The grand hall of Valaris Palace shimmered like a living flame. Chandeliers blazed overhead, scattering light across marble floors and mirrored walls, while hundreds of guests swirled in gowns and masks. It was a celebration of peace—at least, that was what the banners declared.
In truth, it was a battlefield of glances.
Queen Selene Valaris descended the staircase in a gown of crimson silk that caught every flicker of candlelight. Her crown, a lattice of gold and rubies, gleamed against her dark hair. The court bowed as she passed, yet her eyes sought only one face in the sea of masks.
Kael Draven stood near the far end of the hall, speaking quietly with the Duke of Renmar. His mask was simple, black as midnight, but his presence drew attention all the same. Even surrounded by nobles, he seemed apart from them—watchful, deliberate, dangerous.
Selene's heart tightened. She had not seen him since their last exchange, and though his words had haunted her, they had also ignited something she could not name.
Beside her, her sister Lyra appeared radiant in silver and white, her mask shaped like the wings of a dove. She smiled at the courtiers, her every movement graceful and controlled. But when her gaze met Selene's, there was a flicker of tension—unspoken and sharp.
"Do you think the people believe this peace is real?" Lyra asked lightly as they paused near the musicians.
Selene's lips curved faintly. "Belief is easier to rule than truth."
Lyra's eyes glimmered. "Then you've mastered both."
Before Selene could reply, Kael approached. His bow was precise, his smile unreadable. "Majesty," he greeted. "And Princess Lyra—radiant as ever."
Lyra inclined her head. "You flatter, Lord Kael."
"I merely speak what every man here thinks but dares not say."
Selene watched the easy charm between them, her fingers tightening around her wine glass. "You return from the north only to stir the south, I see."
Kael met her gaze. "Only to remind your Majesty that every flame needs tending, or it dies."
Lyra laughed softly. "Then perhaps you should teach me this art of tending flames, my lord."
Kael's smile deepened. "Perhaps I already am."
Their words were light, but beneath them pulsed an invisible current—dangerous, magnetic. Selene felt it coil in her chest, anger laced with something far more treacherous. She forced herself to look away.
A herald's trumpet sounded. The music shifted; the first dance of the night began. Kael extended his hand, not to Selene, but to Lyra.
"Would the Princess honor me?"
Lyra's smile was dazzling. "Gladly."
Selene watched them move to the center of the hall as the music rose. Every eye followed the pair—the Queen's sister and the most powerful man in her court. Their dance was flawless, precise, and breathtaking. Yet it was the way Kael looked at Lyra—as if reading a secret—that made Selene's chest tighten.
The crowd applauded as they spun through the final step. Lyra curtsied, Kael bowed, and Selene felt the sting of something colder than jealousy. Betrayal? Or fear that the lines between love and ambition were blurring beyond recall?
When the next song began, Selene stepped forward. "Lord Kael," she said, her voice carrying across the hall. "You owe your queen a dance."
A hush fell. Lyra's smile faltered. Kael hesitated, then inclined his head and offered his hand. "Always, Majesty."
As they began to dance, the air seemed to tighten around them. The music slowed to a haunting rhythm, every note heavy with tension. Kael's hand rested against her waist—proper, yet lingering.
"You play a dangerous game," Selene murmured.
"So do you," he said. "Only yours wears a crown."
"Is that envy I hear?"
He leaned closer, his voice low. "Admiration, Majesty. Though envy is not far behind."
She should have rebuked him. Instead, she let their movements speak—the slow turning, the brush of silk, the silent battle of who would look away first. Around them, whispers rippled through the court like wind through fire.
When the song ended, Kael released her hand but not her gaze. "You dance like a woman who has nothing left to fear."
Selene's lips curved faintly. "And you like a man who wishes that were true."
He bowed. "Then perhaps we understand each other too well."
As he turned to leave, Lyra stepped forward, intercepting him with a bright, practiced smile. "I believe the Queen has kept you long enough, Lord Kael. There are others eager for your company."
Kael inclined his head to her, then to Selene, and vanished into the crowd.
For a moment, silence stretched between the sisters. The mask of civility held, but beneath it, both felt the first real fracture of trust.
"Careful, Sister," Lyra whispered, her voice smooth but sharp as glass. "You might burn yourself trying to play with fire."
Selene met her gaze steadily. "Better to burn than to freeze."
Lyra's smile was cold. "We'll see which of us melts first."
---
Later that night, the festivities waned. The palace grew quiet save for the fading strains of the orchestra. Selene dismissed her attendants and stood alone at her balcony. Below, the torches of the city glittered like scattered stars. Her reflection in the window was pale, crowned, and tired.
A soft knock sounded.
"Enter," she said without turning.
It was Darian. His expression was troubled. "Majesty, there are whispers in the court. About Lord Kael—and the Princess."
Selene's pulse slowed. "Let them whisper."
"Should I silence them?"
She shook her head. "Not yet. Sometimes rumors reveal truths faster than spies."
He hesitated, then stepped closer. "If he hurts you—"
"He won't," she said quietly. "Not until he gets what he wants."
"And what is that?"
Selene looked out over the city lights. "The same thing we all want, Darian. Power. But his path to it runs through a crown he cannot wear."
Darian bowed, unsure whether she spoke of Kael's ambition or her own weakness.
When he left, Selene remained by the window until dawn bled into the horizon. The night had ended, but the game it began would only grow more dangerous.
---
Far across the palace, in her own chamber, Lyra sat before her mirror, the mask of the dove lying discarded beside her. Her reflection smiled faintly—an expression half sorrow, half resolve.
Kael's words still echoed in her mind from earlier in the evening, whispered as they danced:
"There's more strength in you than your sister knows. More fire than she dares wield. Let me show you how to use it."
Lyra had laughed at the time, pretending not to care. But the spark had already taken root.
Now, as the morning light crept through her curtains, she whispered to her own reflection, "Let her have the crown for now. I'll take everything else."