The hours blurred together.
Sheila lost count of the faces, the names, the curtsies. Each noble blended into the next—a sea of silk and jewels, of polite smiles and sharper eyes. They congratulated her. They welcomed her. They told her how beautiful she looked, how fortunate the Prince was, how bright the future seemed.
She smiled at all of them. She said the right words. She performed.
Lumian stayed by her side, his hand on her arm, his presence a steady anchor in the chaos. He introduced her to distant cousins and foreign dignitaries and minor lords whose territories she couldn't place on a map. He laughed at their jokes and complimented their wives and promised nothing while sounding like he was promising everything.
He's good at this, Sheila thought. Better than me.
But she was learning.
Lady Veridian cornered them near the dessert table.
She was old and her eyes sharp as broken glass. She wore black lace, a widow's dress, and she moved with the help of a silver cane that tapped against the marble floor with each step.
"Prince Lumian," she said. "Lady Karmis."
"Lady Veridian," Lumian said, bowing. "You look well."
"I look old. There's a difference." Her eyes swept over Sheila, taking in the dress, the necklace, the way she held herself. "You've chosen a quiet one."
"She's not quiet," Lumian said. "She's observant. There's a difference."
Lady Veridian's lips pressed into a thin line. "Observant. Like her mother."
Sheila felt the words like a slap. But she kept her face calm, her smile steady.
"Thank you, my lady," she said.
Lady Veridian's eyes narrowed. Then, slowly, she smiled.
She tapped her cane and moved on.
Lord and Lady Ashworth approached next.
They were the King's cousins, elevated fifteen years ago when Lord Ashworth married the King's sister. Their title was new, their wealth borrowed, their power dependent entirely on the Crown's favor. They smiled too much and laughed too loud and touched Sheila's arm with fingers that felt like bones.
"Lady Karmis," Lady Ashworth said, her voice high and breathy. "You are simply exquisite. That dress—is it Karmis red? I've always admired the Karmis red."
"Thank you, my lady."
"Such a shame about your parents. Such a tragedy." Lady Ashworth's eyes were bright, curious, hungry for details. "The fire must have been terrible."
Sheila felt Lumian's hand tighten on her arm.
"It was," she said. "But I prefer not to speak of it."
"Of course. Of course." Lady Ashworth glanced at her husband, who nodded sagely, as if he had just witnessed something profound. "Well. We are so happy for you. So happy."
They moved on.
The wine was flowing freely now.
The nobles laughed louder, touched each other more, stood closer than they had at the beginning of the evening. Cheeks were flushed. Cravats were loosened. The music had grown faster, more insistent, and couples were spinning across the dance floor in a whirl of silk and tails.
Sheila stood at the edge of the crowd, Lumian beside her, watching.
"They're drunk," she said.
"They're happy," Lumian said. "There's a difference."
"Is there?"
He glanced at her. "Not really."
A young man approached—tall, blond, his face flushed with wine and confidence. He bowed to Lumian, then to Sheila, his eyes lingering on her dress.
"Prince Lumian. Lady Karmis. Might I steal the lady for a dance?"
Lumian's smile didn't waver. "Of course. Lord Sterling, isn't it?"
"Yes, Your Highness." The young man offered his hand to Sheila. "My family's estate is in the northern provinces. We're not as grand as the Great Houses, but we're loyal."
Sheila took his hand.
Lord Sterling was a terrible dancer.
He stepped on her feet, held her too close, and talked the entire time about his horses. Sheila smiled and nodded and said the right words, her mind wandering to other things.
How many more hours? she wondered. How many more dances? How many more faces?
The song ended. Lord Sterling bowed, thanked her, and stumbled back toward the wine table.
Sheila returned to Lumian's side.
"Lord Sterling," Lumian said, his voice dry. "Heir to the Sterling fortune. Known for his horses and his inability to dance."
"You could have warned me."
"Where would be the fun in that?"
The King appeared at her elbow.
Sheila hadn't heard him approach. One moment she was alone with Lumian; the next, the King was there, tall and broad, his presence filling the space around them.
"Lady Karmis," he said. "A word."
Sheila curtsied. "Your Majesty."
The King led her away from the crowd, toward a quiet corner near the windows. The glass was cold, the fog pressing against it like a living thing. The lights of the capital glowed in the distance, soft and blurred.
"You've done well tonight," the King said. "The nobles are pleased."
"Thank you, Your Majesty."
"They're easily pleased. A smile. A curtsy. A few well-chosen words." He looked at her, his eyes cold, assessing. "But I am not easily pleased."
Sheila felt her heart pound. But she kept her face calm, her breathing steady.
"What do you want from me, Your Majesty?"
The King smiled. It was not a warm smile.
"I want you to make my son happy. I want you to bear his children. I want you to stand by his side and smile for the cameras and never, ever cause trouble."
He stepped closer.
"Your mother caused trouble. She ran away. She embarrassed the Crown. She made me look weak." His voice was soft, almost gentle, but his eyes were hard. "I will not tolerate the same from you."
Sheila met his gaze.
"I am not my mother, Your Majesty."
"No. You're not." The King studied her for a long moment. "You're colder. Harder. More like your grandfather."
He stepped back.
"Enjoy the rest of the evening, Lady Karmis. You've earned it."
He walked away.
Sheila stood by the window, alone.
The fog pressed against the glass. The lights of the capital glowed in the distance.
I am not my mother, she thought. I'm colder. Harder. More like my grandfather.
She didn't know if that was a good thing.
She walked back to the crowd.
The evening ended at midnight.
The nobles began to leave, their carriages lined up outside the palace gates, their drivers stamping their feet against the cold. Sheila stood at the entrance with Lumian, saying goodbye to each one, smiling and curtsying and saying the right words.
Lady Veridian. Lord and Lady Ashworth. The Sterlings. The Mercers. The Blackwoods.
Eleanor Claude hugged her.
"Come find me tomorrow," Eleanor whispered.
Sheila nodded.
Marcus Velle bowed. His eyes met hers, and he nodded—just once, a small gesture, but she understood.
Lydia Jeville curtsied and scurried away, her father close behind.
And then they were gone.
The palace was quiet.
Lumian walked her to the carriage.
The fog was thick, the gas lamps dim. The horses stamped and snorted, their breath fogging in the cold. Duke Karmis waited by the carriage door, his face unreadable.
"Lady Karmis," Lumian said. "Thank you for a pleasant evening."
"Thank you, Your Highness."
He took her hand and bowed. His lips brushed her knuckles—a formal gesture, practiced, meaningless.
"Until next time," he said.
"Until next time."
She climbed into the carriage.
The door closed. The carriage lurched forward.
Sheila watched the palace disappear through the window—the lights, the columns, the place where her future would be decided.
I am not my mother, she thought again.
She believed it now.