The sky had the decency to be gray on the day House Aramour fell.
Not the soft gray of misted mornings or winter skies, but the bruised kind — heavy, unsympathetic, as if the heavens themselves turned their faces away.
Lady Selene stood at the heart of the great marble courtyard, the once-glorious crest of her family—a falcon over a flame—being chiseled from the stone behind her. With each strike, small chips of her history fell to the ground. She said nothing. She hadn't spoken since the trial.
Not when they came for her father.Not when the verdict rang out across the royal hall.Not when they placed the noose around his neck.
Silence had become her armor.
Around her, servants moved with swift, anxious hands, clearing silks from windows, removing gilded nameplates from doors, tossing old portraits into carriages bound for the estate's farthest corner. It was the quietest destruction she had ever seen — no fire, no screams. Just obedience. Efficient. Neat.
Like a name being erased.
Selene's mother stood in the shadow of the grand stairwell, veiled in black lace though no official mourning was permitted. Her spine was straight, her hands gloved, her mouth pressed into a pale line. Not a single tear had passed her cheek. She would not give them the satisfaction.
And yet, Selene could see it in her eyes — the weariness, the hollow pride.
They had survived betrayal before. But this one had come from within.
The doors of the estate opened with a low groan. From the corner of her vision, Selene saw her step in. Virelle.
Golden curls. Ivory lace. A rose-pink mouth that always seemed to smile without cause. Her cousin moved with the confidence of someone who believed she belonged in every room she entered — as if the absence of Selene's name had already rewritten history.
"Cousin," Virelle greeted, eyes wide with pity. "I can't imagine what you must be feeling."
Selene turned slowly to face her. Not a word passed her lips.
The silence made Virelle shift.
A perfect mask, Selene thought. The same one you wore the night you planted those letters. The same one you wore when you kissed the prince's hand and bowed to my father's accusers.
Virelle reached forward, as if to comfort her. "The court has its demands, but I hope you know this wasn't personal."
Selene blinked.
Not personal. No — merely the calculated removal of a rival. A well-executed betrayal. Clean, bloodless, elegant.
Selene stepped back, giving a curtsy so deep it was nearly mocking. Then she turned, walking toward the waiting carriage without a word, her shoes echoing against cold stone.
Behind her, the doors shut.
And in the silence, no one noticed the way her hand clenched at her side. Or the small smile that ghosted her lips.
They thought they had erased her.
But some games don't begin until the pieces are cleared.
And Selene Aramour had never cared for fairness.