The court was humming before the sun rose.
Word of the Queen's favor had spread—not confirmed, but whispered, and in the palace, whispers traveled faster than truth.
When Aveline stepped into the grand hall, every pair of eyes followed her.
Today, she wore crimson.
Not the soft pinks of innocence, not the cold blues of distance. Crimson—like power, like blood, like a memory that refused to fade.
Lucien appeared beside her, casually reading a scroll. Elise trailed just behind, a perfect lady's maid—eyes sharp, posture neutral.
But even Aveline hadn't expected the announcement that followed.
A trumpet sounded. The herald stepped forward.
"By royal decree, House Everwind is hereby reinstated to noble standing and restored its ancestral holdings in the East."
Gasps rippled across the chamber.
Aveline's spine stiffened.
She hadn't petitioned this.
She hadn't asked for this.
Her eyes flicked up to the throne.
The King looked unmoved.
But the Queen… the Queen was watching her like a cat who'd just thrown a mouse into a lion's cage.
And then—
Another name was announced.
"Lord Auren Vellien, once of House Vellien, is hereby welcomed back to court under the protection of His Majesty's grace."
Aveline's blood turned to ice.
Auren.
Her former fiancé.
The man who had helped destroy her name.
The man who stood beside Calista the day Aveline was branded a traitor and cast from the court.
The doors opened—and there he was.
Tall. Golden. Smiling that same practiced smile.
And when his eyes found hers across the court floor, he bowed… slow, mocking.
The game had changed again.
And someone had just moved an old piece back onto the board.
Aveline didn't flinch.
Didn't blink.
Didn't let her fingers curl the way they wanted to.
She simply lifted her chin and stared him down as though he were something beneath her heel.
Auren's smirk widened.
The Queen sat serenely above them all, but Aveline could feel her amusement like perfume on the air.
This wasn't a coincidence. It was a message.
Watch your back. Even ghosts can be re-dressed in silk.
Lucien leaned slightly toward her, voice a whisper. "You know him."
Her reply was flat. "He's dead to me."
Later, in her private sitting room, the fury came—not in shouting or broken glass, but in the furious precision of her movements. She tore off the crimson gown and ordered Elise to burn it.
"A message received," she said coldly. "Now I'll send one back."
A knock interrupted her thoughts.
"Who is it?" she snapped.
"Someone you didn't bury well enough," came the reply.
Aveline's heart went still.
She opened the door.
Auren stood there—too at ease, too handsome, his charm as polished as ever and twice as poisonous.
"I thought I'd welcome you back properly," he said with a mocking bow. "After all, we never did have closure."
Aveline didn't move. "What do you want?"
He stepped inside without waiting. Elise made a sound, but Aveline raised a hand.
Let him speak.
Let him dig his own grave again.
"I heard the court is singing your praises now," he said, voice rich with mockery. "Reborn, radiant. A proper little phoenix."
Her silence was cutting.
"You don't seem surprised to see me."
"I'm only surprised you had the nerve to come without Calista on your arm. Or perhaps she sent you—like a dog trained to bark at old enemies."
His smile faltered.
"I came to make peace."
"You mistake me for someone who still believes in it."
Auren's eyes narrowed. "Be careful, Aveline. You're shining now, but stars fall all the same."
She stepped forward, close enough that he could smell the fury beneath her calm.
"So do kings," she whispered. "And you? You're not even a star. Just a flicker—too weak to burn, too stubborn to fade."
He turned then, jaw tight, and walked out with the door snapping shut behind him.
Aveline exhaled slowly.
"Get word to Lucien and Caden," she told Elise. "We don't wait. We strike."
That evening, the firelight in Aveline's strategy room flickered over open scrolls, folded maps, and wine neither Lucien nor Caden had touched.
They stood on opposite sides of her now—her shadows, her swords.
Lucien was the first to speak. "Auren's return was planned. Carefully. Quietly. Someone wanted him dropped into the court like a match into oil."
Caden's arms were folded, jaw clenched. "And he didn't come back alone. He's already met with Lord Ferris. And I saw Calista speaking with the Duke of Rendale. Loud enough to be overheard. Subtle as poison in wine."
"They're building something," Lucien added. "Reweaving the old alliance that destroyed you before."
"No," Aveline said quietly, "they're rebuilding it weaker. Because I'm not who I was. And this time, I have sharper allies."
She stood, moving to the center of the table where a map of the noble estates lay open.
"We strike first. Politically. Socially. And when we're ready—financially."
Lucien raised a brow. "You want to cut off their coin?"
"No," she said. "I want to bleed their influence. Drain them in plain sight. We start by targeting Lord Ferris. He's vain, greedy, and his third son has a mistress whose name the court shouldn't know—but I do."
Caden's eyes lit with cruel satisfaction. "Blackmail?"
Aveline's smile was razor-sharp. "Leverage."
Lucien nodded, already pulling parchment toward him. "And the court?"
"Let them whisper," she said. "Let them doubt me. Let them think I'm playing too many games."
She turned to them both, voice deadly calm.
"By the time they realize which one I'm winning… it'll be too late."
Elsewhere in the palace…
"She doesn't look afraid," Calista said, her tone sharp as broken glass.
She paced the length of her private quarters, trailing her fingers along the velvet drapes, ignoring the tea cooling untouched on the table.
Auren sat, far more relaxed than he should be, sipping wine like the court wasn't shifting beneath them.
"She's never been afraid," he replied. "Not really. That's what makes her dangerous."
Calista's lip curled. "We gave her the crown jewel of redemption. She was nothing—exiled, disgraced—and now she walks these halls like she owns them."
"Because she believes she does," Auren said, rising. "That belief is her armor."
"And belief can be broken," Calista hissed.
She crossed to the window, pulling aside the curtain just enough to watch the court below.
Servants bustled, nobles moved like chess pieces, and in the center of it all, Aveline—surrounded by attention. Admiration. Power.
"She's charming the council," Calista muttered. "Lord Ferris is hesitant now. And Lady Merenna sent back my invitation without a seal."
"She's isolating you," Auren said, swirling his glass. "Dividing your allies before striking."
"She's getting smarter," Calista snapped.
A beat of silence.
"Good," Auren said at last.
Calista turned, eyes narrowing. "Good?"
"Yes," he said, smile crooked and unreadable. "Because if we don't destroy a stronger Aveline… she'll destroy a weaker us."
He stepped closer, voice low.
"We need a scandal. A brutal one. Something to shake the court's confidence in her."
Calista's smile returned slowly.
"I think I know exactly where to start."