The court was a garden of poisonous blooms, and tonight it offered a new flower.
Lady Seliora drifted into the gathering like silk carried on the wind. Her laughter was light, her every movement deliberate, drawing gazes the way fire drew moths. The nobles turned toward her instantly, their whispers buzzing like flies around honey.
And then her eyes found me.
She approached with a smile too sweet to be anything but rehearsed. "My lord Eryndor," she said warmly, her voice carrying just enough softness to make the words sound intimate. "You must be weary of their scorn. Allow me to be a friend where others turn away."
I returned her smile, gentle and grateful on the surface. Inside, I nearly laughed.
A friend? No. She was a knife wrapped in velvet. I had seen too many like her in my first life—pretty masks with venom beneath. Did she truly think I would mistake her attention for kindness?
But I bowed my head slightly, feigning relief. "Your kindness honors me, Lady Seliora. Few would risk their reputation by speaking to me so openly."
Her eyes sparkled, pleased. She thought she had me.
Inwardly, I marked her down as another tool. If she wanted to play at friendship, then let her. I would pull her strings until she danced to my tune.
Because who was I, if not the boy they called weak, the man they destroyed once? And who was I now, if not the shadow returned to settle every score?
Eryndor was no longer prey.
This time, I would be the hunter.
Why do you waste your smile on him?"
The words cut through the low hum of the ballroom. A noble, smirking, had spoken loudly enough for half the court to hear. Their laughter followed like jackals.
Seliora didn't flinch. Instead, she turned gracefully, her silk skirts whispering as she faced the man. "Because, my lord, kindness costs me nothing. And I find cruelty a poor man's sport."
The room stilled.
Murmurs rippled like wind over water. Some looked shocked, others amused, but all eyes settled on her—and on me.
I lowered my gaze, shoulders tense, as though wounded by their scorn. The perfect image of a fragile prince, grateful for a friend's protection. It was a mask I had worn before, and tonight it served me again.
But behind the mask, I smiled.
Seliora thought she was defending me, planting herself at my side as though her words could shield me. Perhaps she believed this would bind me to her, make me indebted. That I would cling to her warmth the way a drowning man clings to driftwood.
Let her think so.
In truth, every insult thrown at me was a thread I would weave into a snare. Every "kindness" she gave was a chain I would wrap around her wrists until she realized too late who truly commanded the game.
Across the hall, my gaze brushed against Leonel's.
He stood near the dais, his golden hair haloed by torchlight, his jaw tight, his eyes fixed not on Seliora but on me. A flicker of something unreadable passed through them—possessiveness, warning, maybe even suspicion.
For a moment, my chest tightened.
But then I straightened and offered Seliora a soft, trembling smile. "Thank you, my lady," I murmured, just loud enough for all to hear. "In a world so quick to condemn me, your kindness feels like sunlight breaking through the storm."
Gasps echoed. Seliora glowed with triumph.
And I, behind the fragile mask, sharpened my blade.
Because a storm was exactly what I was.
Leonel POV
They laugh at him again.
Every bitter chuckle, every mocking whisper—like knives scraping bone. And Seliora, with her practiced smile, steps into the fire as though she is his savior.
How noble. How false.
Her words cut the laughter short, but her eyes betrayed her. That smile wasn't protection. It was calculation. She was not shielding Eryndor—she was branding him, weaving herself into his story as if she belonged at his side.
My hands curled into fists.
I had seen too many like her. Courtiers who dressed their hunger in silks, who fed on weakness and called it kindness. Did she think I would stand by and watch her make him a pawn in her game?
Not this time. Not with him.
I crossed the ballroom floor, the crowd parting as though sensing something sharp in my stride. My cloak trailed behind me like a shadow, my gaze fixed only on one figure: Eryndor.
He looked up then—those storm-grey eyes catching mine. For a heartbeat, I saw it. The mask. The blade hiding beneath his gentle smile.
And gods help me, it only made me want to shield him more.
"Enough." My voice broke the silence like a crack of thunder. All eyes turned. Nobles stiffened. Even Seliora's poise faltered.
I stopped before him, meeting the eyes of every man and woman who had dared to scorn him. "If you find such delight in mocking a prince of this court, then mock me as well. For I stand with him."
Gasps flared. Seliora's lips parted in feigned surprise, though I caught the flicker of irritation in her gaze.
Then I turned to Eryndor, my voice softening in a way it never did for anyone else. "You don't need her shield. You have mine."
The words weren't meant for the court. They were for him alone. Yet the echo of them filled the hall, stirring a storm that none of them could ignore.
Seliora's POV
So. The Crown Prince bares his teeth.
How fascinating.
Leonel's declaration sent ripples through the hall, whispers spreading like wildfire. For Eryndor, it was a shield. For me, it was an obstacle.
Still, obstacles can be moved.
I dipped my head demurely, hiding the curve of my lips behind my fan. "How noble of His Highness," I said sweetly, letting my voice carry, "to stand beside Prince Eryndor. Truly, such loyalty is rare. One might almost mistake it for… devotion."
A hush fell. The word hung in the air like perfume—dangerous, intoxicating. Nobles leaned closer, their imaginations already running wild.
Leonel's eyes sharpened, his jaw tightening, but he said nothing. And Eryndor… oh, the flicker in his gaze was delicious. Irritation, calculation, restraint. He thinks he hides it well, but I see more than he realizes.
I stepped closer, brushing a hand ever so lightly against Eryndor's sleeve as though steadying him. "But I, too, will not stand idle while others demean him," I continued, my voice silk-wrapped steel. "If Prince Eryndor is to rise, he shall not rise alone."
The nobles gasped again, caught between scandal and fascination.
I smiled. Let them talk. Let them imagine. Every whisper tied my name to his. Every glance drew us together in their eyes.
Eryndor may think he is using me. The Crown Prince may believe his claim is enough to silence me. But in this game, appearances are everything—and I have already planted the seed.
And when it blooms, neither prince will be able to cut me out.