The silence after the Queen's last comment clung to the air like ash after a burn.
Lara didn't trust herself to speak. Not yet. Her jaw ached from clenching it too tightly, and her nails pressed shallow crescents into the silk of her napkin.
Aliyah's laughter still danced in the distance, bright and fierce.
And yet the table, the people remained cold.
No one addressed the Queen's words again. Not directly.
That was how they did it, Lara had learned Celestian nobility didn't argue; they redirected. A knife with velvet on the handle still cuts deep.
So when a silver-haired councilor with a voice like dust cleared her throat and said, "Speaking of young Aliyah, her fifth anniversary is nearly upon us," the shift was so seamless it made Lara's skin crawl.
Sarisa straightened slightly beside her. "Yes. Preparations are underway."
Lara blinked.
Two weeks, she remembered. Aliyah's fifth birthday.
She'd nearly forgotten with all the missions, political tension, and whispered insults wrapped in protocol. But the truth was: she hadn't wanted to think about it.
Not because she wasn't proud.
But because every noble in this room would be there.
And Aliyah: loud, chaotic, perfect Aliyah deserved so much better.
"She's growing fast," another noble chimed in. "Strong blood, I'm sure. A touch… volatile, but children tend to reflect their raising."
Lara smiled tightly and thought: You'd shatter if you spent one hour with her.
"Her magical output has doubled in six months," Sarisa said smoothly, carefully keeping her voice neutral. "We've adjusted her lessons accordingly."
"Have you considered external tutors?" the same councilor asked, sipping wine with the elegance of someone who probably hadn't smiled since birth. "From more… refined backgrounds."
Oh, you mean: people like you?
Lara resisted the urge to reach across the table and flip a silver plate into the woman's face.
"She's doing fine with the current structure," Sarisa said, and there was a hint of something in her voice now. Not sharp but present.
Lara glanced at her sideways.
Still got a spine under that silk, huh?
The Queen nodded slowly, folding her hands. "The banquet will be an opportunity to properly introduce her to the realm. Beyond scandal and whisper."
Lara felt her teeth grit again. She's a child, she wanted to shout. Not a public statement.
"She's already well-known among the nobility," another councilor said lightly. "The banquet will simply reaffirm her status."
Status, Lara thought darkly. As what? A curiosity? A threat?
Another noble leaned in. "Will there be formal demonstrations of power?"
Sarisa blinked. "It's a birthday celebration."
"Yes, but public affirmation of ability sets expectations. It wouldn't need to be complex. A small display of controlled fire. Or chain manipulation, perhaps?"
Lara stared at him.
She couldn't help it.
You want her to do tricks like a trained beast? she thought.
"She's four," she said aloud.
The man looked at her, and there was something almost amused in his gaze. "Children of noble blood often perform rituals at that age. I myself summoned a frost guardian on my fifth anniversary."
Lara gave him a long, flat look.
"Congratulations. Want a biscuit?"
The table stilled.
A few nobles looked horrified.
Sarisa didn't flinch.
The Queen, to her credit, did not react at all. Her expression remained calm. Too calm.
"We'll take your suggestion into consideration," she said lightly, but Lara knew the tone.
Dismissal, disguised as diplomacy.
Lara turned her focus inward.
Every smile at this table was a lie. Every toast a veiled criticism. Every conversation a trap with silver teeth.
She scanned the faces around her—powdered, perfect, precise.
One woman wore ten silver rings on each finger and looked like she'd faint if Aliyah sneezed in her direction.
Another adjusted her robe's collar five times in the last three minutes as if Lara's presence gave her hives. The sour-faced noble from earlier still hadn't blinked.
What would you all do, Lara wondered, if Aliyah threw a flame spiral into your wine goblets right now?
A dangerous smile tugged at her lips.
"Will the banquet be held in the eastern court?" one of the younger nobles asked, unaware or uncaring of the tension.
"Yes," Sarisa answered. "It's the most open venue for the number of guests we've invited."
Guests, Lara thought grimly. Not allies. Not friends. Just… watchers.
"And what of her attire?" someone else added.
"Custom, obviously," Sarisa replied. "A blend of demon and Celestial formal wear."
Lara perked up slightly. "Does it involve spikes?"
Sarisa gave her a look. "No."
"Wings?"
"Still no."
"Fireproof fabric?"
"Possibly."
Lara grinned. "I can work with that."
A few nobles exchanged glances, clearly wondering how a war captain had managed to insert herself so casually into their world.
Lara didn't care.
Let them squirm.
Let them smile with their thin-lipped mouths and polished etiquette while pretending not to fear what Aliyah could become.
Because Aliyah would become something.
Something brilliant.
Something dangerous and not because of her demon blood, but because of her spirit.
And none of them were ready for it.
Lara glanced again at Sarisa, who hadn't met her eyes since the conversation began.
She looked composed.
But Lara knew her well enough now to read the signs, the way her fingers flexed beneath the tablecloth, the slightly tenser angle of her shoulders.
She was bracing herself for something.
Lara frowned. Something else was coming.
She could feel it.
And then—
The Queen lifted her glass, just slightly. The dining hall stilled.
"One final note regarding the banquet," she said, voice smooth and practiced.
All eyes turned.
Lara's stomach tightened.
"In addition to celebrating Aliyah's fifth year," the Queen said evenly, "we will also be announcing Sarisa's future marriage arrangement."
The words didn't echo.
They didn't need to.
They were too heavy to bounce.
Too sharp to repeat.
Lara blinked.
Sarisa didn't move.
Didn't breathe.
Lara turned to her slowly.
Sarisa's face remained neutral.
Expressionless.
Trained.
Lara's hand clenched the edge of the table, fingers tightening.
No one spoke.
Not Kaelith, not Aliyah, not the scribe who had clearly just died inside.
The nobles, however oh, they smiled.