Morning light spilled through the Veyldan Estate's glass windows, soft and deceitful. Inside Isolde's private parlor, a man in gray knelt. Her most trusted spy.
"You're certain?" Isolde's voice was silk laced with steel.
"Yes, My Lady. Lady Elara was seen conversing with Lord Darien Valemont at the Imperial Library yesterday. Alone."
Isolde's brow arched ever so slightly, a glint of intrigue flashing in her eyes. "And what did they speak of?"
"Mostly tension, my lady. Lord Darien appeared agitated, while Lady Elara... cold. Unmoved."
The spy recited pieces of the exchange word for word. Darien's desperate tone, Elara's cutting calm, the way she left without looking back.
Isolde tapped a finger on the armrest, thoughtful. "Interesting. So she plays with fire now. My, how bold the quiet little mouse has become."
She turned to her daughter, lounging nearby. "Seraphine."
Seraphine straightened, already knowing that tone. "Yes, Mother?"
"Invite Lord Darien for tea this afternoon. The Veyldan Estate must offer... hospitality to old family friends."
Seraphine's lips curved faintly. "And if Elara finds out?''
"She won't," Isolde smiled, eyes glinting. "But I intend to find out what really passed between them."
Meanwhile, Elara stood before the mirror of her chamber, fastening the ribbon of her pale lilac dress. The morning felt heavier than usual.
She needed to breathe. She needed space. Away from walls filled with whispers.
And so, with quiet defiance, she left the estate without permission.
Her destination: the capital's main boulevard. Home to the Empire's most exquisite boutiques.
The streets glittered with noblewomen and silken carriages.
Elara, veiled in simplicity, entered Maison Lysandra, one of the most exclusive shops in Aurelthar.
She trailed her fingers along the fabrics, silver silk, moonlight chiffon, velvet dyed in star-dust blue.
The thought crossed her mind briefly: Yesterday, His Majesty summoned Adrienne. Likely about the Empire's Founding Anniversary two months from now. They'll surely invite other Empires and Kingdoms... perhaps even Aetherion.
She exhaled softly. Then I must be ready.
But peace rarely lasted for her.
"Oh my, isn't this Lady Elara Veyldan?" The voice sliced the air, sweet and cruel.
The familiar lilt of mockery sliced the air. Elara turned. Calm, expression unreadable, and found Mirielle von Astora, her stepsister's closest friend.
"Lady Mirielle."Elara inclined her head politely.
"I didn't expect to see you here,"Mirielle said sweetly, eyes glinting. "Shopping for what, I wonder? Or perhaps preparing for another private audience with His Highness?"
A few ladies nearby giggled. Elara's expression did not shift.
"If you have something worth saying, Lady Mirielle, I suggest you do so without the theatrics." Elara's voice was calm, almost detached.
Mirielle's smile faltered. "You seem to think being the Crown Prince's fiancée grants you the privilege to speak that way."
Before Elara could respond, another voice chimed in, bright and poisonous.
"Mira! I thought I'd find you here... Oh, and look, it's Elara!"
Seraphine swept in, her tone the very image of surprise. The two exchanged knowing glances.
"Seraphine,"Elara greeted coolly, "what an unexpected delight."
Seraphine's brow twitched.
"I could say the same," Seraphine responded sarcastically.
"Pray tell, Seraphine, was it true what you said? That Lady Elara and Lord Darien have been rather close lately?" Mirielle feigned a whisper, but her voice carried, ensuring everyone nearby could hear.
Whispers flitted across the boutique.
Elara tilted her head slightly, her voice calm and razor-sharp. "If the two of you find such idle gossip worth your time, perhaps you've mistaken me for someone equally unoccupied."
The room went silent.
Mirielle's cheeks burned. "Are you implying—?"
"I'm merely stating that conversation should be as refined as one's audience. Excuse me." Elara turned to the shopkeeper, serene as moonlight.
"I'll take the silver gown by the window. Send it to the Veyldan Estate, and kindly ensure the stitching isn't as loose as the rumurs here." She walked past them without another glance.
Behind her, Mirielle's jaw trembled, Seraphine's eyes darkened.
For the first time, neither could find a retort.
Across the palace, Duke Caelum Veyldan exited his office, adjusting his gloves. He was on his way to the training grounds when a familiar, commanding voice halted him.
"DukeVeyldan."
He turned, and there stood Emperor Alaric, tall and composed, his eyes sharp with something uncomfortably close to calculation.
Caelum bowed. "Your Majesty."
The Emperor smiled faintly. "You didn't tell me your daughter was that talented."
The Duke blinked. "...My daughter, Your Majesty?"
"Lady Elara," Emperor Alaric said, tapping the Duke's shoulder. "The Empress invited her to dinner last week while she and Adrienne were taking tea. Quite the surprise. She's eloquent, well-versed in ancient history, and remarkably perceptive."
The Emperor smiled, a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "It's rare for someone that young to discuss foreign lineage and ancient bloodlines so fluently. You've done well raising her."
Caelum's chest tightened. Raising her? He barely knew what her favorite color was.
"Elara... has always been observant," he said quietly.
"Indeed," Alaric's gaze sharpened. "Keep her close, Duke. Talents like hers attract attention, and not always the good kind."
Their gazes met, and for a moment, Caelum saw the hunger in the Emperor's eyes, the kind that appraised power, not people.
When Duke Caelum returned home that night, guilt gnawed at him. He passed Elara's closed door; from within came faint footsteps and the whisper of a page being turned.
Sixteen years… and I never once truly looked at you.
He walked away, unaware that elsewhere in the mansion, Isolde and Darien sat together in hushed conversation, candlelight flickering between them.
"If she continues drawing the Crown Prince's attention,"Isolde whispered, "then she's a threat to our future. You know what must be done, Lord Darien."
And in another corner of the city, Mirielle and Seraphine sat in a quiet corner of an upscale restaurant, sulked in silence, replaying Elara's calm, flawless words.
"She's changed," Mirielle hissed. "Colder. Sharper. I don't like it."
"Then",Seraphine replied darkly, "let's remind her what happens to girls who forget their place."
Later that day, at night, Elara sat by the window, chin resting against her hand, her eyes reflecting the faint shimmer of moonlight.
Her thoughts drifted back to what happened at Maison Lysandra. Darien had always been persistent in seeking her attention, even while knowing she was the Crown Prince's fiancée. Yet in this lifetime, she had never shared a single moment of intimacy with him. Not enough to warrant such accusations. So why would Mirielle claim they were close?
Unless…
Her mind returned to the Imperial Library — to Darien's sudden appearance in a place he should never have been able to enter. His words, his timing, the way he found her so easily.
No one steps into the inner library without permission… unless they were sent there.
Her fingers tightened around the hem of her sleeve.
Was it a coincidence… or was I being followed?
She exhaled slowly, gaze darkening as the wind stirred the curtains.
Then why… did she mention Darien's name?
The silence in her chamber felt heavier, charged with something she couldn't yet name — suspicion, realization, and the faint, familiar scent of danger.
She blew out the candle.
The room fell into darkness.
But in that darkness, her resolve only burned brighter.