I didn't blink.
Neither did Evelina.
The woman on the throne tilted her head, ash-colored hair sliding over one shoulder, and smiled with all the warmth of a blade. Her gold eyes tracked between us, lingering on my hands where magic already coiled beneath my skin, then on Evelina's stance, relaxed but ready, weight balanced, fingers curled.
"You're not surprised," she observed.
"You're not the first illusion we've seen today," I replied.
"Illusion?"
She laughed, and the sound echoed strangely off the pillars, too loud for the space, too sharp. The gold veins in her throne pulsed with the rhythm of her voice.
"I'm as real as you are, Cael Arden. As real as your mistress there. More real, perhaps. I've been here much longer."
"You know my name."
