The Red Hall was never quiet.
Even when no one was speaking, the air itself buzzed with danger. The way fire crackled too loudly in the gold-lined hearth. The way the wine in goblets trembled before hands ever touched them. The way eyes followed every step like a calculation in motion.
Kaelen stood just beyond the arch of the main gallery. He hadn't been invited.
No one ever invited him.
But the note from Lady Eirell had come with a seal. A red wax crest shaped like a blade entwined with roses.
A silent invitation from one of the most dangerous women in the court.
Ren had begged him not to go.
"You don't understand, milord," he'd said. "The Red Hall isn't a party. It's a battlefield with wine and masks."
"I don't wear a mask," Kaelen replied.
"Exactly. That's what makes you vulnerable."
The hall was alive with color.
Gowns shimmered in emerald and sapphire; men in tailored coats embroidered with their house sigils. The scent of perfume and blood hung in the air like flowers left too long in the sun.
No one acknowledged Kaelen when he entered.
Some looked his way, briefly—curious, amused. Most turned away, uninterested.
He was nothing to them. Not yet.
He walked past a group of nobles laughing over a game of political chess, their board shaped like the kingdom map. He walked past a wall where portraits had been removed—each space marked with a black slash.
Removed from history.
He understood the feeling.
At the far end of the hall, Lady Eirell stood by a long table. She held a glass of black wine, talking to a man Kaelen didn't recognize—a middle-aged noble with a wide chin and eyes too narrow to trust.
Eirell spotted him and gave a small, deliberate nod.
Not a welcome.
A test.
Kaelen approached, feeling every eye fall on his back the moment he moved.
As he neared the table, the noble turned, sizing him up. His smile was all teeth.
"So this is the shadow prince," the man said. "The one who crawled out of the mud just in time to ruin dinner."
Kaelen didn't blink. "I only ruin meals I'm served. So far, I haven't even been offered a seat."
The noble laughed. Loudly. Mocking.
But Eirell? She smiled faintly, sipped her wine, and said, "Lord Geren, if you had his wit, your enemies might still be alive."
Lord Geren stiffened, and walked away without a word.
Kaelen turned to her. "You enjoy poking bears, don't you?"
Eirell studied him. "Bears are only dangerous when they don't know they're being watched."
Music rose in the background, but it wasn't joyful.
Strings played a minor scale—slow, brooding, like a dirge pretending to dance.
Kaelen followed Eirell to a balcony overlooking the garden below.
"You're going to be tested," she said. "Every day. Every step. Some will challenge you to your face. Most will try to kill you without staining their hands."
"Why warn me?"
"Because you interest me," she said plainly. "And in a court like this, that's either a blessing or a curse."
Kaelen looked at her. "Which am I to you?"
She tilted her head. "Both."
A loud clang rang through the hall.
Silence fell.
Two guards dragged a noble youth forward—no older than Kaelen. Pale. Trembling. Blood staining his sleeve. His eyes darted across the crowd like a lamb searching for its mother.
Lord Rhaen stepped forward from the dais. Elegant. Cruel.
"This man," he declared, "has been found guilty of forging alliances outside the Regency's knowledge. He conspired with rebels of the Eastern Isles, and worse—he lied about it to my face."
He drew a ceremonial blade from his belt. Short, curved. Meant for ritual. Not war.
Kaelen leaned forward.
"No trial?" he asked.
Eirell answered softly, "This is the trial."
The boy begged. Screamed. Claimed innocence.
Rhaen silenced him with a swift slice across the throat.
The body collapsed to the marble floor, red leaking into the cracks like ink spilled on old paper.
No one spoke.
No one moved.
No one cried.
Then the music resumed.
As if nothing had happened.
Kaelen's hands tightened on the balcony rail.
"This is justice?" he muttered.
"This is the court," Eirell replied. "Justice here has never been about truth. Only power."
She stepped back, leaving him with one final whisper:
"Welcome to the game, Kaelen.The first piece has fallen.It won't be the last."