The sun had barely dipped below the horizon when Lysandra Drake stepped out of the modest countryside inn. A frown tugged at her lips as she swept her lavender cloak around her shoulders, the silver embroidery glittering faintly in the dying light.
"I swear to the moon goddess, Ulna, if you ever hand me that wretched spiced cider again, I'll have you washing chamber pots for a month," she snapped, glaring at her maid.
Ulna, trailing a respectful step behind, wrung her hands. "I....I only thought you'd like a little refreshment, my lady. It's what the inn offered…"
"You thought?" Lysandra turned, arching a perfectly sculpted brow. "What have I told you about thinking, Ulna? Leave the decisions to those born to make them."
"Yes, my lady," Ulna murmured, bowing her head.
With an exasperated sigh, Lysandra turned back toward the awaiting carriage. The sleek black horses pawed at the dirt impatiently, their harnesses gleaming in the low light. Her lips curled with satisfaction. Even out here, in the backwaters of the kingdom, her presence was unmistakable.
"Is the trunk loaded?" she asked crisply.
"Yes, my lady," Ulna replied. "Your gowns, your perfumes, your jewelry box....all as you instructed. I triple-checked the lavender sachets as well."
Lysandra nodded. "Good. I will not arrive at Silverthrone Castle smelling of hay and regret."
She paused at the carriage steps, brushing an imaginary speck of dust from her cloak. Her gaze drifted toward the horizon, where the distant towers of the capital city shimmered in the fading light.
"This night marks my arrival," she murmured. "Not just to the capital....but into history."
Ulna opened the carriage door with a gloved hand. "After you, Lady Lysandra."
Inside, the carriage smelled of sandalwood and rose oil. Velvet cushions lined the interior, and a carved wooden panel bore the Drake family crest.
Lysandra sank into the plush seat with a satisfied sigh, crossing one leg elegantly over the other. Ulna settled across from her, clutching a leather satchel to her chest.
The carriage jerked forward, wheels creaking softly over cobbled stones as they began their journey to the palace.
They rode in silence for a while, the steady rhythm of hooves lulling the world outside into a blur. Finally, Lysandra drew back the curtain and glanced out.
Villagers and travelers along the roadside paused to stare. Children pointed at the crest on the door. Women whispered behind veils.
"They're watching," she said, more to herself than Ulna.
"As they should," Ulna replied, her voice barely audible.
Lysandra turned her head, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Soon they'll do more than watch. They'll bow. They'll whisper my name with reverence...or fear."
Ulna hesitated. "Forgive me, my lady, but… do you truly believe King Darius will choose you? With Lady Seraphina already....."
"Don't," Lysandra cut in, her tone sharp as broken glass. "Don't speak that name in my presence."
"I'm sorry, my lady."
Lysandra leaned forward, resting her elbow on the window ledge.
"Seraphina McMillan is a well-decorated doll. Nothing more. She thrives on praise and puppetry. But I...." her voice dropped to a silky murmur, "....I am a storm in waiting."
Ulna looked unsure. "But the council favors her…"
"The council is not the crown," Lysandra interrupted.
"Let them favor her. Let her plan the parties and place the flower arrangements. None of it will matter once I'm seated beside Darius."
Ulna shifted. "Do you… love him, my lady?"
Lysandra blinked at the question, then laughed....a cold, musical sound.
"Love is a sweet lie told by poets and drunkards. I want the throne. The power. The legacy. And if King Darius happens to be the path to it, so be it."
Lysandra might have said the opposite but only she knows how she truly feels. And the truth was... She loved the king.
She doesn't know if it's because of the power he held,or the title.... But once she laid eyes on him she fell... And she fell hard.
She didn't want to be seen weak because of her feelings, but she knows that she's I love with the man called Darius silverthrone.
Ulna tucked the satchel closer. "Still… Lady Seraphina is already living in the palace. The people think she's his chosen mate."
"The people are fools. She's a placeholder," Lysandra said curtly. "An ornament to keep the gossip at bay until the real queen arrives."
The carriage hit a bump, jostling them both. Lysandra barely flinched. She sat straighter, eyes narrowing.
"Seraphina has had her moment. And now, it's mine."
"She won't like your presence," Ulna murmured.
Lysandra smiled. "Good. Let her hate me. Hate makes people sloppy."
Ulna didn't reply, sensing it was safer to stay quiet.
Outside, the trees thinned, revealing the first glimpses of the capital. Stone walls shimmered in the distance, guards patrolling the roads with polished armor and sharp eyes.
Ulna peeked out the curtain. "We're nearing the outer gates."
Lysandra reached up and adjusted the coiled braid atop her head. Not a strand was out of place.
"No need to freshen up," she said. "I want them to see how flawless I remain....even after a long ride."
She dabbed her lips with a silk kerchief scented with rose oil and glanced at her reflection in a polished hand mirror.
"I want the king to see me exactly like this," she said. "Untouched. Unyielding. Unforgettable."
As the carriage approached the city gates, trumpets blared faintly in the distance...a noble entourage, perhaps, or a ceremonial announcement in the palace square.
Lysandra's heart thudded...not with nerves, but with anticipation.
She would soon cross the threshold of Silverthrone Castle.
Where others would see grandeur, she would see opportunity.
Where others bowed, she would rise.
And where Seraphina McMillan played queen in borrowed light, Lysandra Drake would cast her own shadow.
As the carriage rolled into the capital, her dark eyes gleamed with purpose.
Let the festivities begin.
Let the courtiers whisper.
Let Seraphina tremble.
Because Lysandra had not come for a party.
She had come for the crown.