The next morning dawned hazy and gold, sunlight slipping through the sheer curtains of Zelene's chamber. The scent of pressed violets and parchment lingered — a reminder of yesterday's flood of letters still stacked on her desk.
The royal one sat apart.
Heavy parchment. Gold-inked seal.
The invitation from Prince Adrien.
Zelene turned it over between her fingers as she paced before the mirror. She'd read it at least seven times, each word memorized and still managing to sound... dangerous.
"His Highness requests your presence at the royal luncheon — to discuss future relations between House Dravenhart and the Crown."
It looked polite.
But every line screamed of court politics.
"Your tea, my lady," a maid said softly, setting down the tray. Zelene barely nodded, her reflection staring back with thoughtful eyes — her hair loose and pale gold in the morning light, the silk of her dressing robe whispering with every step.
She exhaled. "Future relations," she repeated under her breath. "As if the present ones aren't already complicated."
A knock at her door.
"Enter," she called.
It was Darius — composed as ever, a single brow raised when he saw her pacing. "You're awake early."
"I couldn't sleep," she admitted. "Do you think the prince truly means to discuss trade? Or something else?"
He studied her for a long moment before answering. "With Prince Adrien, everything has a double edge."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning you should be careful what truths you offer," Darius said simply. "And what truths you let him believe."
Zelene tilted her head. "That sounds like experience talking."
His mouth quirked slightly. "His Grace and His Highness... do not share pleasant history."
"Ah," she said. "Enemies?"
"Let's just say they both learned long ago not to trust the other."
He stepped closer, voice lowering. "Prince Adrien is sharp, My Lady. Polished, charming — and ruthless. He has a gift for turning curiosity into a weapon."
Zelene's lips curved faintly. "So I'll have to make sure I'm not the one who bleeds."
"Be careful," Darius said again, softer now, as though the words carried weight beyond duty. "He'll test you — to see what kind of woman could stand beside a man like Kael."
Zelene looked at her reflection again — the mirror showing a woman who had learned to survive, to smile through danger and turn it into strategy. "Let him test me," she murmured. "I don't plan to fail."
The rest of the morning was spent in preparation.
Her chambers became a small battlefield of silk and lace. Dresses sprawled across the bed — shades of sapphire, ivory, and crimson — while her maids flitted about, whispering opinions she only half-heard.
She finally chose a gown of deep wine-red, understated but rich, with embroidered silver threading curling along the bodice like climbing vines. It wasn't meant to dazzle — it was meant to command respect. A reminder that she was Evandelle, not merely a woman in Kael's shadow.
Kael, of course, arrived late.
He stood by the door as her attendants fastened the last clasp of her gown, his presence instantly cooling the air.
His attire was far simpler — black coat, silver cravat, dark gloves. But simplicity looked good on him. Too good.
Zelene folded her arms, smirking. "Are you trying to intimidate them or charm them?"
"Neither," Kael said dryly. "I'm trying to endure this."
"Mm. You'll do both anyway."
He ignored that, adjusting his gloves. "Ready?"
"As I'll ever be," she said. "The first step to survival in court is pretending you belong there."
Kael's eyes flicked to her. "And you?"
"I always belong," she said, smiling faintly. "The question is whether the others know it yet."
---
The palace was a spectacle of marble and sunlight — gold-veined floors, crystalline chandeliers that dripped light like rain.
Every corner shimmered with a quiet opulence that screamed power.
Zelene walked beside Kael, their steps perfectly measured. Servants bowed as they passed. Courtiers whispered behind gloved hands. The duke's rumored fiancée, the Ice Duke's future bride — all eyes followed them.
At the end of the grand hall, Prince Adrien awaited.
He was exactly as Darius had described — too perfect to be trusted.
Pale hair brushed neatly behind his ears, eyes a calm and calculating blue, lips curved in that gentle, diplomatic smile that never reached his gaze.
He rose as they approached, his voice smooth. "Duke Dravenhart. Lady Evandelle."
Kael bowed curtly. Zelene followed with practiced grace.
"I was beginning to think you would decline my invitation," Adrien said, amusement glinting faintly. "But I suppose curiosity wins even over pride."
Kael's jaw flexed. "I came for courtesy, not curiosity."
Zelene interjected with a charming smile, "And we thank Your Highness for the honor. It's been... some time since Dravenhart has been seen within the palace walls."
Adrien's gaze lingered on her longer than polite — assessing. "Indeed, Everyone is talking about your, Lady Evandelle."
"Is that so, Your Highness?" Zelene echoed, tone airy. "I should hope they at least say kind things."
A chuckle. "They say many things. That you're clever. Quick with your tongue. Dangerous in your charm."
