The afternoon light filtered through the latticed windows of Dowager Queen Aelira's bedchamber, scattering pale gold across the polished stone floor.
The silken canopy above her bed stirred with the breeze, carrying the faint scent of lavender from the gardens.
Aelira reclined against her velvet cushions with a stillness that spoke of discipline, not ease. Even she, who had weathered the tempests of court for decades, felt the undercurrent of anticipation tightening in her chest.
Across from her, Lady Levina adjusted the folds of her gown with unnecessary precision, her restless fingers betraying what her composed face sought to conceal. Her gaze flicked again and again toward the door.
"You seem uneasy, Mother," Levina murmured, her voice quiet, but edged with curiosity. "Is it his return that unsettles you? My brother....and the woman he brings with him?"
Aelira's sharp eyes lifted, their silver-gray depths cool as steel. "Unsettle me? No. But storms rarely come without warning, Levina, and Valkoron is a kingdom built upon them.
The court thrives on unease....it is the lifeblood of politics. One must learn to master it, not fear it." She raised her cup, sipping her spiced tea with deliberate calm.
Levina's brow furrowed. "You mean the girl, Aurelia Flameborne."
Her mother's lips compressed into a thin line. "I speak no name. But yes, the girl is whispered to carry a shadow.
A curse clings to her as stubbornly as rumor, and shadows...." she paused, setting her cup aside, ".....shadows stain as easily as they conceal."
Levina lowered her gaze, her fingers stilling in her lap. "And yet, Valerian chose her."
"Chose?" Aelira's voice was cool. "Or was driven to it by fate or folly? We do not yet know. But mark me, child: her curse is no longer hers alone. It touches our house now, and through us, all of Virelia."
Before Levina could reply, a gentle knock echoed from the door. A young servant entered, bowing so deeply his forehead nearly brushed the floor.
"Your Graces," he said, voice steady but hurried. "Prime Minister Tiberin Dorrick bids me tell you....the Storm Lord has crossed into Virelia and rides for Valkoron. The royal family is commanded to assemble at the castle gates for his arrival."
Aelira's expression betrayed nothing, though a flicker passed through her gaze. "Very well. That will suffice. Leave us."
When the servant had gone, Levina's voice trembled with restrained excitement. "At last, he is home. And already the courtiers gather."
"Indeed," Aelira said, rising to her feet with the measured grace of one long accustomed to eyes upon her.
She smoothed her dark gown, its embroidery glinting faintly in the light.
"Friends, foes, flatterers.....every one of them will stand at those gates today, weighing what his return means for them.
Remember, Levina, we do not go to welcome a son, but to stand before a king. Authority must be worn like armor, and courtesy wielded like a blade."
Levina drew a steadying breath, then followed her mother out into the corridors.
The great hallways of Valkoron stretched long and echoing, polished stone gleaming beneath their steps.
Outside, the courtyard seethed with motion: ministers in their dark robes whispering together, guards snapping commands, pages hurrying like darting fish.
Nobles had already gathered along the colonnades, their eyes bright with anticipation and judgment.
And among them moved a figure who seemed to glide rather than walk.
Tall, with raven hair and a smile sharpened to a blade's edge, Lady Rhaelynn Dayne stepped forward. The late Storm King's mistress and concubine carried herself with the serene confidence of a woman who had survived scandal only to turn it into a weapon.
Her gaze fell upon Aelira, and her lips curved into a smile of mockery thinly veiled as courtesy.
"Dowager Queen," she purred, her voice silk wrapped around steel. "What a rare honor to see you at the gates. One might have thought memory enough to spare you the trouble of attendance."
Aelira's answering smile was cool, her words honed like lightning. "Lady Dayne. How kind of you to concern yourself with my presence. I trust your health endures as stubbornly as your…reputation."
A ripple of amusement passed through the surrounding courtiers, though none dared laugh aloud.
Rhaelynn's eyes glinted. "Endures, indeed. Long enough to watch your son bring a creature of curses into these halls.
The court whispers of her already....how could they not? Cast aside by her kin, scorned by the gods, yet still your son drags her into Valkoron. Tell me, does he still possess his wits?"
Levina stiffened beside her mother, but Aelira's hand rested lightly upon her daughter's arm, a signal of composure. Her voice remained level.
"Legends are easy to twist, Lady Dayne. But words, no matter how bitterly spoken, cannot unmake truth. He is Storm Lord. That alone silences doubt."
Rhaelynn tilted her head, mock sympathy in her tone. "A Storm Lord who taints his line with a cursed bride? I wonder how long the throne of Virelia can bear such a weight."
Aelira's smile thinned into steel. "Better a cursed bride than a lecherous heir, Lady Dayne. Unless, of course, you would argue that your son, who squanders his nights in brothels and his days in wine, is fit to rule."
Gasps rippled faintly through the crowd.
Rhaelynn's eyes narrowed, though her smile did not falter. "At least he pursues beauty, not deformity. At least he does not sully his bloodline with a woman the gods themselves cast aside."
The tension coiled, sharp enough to draw blood....until a firm, commanding voice cut through the air.
"Enough."
Prime Minister Tiberin Dorrick stepped forward, robes flowing with stately weight, his hawk-like eyes fixing both women in turn..
"My ladies, this day belongs not to your grievances, but to the Storm Lord. Let no more venom stain the gates of Valkoron."
For a heartbeat, silence reigned. Then Rhaelynn inclined her head, her smile returning with calculated sweetness.
"As you say, Prime Minister. The dignity of the court must, of course, remain."
Aelira matched the gesture, her civility edged with frost. "Then let us waste no more time on shadows of the past."
As the gathering resumed its solemn order, Levina leaned close to her mother, whispering, "She does not even try to hide her hatred."
Aelira's reply was soft, her gaze never leaving the courtyard. "Let her hatred speak for her. Words reveal more than silence ever could.
Remember, Levina.....in Valkoron, storms do not merely test courage. They test patience, perception, and presence. And however loudly they whisper against him, in his presence, they will tremble."
The banners snapped violently in the wind, carrying the heralding thunder of hooves across the stones. The Storm Lord was coming.
Aelira drew herself tall, her hand steady on Levina's shoulder, her eyes gleaming with resolve. "Watch, child. This is how storms are commanded."
The courtyard stilled, breathless, as the first tremors of destiny approached.