Rory's legs burned from the grove's thorns, each step a sharp reminder of the vines that had clawed her skin. