The letter arrived at breakfast, pressed into Virelle's hands on a silver tray by a maid who looked more frightened than formal.
"To Lady Virelle Elerian," the envelope read, bearing the red wax seal of Duchess Cersenia, one of the most prominent women in the western empire.
An invitation. A tea party.
An event Virelle hadn't asked for and didn't want.
But one she was expected to attend.
Because Lady Mirane said so.
"She's extending an olive branch," Mirane purred, smoothing a silk glove over her fingers as she passed Virelle in the hall later that morning. "You mustn't ignore it. Think of your reputation."
Virelle didn't answer. She never did.
But her silence, as always, was taken as obedience.
By afternoon, Virelle was sitting stiff-backed in the Cersenia estate's marbled solarium, a teacup in hand, surrounded by girls in lace and poison.
The room smelled of lavender and lies.
At least twenty noble daughters sat at the long sunlit table, fluttering fans and batting lashes. Dresses shimmered in every pastel imaginable. Laughter tinkled like windchimes—but always just before a jab.
Virelle sat at the far end, in a midnight-blue gown she'd carefully chosen. Modest. Elegant. A gift from her late mother's seamstress.
She had barely touched her tea.
Across the table, Lady Alessa Cersenia, daughter of the duchess and self-proclaimed jewel of the court's youth, stood suddenly with a gasp.
"Lady Virelle!" she called, her voice loud and performative. "How daring of you to wear that."
Virelle blinked. Slowly looked up.
The room turned with her.
Alessa was wearing the exact same dress.
Not a similar one. The exact same cut, the same deep sapphire shade, even the same silver thread along the sleeves.
"Really, dear," Alessa laughed, placing a hand on her hip. "It's sweet you tried. But don't they say it's bad manners to imitate your betters?"
A few girls giggled behind their fans.
Virelle sat still. Perfect posture. Porcelain face.
"I wasn't aware the dress was exclusive," she replied coolly.
"Oh, of course you weren't," Alessa said, stepping forward now. "I had this one custom-ordered for the summer tour. Everyone knows that. But how would you know? Tucked away in that sad old mansion of yours."
The room shifted. Whispers sparked like fire catching dry leaves.
"She probably found it in her late mother's attic," one girl muttered.
"No, no," said another. "Didn't Lady Mirane say the child had always been… unstable?"
A third: "I heard she talks to animals now."
Virelle's grip tightened on her teacup.
Lia, hidden beneath the table inside a velvet-lined bag she had clawed her way into during the carriage ride, tensed. Cause Virelle was afraid to go alone so Lia companied her, She could hear every word. Her fur bristled.
Let me out, she thought. Let me out and I will launch myself at their eyebrows.
But she couldn't. Not here. Not now. Virelle was already drawing enough attention.
"Don't you think it's sad," Alessa continued, circling the table slowly like a cat eyeing prey, "how desperate some girls are to be noticed? Even copying clothes won't help if no one wants to talk to you."
She stopped beside Virelle.
"Maybe," she said with mock sweetness, "we should donate your dress to the servants after this. I'd hate for you to embarrass yourself any further."
And then—she reached forward.
To tug Virelle's sleeve.
To pull. To humiliate.
To leave a mark.
Virelle didn't flinch. She didn't cry.
She just closed her eyes.
And in that moment, something inside Lia snapped.
She pushed against the flap of the bag. Readied her claws. Even if it meant getting them both thrown out—she would not let them touch her girl.
But before she could leap—
A hand caught Alessa's wrist mid-air.
A sharp gasp echoed across the solarium.
Alessa turned, stunned.
Standing there, tall and cloaked in charcoal-gray silk, was a girl none of them had noticed enter.
Black hair, sleek and long. Violet eyes like cut amethyst. Expression: carved from frost.
Her grip tightened.
And then—she slapped Alessa across the face.
The sound cracked through the air like a gunshot.
Alessa stumbled, holding her cheek, eyes wide.
"You—You dare?!"
The girl raised her chin slightly, gaze turning to ice. "Touch her again, and I'll have your fingers pinned to your mother's walls like trophies."
A servant at the door gasped.
Someone in the back whispered, "Your Highness?!"
Chairs scraped. Heads turned.
And then, the entire room dropped into curtsies and bows.
"Your Highness—the Princess—you're here?!"
The girl didn't even blink.
She stepped in front of Virelle, her violet eyes never leaving Alessa's paling face.
Virelle stared up, eyes wide. She had never seen this girl before. And yet… something about her presence felt absolute.
The girl turned slightly, meeting Virelle's gaze at last.
"You don't kneel for cowards," she said softly. "Stand. You're not the one who should lower her head."
Virelle opened her mouth.
No words came out.