The Golden Court, for all its radiant splendor, was nothing more than a stage where actors wore crowns instead of painted masks. By day, it dazzled with marble columns, gilded balconies, and vast windows spilling sunlight across halls where tapestries celebrated victories that were half-truths and wholly glorified. By night, chandeliers glowed like captured stars while nobles swirled in endless dances that were less about music and more about maneuvering.
Calista Thornheart knew this better than anyone. She had been playing the role of the villainess since childhood, cast into the part before she had spoken her first lie. Tonight, however, she was determined to test the limits of her script.
The ball had been announced under the pretense of celebrating Lady Serene's birthday, though everyone knew it was really another excuse for the crown prince to parade his chosen heroine before the court. Serene looked every inch the angelic doll she was crafted to be. Her gown shimmered like morning dew, her emerald eyes wide and artless, as if she could not fathom cruelty. Yet cruelty had always been her sharpest weapon—the ability to make others rush to her defense.
Calista entered the ballroom late on purpose, her scarlet gown cutting through the sea of pastel silks like blood on snow. The hush that followed was delicious. She paused under the archway, letting the light catch the silver embroidery of thorns that climbed her skirts, glittering as if alive. Her hair, piled high with jeweled pins, gleamed like spun moonlight. Her eyes, sharp and amused, swept the hall as though she owned every inch of it.
"Lady Thornheart," someone whispered too loudly, the name curling through the air like incense. Others followed, muttering in tones meant to be discreet but never were. Villainess. Temptress. Dangerous.
Calista relished it. Fear was a shield sharper than steel.
Prince Adrian, standing at the center of the hall, froze for the briefest heartbeat before smoothing his expression into a courtly smile. He had expected her to skulk, to bow her head after the trial days earlier. Instead, she carried herself as though nothing had touched her reputation, as if every rumor were a pearl she had strung around her neck for amusement.
"Lady Thornheart," Adrian greeted with a stiff bow. "You honor us with your presence."
"And you honor me, Your Highness, by pretending the invitation was sincere," Calista replied, curtsying low, her gaze locked with his. The musicians faltered for half a beat before recovering. Laughter rippled at the edges of the crowd. Adrian's jaw tightened, but he said nothing.
From across the ballroom, Serene's smile twitched, fragile and sweet, but sharpened at the edges. Their eyes met. The heroine's pitying look was crafted to melt hearts. Calista answered it with a slow blink and a tilt of her head, parodying innocence. It was war disguised as courtesy.
The music swelled into a waltz. Adrian, ever dutiful, extended his hand to Serene and drew her onto the floor. The crowd clapped in delight, practiced and orchestrated. They would all sigh about how love conquered villainy.
But Calista had no intention of letting the story unfold so neatly.
She accepted the arm of Duke Alaric Dreven, the raven-haired noble whose smile was too charming to be trusted. His emerald doublet clung to broad shoulders, and his dark eyes glittered with mischief. He bowed low.
"My lady villainess, shall we ruin their fairytale tonight?"
"Ruin?" Calista's lips curved. "Why, Duke, I thought we were here to improve the entertainment."
Together they swept onto the floor, their movements fluid and predatory, a deliberate contrast to the prince and his heroine's delicate grace. Where Adrian spun Serene like glass, Alaric drew Calista close, bold enough to tease the edge of propriety. The hall buzzed, scandalized. Every sweep of her skirts was fire. Every step was a statement.
Beneath the glamour of the dance, Calista's mind stayed sharp. She scanned the crowd. Lady Marcellis frowned, Lord Varrow smirked, jeweled fans fluttered as whispers passed like wildfire. Information was everywhere in this court, hidden in glances and gestures. She intended to collect it all.
As the waltz ended, Alaric leaned close, his voice low. "You are playing a dangerous game."
Calista smiled sweetly, even as her pulse quickened. "Dangerous games are the only ones worth playing."
Later, as banquet tables groaned with delicacies and golden wine sparkled in lamplight, Calista slipped away from the crowd. She lingered in the gallery overlooking the gardens, breathing in the scent of roses carried on the night air. From here, she could watch unnoticed as Adrian bent tenderly toward Serene, whispering words meant to look like devotion.
But it wasn't the prince or the heroine who caught her attention. A cloaked figure moved at the edge of the shadows, slipping between hedges with too much purpose to be coincidence.
Her eyes narrowed. Intrigue stirred like a serpent uncoiling.
"Spying again?"
She turned. Rowan. Her ever-present shadow. His tousled hair and lazy grin gave him the look of a boy shirking duties, but the hidden blade under his coat told the truth.
"Observing," she corrected.
"Same thing." He leaned casually against the balcony, watching the stranger vanish into the night. "Want me to follow?"
She considered it, then shook her head. "Not tonight. Let them think I haven't noticed. People are most reckless when they believe themselves unseen."
Rowan's gaze lingered, too perceptive for her liking. "You're enjoying this."
Calista's smile sharpened. "Why wouldn't I? They've already written me as the villainess. I may as well play the part with flair."
Behind her, laughter rang out and music swelled, the endless charade spinning on. But on the balcony, under the cold moonlight, Calista Thornheart made a decision.
If the court wanted a villainess, then she would give them one. A clever one. A villainess who unraveled plots faster than they could be spun.
And perhaps, when the final curtain fell, it would not be the villainess who was destroyed.
It would be the Golden Court itself.