The final echo of the king's voice in the throne room...formal, commanding, and perfumed with ritual faded into applause. The heralds announced the shift of celebration, and like a tide the nobility flowed out from the great hall into the royal gardens.
The gardens of the palace stretched wide, illuminated by hundreds of lanterns strung from carved archways and swaying branches. Perfumed night-blooming flowers released their fragrance into the air, mingling with the hum of laughter and polite conversation. A long table was set beneath the grand pavilion, its length sufficient to seat the king, queen consort, concubines, and royal children, each place marked with gilded plates and jeweled goblets.
Nobles and decorated officers filled the space around them, bowing and exchanging compliments, their silks whispering against gravel paths as they moved among marble fountains and manicured hedges. Music drifted from instruments, the delicate strings and flutes weaving an illusion of harmony.
But beneath the beauty and order, venom brewed.
Sophia seated herself beside Alexander, her posture a portrait of dignity. She lowered her lashes as the queen consort's polite smile masked words that dripped with poison.
What composure… pretending to be worthy of the place she occupies. Yet how long until the cracks show?
From the concubines, the inner whispers came sharper, like daggers hidden behind silk sleeves.
How she preens, as though her place here is not borrowed from a cripple's shadow.Let us see if she can endure the weight of a true court, where every smile hides a blade.
Sophia listened, absorbing their malice with an unmoved expression. She had expected this as such was the nature of the court. But when her attention slid subtly to the princes, her breath caught for an instant.
The elder one of them, Crown prince Gabriel Daxton, sharp-featured, dressed in green velvet with a ring glittering upon his hand, had his gaze fixed upon her with a heat that made her stomach turn.
What a waste… to be bound to the Broken Prince, when she could warm a stronger man's bed. Look at her grace, her beauty. Let him rot in his chair, I will have her. Tonight, she will be mine.
The prince's smile was mild as he raised his goblet, but his eyes gleamed with hunger.
Her glass will be touched. The servant knows what to do. A drop, and she will not resist. Let her pretend strength now, she will not leave my chambers come dawn.
Sophia's grip upon her goblet tightened imperceptibly. A lesser woman might have shivered, but she simply tilted her head as though admiring the lanterns, her expression unreadable. Inside, however, vigilance sparked sharp and cold.
When Prince Gabriel excused himself from the table under the guise of greeting nobles, Sophia's senses followed him. He bent low to murmur in his personal servant's ear, the exchange brief but unmistakable in intent.
Sophia lowered her eyes, veiling the flare of alarm. A subtle signal, just the movement of her fingers was enough.
Damien, standing discreetly behind Alexander's chair, moved with seamless precision. A small object slipped from his hand into hers, covered by the folds of her sleeve.
Alexander caught the gesture.
His frown deepened though his face remained stoic. To all the court, he was simply the silent prince...expressionless, cold. But within, suspicion and unease churned violently.
What did she just take? Why would Damien give her something in secrecy? Is there danger… or is there something I am not meant to know?
His thoughts grew chaotic, shadows of dread and distrust swirling though he fought to hold them back. His jaw tightened, but he said nothing.
Her goblet was refilled with ruby-red wine, gleaming in the lantern light. The moment of the king's toast arrived:
"To the kingdom's strength, to our brave army, and to the glory of our reign!"
The nobles raised their goblets in unison. Sophia lifted hers gracefully, but before touching it to her lips, she slipped the object from Damien—a small capsule—between her lips and swallowed swiftly, hidden beneath the curtain of her lowered lashes. Only then did she sip the wine, her calm never faltering.
Alexander saw.
His chest tightened as he watched her throat move. His eyes, dark and stormy, betrayed nothing to those around, but within his emotions twisted painfully.
What did she take? Why before the wine? Is she protecting herself...or hiding something from me? Why won't she trust me?
Yet he did not move, did not speak. He remained the unflinching, unreadable prince, though his silence now carried the weight of unspoken turmoil.
The prince who schemed against her watched too, a spark of anticipation in his eyes.
Good. Drink deep, little dove. Soon you'll stumble, and they'll take you inside. Then you'll be mine.
But as the evening wore on, the moment he waited for never came.
Sophia's composure remained unshaken, her gaze clear, her smile polite. And when Alexander's condition was delicately mentioned and his health requiring rest, the king himself permitted their early withdrawal from the celebration.
Gabriel clenched his goblet until his knuckles whitened, fury roiling beneath his calm mask.
Ruined. That cripple ruins everything.
As they left beneath the glow of lanterns, Alexander sat silent in his chair, his thoughts in turmoil. Beside him, Sophia walked with steady grace, her hand lightly resting upon the armrest of his chair.
He did not ask.
She did not explain.
But the weight of unspoken truths hung heavy between them, tangled with suspicion, worry… and a strange, fragile thread of trust not yet broken.