*Chapter Four: The Conclave Approaches*
The palace walls had begun to hum with activity.
Three days. That was all that stood between Maya and her public reckoning. The Winter Conclave was the crown's most anticipated political event—where dukes, lords, advisors, and power-brokers gathered under the royal roof. In the novel, it had been the setting of Seraphina's disgrace—her defiance of the Truce Act branded her a traitor and accelerated her downfall.
But this time, Maya would not be silenced.
She would speak.
And they would listen.
***
Talia helped lace up her gown—charcoal gray with silver embroidery. It wasn't a gown meant to dazzle. It was meant to command.
"You've been quiet all morning, milady," Talia said softly, eyes focused on the ribbon she was tying. "Worried?"
"Yes," Maya replied honestly. "But fear reminds me I have something to fight for."
Talia nodded once. "I've… never seen you like this before. Not even when the court turned on you last spring."
Maya smiled faintly. *Of course you haven't. You've never met me before.*She walked into the courtyard where Cassian was waiting with a leather-bound journal under one arm. He looked up, his curls a mess in the winter breeze.
"I've brought what you asked for," he said. "Everything I could find on Lord Verrick and the northern delegation."
Maya took the book and flipped through its pages. "And?"
"He's growing more aggressive. Hiring mercenaries under the guise of private protection. Securing trade deals without council approval. If the Truce Act passes, he'll lose his foothold."
Maya closed the journal. "Then we make sure it passes."
Cassian hesitated. "They'll come for you."
"I know."
"I mean truly. Not just with words. With blades. With exile."
Maya met his gaze. "Then I'll have to be sharper than their steel."
***
The court was transformed overnight.
Banners of deep blue and crimson draped across stone columns. Golden goblets lined banquet tables. Nobles arrived in waves—fur-lined carriages, armored escorts, jeweled tiaras flashing in the light. There were whispers on every lip: who would side with the crown, and who would fall with Verrick?
When Maya entered the ballroom on the eve of the Conclave, all conversation stopped.She walked slowly, each step deliberate, letting the silence wash over her. Her gown flowed like storm clouds. Her chin was held high. She looked like Seraphina—but moved like someone reborn.
Prince Alaric stood at the far end of the hall, surrounded by his advisors. His eyes met hers across the crowd. For a moment, no one else existed.
Then he turned and walked away.
Maya exhaled slowly. Let him doubt her. Let them all doubt her. The element of surprise would be her greatest ally.
***
That night, as Maya reviewed her speech by candlelight, a rustle near her window made her freeze.
She turned sharply—and there, perched casually on her balcony rail, was a figure cloaked in black.
Maya didn't scream. "If you're here to kill me," she said, "at least let me finish this paragraph."
The figure chuckled—a deep, low sound. He stepped into the light. Not a guard. Not a courtier. He was younger than she expected. Pale gray eyes. A scar down his jaw. Hands rough with callouses.
"You're not afraid?" he asked.
"I'm exhausted," Maya said flatly. "Fear can wait."
He tilted his head. "You're not who you used to be."
"I've heard that a lot lately."
The man approached, slowly. "I was paid to watch you. But I stayed because I was curious."
"And now?"
"Now I want to know how it ends."Maya studied him. "Are you here to help or to hurt?"
He smirked. "Depends who pays more."
Maya stepped forward, extending her hand. "Then let me make you a better offer."
He stared at her, then shook it.
"Call me Ash."
***
At dawn, the Conclave began.
Maya's heart pounded as she stood at the edge of the grand chamber, behind thick velvet curtains. She could hear the buzz of nobles, the clink of goblets, the shifting of power in real time. Her fingers curled into fists.
When her name was announced, she stepped into the light.
A hundred eyes turned toward her. Nobles leaned forward. Some smirked. Some scowled. Evelyne watched from the front row, arms folded like a queen. Alaric sat in silence.
Maya took the podium, her voice clear and unwavering.
"My lords and ladies," she began, "I once stood before you as a warning. A villain, cast from the light. I will not apologize for what you believed. But I will not be the villain of your comfort anymore."
Murmurs rippled through the chamber.
"The Truce Act," she continued, "is not a surrender. It is a strategy. And those who profit from chaos fear nothing more than unity. But we, as a realm, cannot be held hostage by their ambition."Lord Verrick rose, face flushed. "You expect us to trust *you*? A woman who nearly fractured the border alliance last year?"
"I expect you to listen," Maya replied. "Because this time, I'm not alone."
And then, to the shock of the room, Alaric stood.
"I support Lady Seraphina's proposal," he said. "The crown supports it."
Gasps echoed.
Maya turned her head just slightly, eyes locking with his. For the first time, there was no judgment in his expression. Only… recognition.
She had rewritten the script.
Now the story truly began.