The great banquet hall of Veyron Palace shimmered under golden chandeliers. Laughter and the gentle clink of goblets filled the air, the scent of roasted meats and honey-glazed fruits drifting through the carved arches. The visiting lords of the Southern Isles had already taken their seats, their vibrant silks and sun-gold jewelry clashing elegantly with the midnight hues of the palace's northern stone. All awaited the final figure.
Below the daises, the palace staff moved like a well-oiled machine. Every servant was on duty tonight. In the kitchen, Mira stirred pots and garnished trays with practiced grace, sweat dotting her brow. Mistress Ilena's voice had cut across the air earlier like a blade.
"Caelia and Lysandra, serve the dukes. Eliza and Isobel, the viscounts. Mira, stay in the kitchen. We need no errors tonight."
Caelia kept her head bowed. The elegant black and silver uniform of the palace staff was crisp against her skin. Her heart pounded not just from nerves but from the lingering memory of that morning, the quiet conversation in the royal chambers, the way His Highness had listened.
But that man would not be seated on the throne tonight.
The tension shifted. A court herald stepped forward, staff in hand. His voice rang loud and clear, trained by years of formal ceremony.
"Announcing His Royal Highness, Prince Caelum Arcturus Leonitus of House Veyron, Crown Prince of Karethia, Defender of the Northern Realm, and Flamebearer of the Veyron Line."
The hall fell to silence.
Boots echoed against stone.
Caelum entered.
Gone was the man in the soft linen robe who had asked for her name.
This man wore the ceremonial garments of House Veyron, the heavy black coat embossed with the family crest. A silver crescent moon cradled a black wolf beneath a field of midnight blue. Stars shimmered along the arc, forming constellations only the royal seers could interpret. A silver sword pointed downward beneath the wolf, framed by laurel leaves that seemed kissed with frost. At the base, glowing faintly in old script, was the House motto: "By Night, By Right"
Caelum's expression was unreadable, carved from ice. He did not smile. Did not bow.
He ascended to the throne, eyes sweeping the room with the silent authority of one who had been born into power. The warmth of the room vanished, replaced by something sharp and cold.
Caelia swallowed and began her task.
She and Lysandra moved quietly among the tables. Lysandra held her nose high, perfect in posture, as if she were one of the nobles herself. Caelia kept her head low, hands steady. She served wine, adjusted platters, and listened to murmured conversations about ships, spice routes, and succession.
And then...
She approached the Duke of Callion, one of the more formidable guests, seated close to the throne with his wife. His plate was nearly empty.
"More wine, Your Grace?" Caelia asked, gentle.
"What took you so long?" barked the Duchess.
Caelia blinked. "I was attending to..."
"I asked for a refill ten minutes ago," the Duke snapped.
"My apologies, Your Grace. I..."
"You think a sorry little apology will suffice? Do you serve the crown or the dogs?"
The words hit like stones. Guests nearby turned subtly to listen. Lysandra smirked in the distance.
"Your service is abysmal," the Duchess hissed. "Is this what Veyron Palace has come to?"
Caelia lowered her gaze. "I'm deeply sorry..."
"What's your name, girl? Do you even have one? Or were you dragged in from some village gutter?"
The steady voice of Mistress Ilena, who stepped forward, bowed, interrupted them. "Your Grace, forgive her. She is new. I will deal with her accordingly. She will be punished."
Caelia stiffened.
The Duke's voice dripped disdain. "See that you do. If the palace can't manage its staff, perhaps the Isles should host the next summit."
Ilena bowed again, but before she could turn to Caelia, another voice cut through the hall.
"That will not be necessary."
Every head turned.
Caelum had risen.
Mistress Ilena froze, as if caught in a storm.
"Your Highness," she stammered. "I was just..."
"I heard what you were doing," Caelum said, descending from the throne.
The hall held its breath. Even the visiting lords looked uncertain.
Caelum walked past the Duke and his wife, stopping beside Caelia.
"Raise your head," he said softly.
She obeyed, slowly, uncertainly. His gaze met hers.
He turned to the Duke. "This maid has served with more grace than you've shown all evening. You insult the crown by insulting those who serve it."
The Duchess gasped.
"But Your Highness..."
"Do you think your gold buys you the right to belittle those beneath you? If so, perhaps the Southern Isles are not ready for court diplomacy."
Silence.
Even the music had stopped.
Caelum looked to Mistress Ilena. "There will be no punishment. Not for her."
He turned back to Caelia, softer now. "You may return to your duties, Miss Caelia."
Her heart slammed against her ribs. "Yes, Your Highness."
Caelum returned to the throne as if nothing had happened.
But everything had changed.
Jorik, seated along the shadowed edge of the hall, leaned forward. His eyes narrowed. A storm brewed behind them.
Varek, always silent, said nothing. But he noted everything.
Lysandra gripped her tray tighter than necessary. She stared at Caelia, a venomous thought blooming.
In the kitchen, Mira froze mid-step. "He knew her name?" she whispered.
Eliza, wide-eyed, nearly dropped a goblet. "Did that just happen?"
Isobel touched her chest. "He defended her. Why?"
Mistress Ilena clenched her jaw as she returned to her station. Her gaze found Caelia, unreadable. The girl had been trouble from the start.
And yet...
She had just been shielded by the Midnight Heir himself.
The night continued, but it was not the same.
For everyone who had seen it, a new question rose:
Who exactly was Caelia?