrix understood now: this was still part of the test.
And then, as if to twist the knife, Luthien remained too. Always lingering at the edges—smirking in the training yard, strolling lazily through the feast hall, even stopping her once just to steal a piece of fruit off her plate like it belonged to him. His calm defiance was a shield she hadn't asked for, but one she found herself relying on more than she liked.
~~~~~~~~~~
Night of the Festival
When the night finally arrived, the palace transformed.
The grand hall shimmered with floating lanterns that glowed like captured stars. The marble floor reflected colors of flame, emerald, and sapphire from enchanted torches. Music drifted through the air, soft at first, then rising like a tide as guests poured in, dressed in silks and jewels that sparkled under the lights.
Nystrix stood in her chamber, staring at her reflection. Her gown was unlike anything she had worn before—woven of midnight silk threaded with pale silver, the neckline modest yet regal, the hem whispering against the ground like shadows.
She felt beautiful, not because Luthien got it for her bit because she was–okay, partly because Luthien got it for her.
She tied the front with careful hands, but the back… the ropes slipped, stubborn and tight. Her fingers strained, fumbling.
"Of course," she muttered under her breath. "Everything else today had to be impossible, why not this?"
Her irritation only grew until a familiar voice brushed across her ears. Smooth. Teasing.
"Need a hand?"
Nystrix froze. Slowly, she turned.
Luthien leaned against the doorway, one brow raised, his smile infuriatingly calm. His eyes—dark, unreadable—glittered with amusement as they took her in.
"I—no, I've got it," she lied, fumbling harder with the rope.
His chuckle was low, dangerous, and far too confident. "You're going to strangle yourself like that."
Before she could protest, he crossed the room in three steps. She stiffened as he came behind her, his fingers brushing lightly against her back as he caught the ropes with ease. The touch sent a shiver straight through her spine.
He worked slowly, deliberately, his breath close enough to warm the nape of her neck. "There," he murmured, voice softer now, lower. "Perfect."
Nystrix's throat felt dry. "You could've… just knocked, you know."
"I did," he said smoothly. "You just didn't hear me."
She scoffed, trying to pull away from the heat rising in her chest. "Handsome devil."
"Always," he whispered, his tone edged with something heavier, something that lingered far too long.
When he finally stepped back, the ropes sat neatly tied, the gown fitting like it had been made for her alone.
Nystrix caught her reflection again—strong, regal, beautiful—and for once, she didn't flinch.
Outside, the festival waited.
But for a single heartbeat, the only thing that existed was his gaze on her and the unspoken promise hidden within it.