He leaned back in his chair. "I like that."
Kael's stare could have frozen fire.
Zelene just smiled, folding her hands over her lap as she took her seat. "I'll take that as a compliment, Your Highness."
The luncheon began — silver trays, crystal glasses, meaningless niceties traded across the long table. Yet beneath it all, the current ran sharp.
Adrien spoke of trade routes and alliances; Kael answered in measured tones. Zelene listened — interjecting only when the conversation teetered toward hostility, her words light but cutting, her smile disarming.
Every move was a test.
And every test, she passed.
Until Adrien finally said, casually,
"Tell me, Lady Evandelle — what does one such as you gain from aligning yourself with Dravenhart? Surely Evandelle's reach in court is stronger."
The question hung like a blade.
Zelene smiled sweetly. "Gain?" she repeated. "I don't think of it that way, Your Highness. I think of balance. Power isn't meant to sit in one place too long — it stagnates. Dravenhart brings strength. Evandelle brings order. Together..."
She looked toward Kael, meeting his unreadable gaze. "We bring equilibrium."
Adrien studied her, then laughed softly. "Careful, my lady. Balance often topples when the weight shifts."
"Then I'll just have to learn to keep it steady," she replied.
When the luncheon ended, Adrien stood, extending his hand toward her. "I do hope we meet again, Lady Evandelle. Court feels dull without someone like you."
She took his hand lightly. "Perhaps I'll make sure it's never dull again."
Kael's hand briefly, almost imperceptibly, tightened at his side.
---
The palace faded behind them in a blur of marble and sunlight, its spires receding into the horizon like sharpened thorns. The rhythmic clatter of hooves on the cobblestone filled the silence inside the carriage.
Zelene leaned back against the velvet seat, the faint scent of rose oil lingering from the luncheon still clinging to her gloves. The gold embroidery of her gown caught the dying light, winking with every sway of the ride.
Kael sat across from her — posture precise, jaw tight, his expression unreadable as ever. But she'd been watching him long enough to recognize the signs: the tension in his shoulders, the way his gaze flicked toward her and then away, as if trying to decide whether to speak or let the silence suffocate them both.
It was Kael who broke first.
"You play the game too well," he said finally, voice low and flat. "For someone who claims to dislike it."
Zelene tilted her head, feigning innocence. "Game?"
"The court," he clarified. "Manipulation. You read people, twist words, make them think they're winning when they're not." His eyes met hers — sharp and assessing. "That isn't something one learns in passing."
Her lips curved. "It's not manipulation."
Kael's brow lifted slightly.
Zelene exhaled softly, gaze flicking to the window where the city passed in shades of amber and gray. "It's my power doing its job — Aether Requiem."
He didn't interrupt. He rarely did.
"I can read emotions," she continued, her tone steady, calm. "Not in words or thoughts, but in... weight. In echoes. When someone speaks, I know what they mean to say — and what they fear to. So I answer what they don't say."
A quiet beat stretched between them, the wheels rumbling beneath.
"That's how you knew how to handle Adrien," Kael said slowly.
She looked up at him, a faint smile ghosting her lips. "He's charming, but he hides sharp edges. That kind of arrogance always leaks through emotion first."
"And yet," Kael murmured, "you met every blade with another of your own."
Zelene shrugged lightly. "Someone has to keep up."
Another silence — heavier this time. Kael's gaze drifted toward the window, his reflection a ghost against the glass.
"Darius told me," Zelene began cautiously, "that you and Prince Adrien... share a history."
His posture stiffened just slightly — the only sign she'd struck something.
"If you're not comfortable talking about it—"
"It's fine," he said curtly. "It's a long story."
"That's not a no," she said gently.
Kael's eyes flicked toward her again, but this time, there was something faint — a flicker of memory or regret. "It doesn't matter anymore. What's done is done."
Zelene folded her hands over her lap. "The way he spoke to you — that didn't look like something done."
He didn't answer. The carriage hit a small bump, and for a heartbeat, neither spoke.
Zelene watched him quietly, the man who wore silence like armor. "You know," she said softly, "if I can sense what others feel... it's not hard to sense what you don't."
Kael turned his head sharply. "Don't start analyzing me, Lady Evandelle."
Her smile deepened. "I wasn't. Just... observing."
He sighed, rubbing a hand over his temple — the closest thing to exasperation she'd seen from him yet. "You make everything sound like a game."
"And you make everything sound like a command," she shot back lightly.
Their eyes met again, the air thick with unsaid things — irritation, curiosity, something almost electric.
Outside, the capital's lights blurred into gold streaks as the carriage rolled on, carrying two people too sharp for their own good and too aware that they were beginning to see past each other's walls.