Chapter 7) A Crown of Eyes
The halls of the Queen Regent's estate pulsed with gold.
Caelum stood at the entrance, frozen beneath marble archways, watching as nobles swirled past him in waves of silk, jewels, and perfume. The air was thick with perfume and judgment. Every movement, every whisper, felt like a test he hadn't studied for.
The invitation had said formal attire, and Ardyn, bless her stubborn heart, had stitched him a dark-blue tunic threaded with silver vines the night before. She'd shoved it into his hands with a muttered, "Don't embarrass me," and vanished back into her forge.
It fit. Too well.
He looked like a prince now.
He hated it.
A page approached and bowed. "Lord Caelum, you are expected in the Glass Hall."
He followed.
The Glass Hall stretched wide and circular, a ballroom shaped like a crystal cage. Every wall was a mirror or window, reflecting the crowd into infinity. Chandeliers hung like frozen stars above their heads.
Seven banners fluttered above seven thrones.
And seated—or standing—beside each one was a princess.
All of them were here.
His heart skipped a beat.
Princess Rhiannon stood in her crimson armor near the banner of Pride, arms crossed, scowling at a servant who'd offered her wine. She tossed her braid over one shoulder and leaned against a pillar.
Princess Maribelle sat in her golden dress beside the banner of Gluttony, nibbling politely at a sugared rose and chatting softly with an elderly lady who looked enchanted by her.
Princess Veina leaned elegantly against her silver throne beneath the banner of Envy, unreadable as ever, her pale fingers tracing the stem of a glass she hadn't sipped from.
Princess Selene of Sloth sat cross-legged on a cushion, half-shrouded by curtains, her eyes half-lidded but focused only on him.
Elira of Wrath stood alone by the northern wall, sword at her hip, posture rigid. Watching. Always watching.
Lira of Sloth was not present physically. Instead, her throne was draped in silk and letters. A quiet declaration: I am everywhere, even when absent.
And then there was the seventh.
Caelum's breath caught.
He hadn't seen her before.
The banner of Lust shimmered in rose gold, and beneath it stood a girl who moved like moonlight and fire.
She wore a dress of sheer plum fabric layered over black silk, her shoulders bare, her hair cascading in dark waves down her back. Her skin was sun-kissed, her eyes the color of burning amber.
And when she turned and smiled—
It was devastating.
Like someone had carved desire into a human form and taught it to walk.
"You must be Caelum," she said, her voice low and smooth.
"I—uh—yes," he replied, heart punching against his ribs.
She laughed gently, and it was not mocking. Just amused. Genuinely pleased.
"I'm Seraphine. Of Lust."
He blinked. "That… feels on the nose."
She stepped closer. "Would you rather I whispered it?"
His ears burned.
Behind her, Veina rolled her eyes. Rhiannon smirked and crossed her arms tighter. Maribelle waved in Caelum's direction, trying to defuse the heat.
But Seraphine was already gone, gliding toward the thrones.
And Caelum was left dizzy in her wake.
---
The Queen Regent had not yet appeared. Until she did, the gathering was informal. Which meant Caelum was now an animal in a cage, surrounded by lions wearing silk.
He walked slowly toward the center of the room. The nobles parted, some staring openly, others murmuring behind fans.
He wasn't just some golden-haired village boy anymore.
He was the boy who had made all seven look twice.
And they hated that.
"Smile, Caelum," came a voice.
Selene.
She was suddenly beside him, close enough to brush his sleeve. Her expression was unreadable, as always.
"Why?"
"Because someone just sent a letter to the Queen claiming you bewitched us."
His jaw tightened. "What?"
Selene nodded slowly. "Anonymous. Written in royal cipher."
"Do you know who—"
"No. But I have guesses."
She passed him a folded paper. Inside was a crude drawing of him with horns, kissing each of the princesses under moonlight.
He sighed. "They didn't even get my nose right."
Selene didn't smile, but her eyes glittered.
"Don't respond to it. Don't ask. Just pretend nothing happened. Tonight's too public."
He folded the paper and slid it into his pocket. "Then what do I do?"
"Walk. Smile. Dance."
"I don't know how to dance."
"Then step on as few feet as possible."
---
The orchestra began to play.
A slow, lilting melody.
A voice called out, "The Queen Regent approaches!"
Everyone turned.
And Caelum understood, instantly, why no one dared speak ill of her.
She swept into the room in a gown the color of molten gold, her crown simple but burning. Her gaze was ancient. Calculating. She moved like a god had borrowed a woman's form.
She said nothing.
Simply gestured for the dance to begin.
And the room obeyed.
Pairs formed, nobles sweeping across the mirrored floor like drifting petals.
And then—before Caelum could retreat—someone took his hand.
Maribelle.
"Come on," she said. "It's just a dance."
He looked down. "You sure?"
"I'll lead."
And she did.
Graceful, confident, laughing as they moved.
He stumbled at first, stepping too far left. She corrected him gently, never making him feel foolish. By the third measure, they were gliding.
Others stared. Whispers grew.
"Why is she dancing with him?"
"Another one?"
"What is he doing to them?"
Maribelle ignored it all.
She smiled, close to his ear. "You look like you're surviving."
"Barely."
"Good."
The music shifted, and they stepped apart. Another pair spun between them.
Suddenly—Elira was before him.
"Dance," she ordered.
He obeyed.
Her grip was firm. Her movements military.
"This is not for pleasure," she warned. "It's to make them nervous."
Caelum's heart pounded. "It's working."
She pulled him into a sharp turn.
"You'll have to learn to use eyes like weapons. Not just hair and charm."
"I wasn't trying to—"
"You're past 'trying.' Now you're a storm. Learn how to steer it."
Then she was gone.
Selene appeared next.
And then Rhiannon.
Then Seraphine—whispering things he refused to remember.
Each one left him a little more breathless.
Each one left the room tighter with whispers.
And at the edge, the Queen Regent watched.
Smiling.
---
Later that night, Caelum slipped away.
Into a quiet garden. Beneath a fountain shaped like a lion's head.
His pulse refused to slow. His legs ached. His mind was a spinning wheel.
He didn't hear the footsteps behind him until someone cleared their throat.
It was Veina.
She stood in the moonlight, silent.
"Come to threaten me again?" he asked, exhausted.
"No."
She walked past him, sat on the fountain's edge.
"I came because I needed air. You just happened to be here."
He sat beside her. "Convenient."
"Not everything is about you."
"I know."
A long silence.
Then, she spoke.
"You didn't ask to be dragged into this. But now that you're here… you need to choose."
"Choose?"
"Who you'll be. Pawn. Player. Or chaos."
He looked at her. "And what are you?"
Veina met his gaze, something like a shadow flickering in her eyes.
"Broken glass."
He didn't know what to say.
She stood.
"But sometimes, broken things cut deepest."
And then she left.
---
That night, when Caelum returned home, he found a letter waiting.
No seal.
No name.
Just a phrase, written in black ink.
> "We are watching. The petals fall."
And beneath it—
A second violet petal.
Still warm.