By the time I was dressed, the palace had begun to stir.
The quiet rhythm of servants' footsteps echoed faintly through the marble corridors beyond my chamber doors. Morning sunlight poured through the tall windows, refracting against jeweled glass and scattering soft patterns of violet and gold across the floor — like fractured memories of a world I once belonged to.
Seraphine's maids worked with the mechanical precision of dancers. Corset strings tightened; fabric whispered as layers of silk and lace fell into place. My gown shimmered between moonlight and frost, ethereal and commanding. When they finally stepped back, I hardly recognized the woman in the mirror.
Silver-lilac hair twisted into an intricate braid crowned with pearls. Eyes gleaming with purpose — not the timid court girl from memory, but someone sharper, hungrier.
"Perfect," Seraphine said at last, circling me like an artist admiring her work. "Not even the Dravenhart heir could find flaw with that."
"Let him try," I murmured, adjusting the delicate chain at my throat — an Evandelle crest, cool against my skin. "If I'm to be paraded before him, I'd rather he see something unforgettable."
Caelan leaned against the doorframe again, arms crossed, the smirk ever-present. "Unforgettable tends to get people in trouble, sister."
I shot him a sideways glance. "Trouble seems to be a family trait."
He laughed, low and amused. "Fair point."
Before Seraphine could chide us both, a knock echoed through the chamber. Three sharp raps — deliberate, formal.
A servant entered, bowing low. "My lady, the guests have arrived. Lord Alaric requests Lady Zelene's presence in the Solarium."
"Already?" Seraphine's tone carried that perfect blend of irritation and elegance. "Of course they're early. The Dravenharts never could resist punctual intimidation."
Caelan straightened, his humor dimming. "Watch him, Zel. Kael Dravenhart doesn't speak much, but when he does, people listen. Sometimes too closely."
"I'll keep my ears open," I said lightly, though my heart had begun to pound.
Not from fear — from anticipation.
The Solarium was a masterpiece of glass and greenery. Sunlight cascaded through crystalline panes, catching on silver vines that climbed the marble pillars. The scent of citrus and blooming orchids lingered in the air. Around the long obsidian table, the representatives of the Four Swords had gathered.
Valemont, draped in gold-threaded finery, his fingers heavy with jeweled rings.
Rosenwald, serene and aloof, a faint shimmer of magic playing at his fingertips.
And then — Dravenhart.
Kael Dravenhart stood near the far window, a shadow among sunlight.
His uniform — black and steel-gray — was immaculate, the silver insignia of his house gleaming like a blade. His hair, a dark mess of controlled chaos, framed a face cut from stone. Cold eyes, gray as storm clouds, flicked toward me the instant I entered. And for a heartbeat, I felt something stir — the faint ripple of shadow and light brushing against one another.
Obsidian Dominion meeting Aether Requiem.
Two Gifts whispering in recognition.
"Lady Zelene Evandelle," my father's voice announced from his seat at the table, a hint of pride beneath the formality. "Recovered and radiant, as ever."
I dipped into a practiced curtsy. "Father. Lords. It's an honor to join you."
Valemont chuckled, raising a jeweled goblet. "The honor is ours, my dear. You caused quite a stir last week — fainting mid-waltz, was it? Tragic, truly, but the court adores a dramatic heroine."
I smiled sweetly. "If it wins sympathy and shifts rumors from scandal to sympathy, I'll consider it an efficient collapse."
A faint laugh rippled around the room — except from Kael. His gaze remained fixed on me, unreadable.
When he finally spoke, his voice was low, measured, and colder than the mountain air.
"Efficiency is rare among courtiers. Most prefer spectacle."
"Then I'm in excellent company," I replied, meeting his gaze without flinching.
The air between us hummed — literally. The Aether within me stirred, brushing the edges of his Dominion like light testing shadow. He felt it too; his eyes narrowed, infinitesimally.
Lord Alaric cleared his throat, breaking the current. "Dravenhart, your report?"
Kael turned from me, the faintest ripple of shadow curling at his heel. "The Northern Clans grow bolder. Their chieftain, Rurik, consolidates power. Skirmishes along the Frostline have intensified. If the Council delays action, they'll breach the border before the next full moon."
Rosenwald's representative, an elderly man with pale blue eyes, frowned. "And what would you propose? Another siege?"
Kael's reply was clipped. "Preparation. Reinforcement. Discipline."
"Typical Dravenhart response," Valemont muttered. "Swing a sword before you weigh the cost."
Kael didn't turn. "Better to draw steel than count coin while your enemies burn your gates."
"Gentlemen," Lord Alaric interjected smoothly, "we will have order."
But I was no longer listening to the debate. The threads of Aether shimmered faintly before my eyes — Kael's shadows pulsing like a heartbeat beside them. I could feel the push and pull, the invisible war of intent beneath the words.
When Kael spoke again, his tone softened — almost imperceptibly. "The Evandelles understand strategy. Perhaps Lady Zelene would agree."
Every head turned toward me.
A test.
I could almost see the threads of expectation tightening in the room. My father's pride. Seraphine's silent warning. Kael's gray gaze, sharp and unreadable.
I smiled, poised, deliberate. "Strategy isn't about choosing between blade or coin, Lord Dravenhart. It's knowing when both must serve the same master."
A flicker — surprise? amusement? — crossed his face.
Then, the faintest ghost of a smile.
"Then perhaps," he murmured, "you and I speak the same language."
The meeting continued, but the energy in the room had shifted.
Between the shimmer of my Aether threads and the curl of his living shadows, a silent pact had begun to weave itself — fragile, dangerous, and inevitable.
And as Kael Dravenhart's cold gaze lingered a moment longer before returning to his reports, I knew one thing for certain:
This was no longer about survival.
It was about the game — and I intended to win it.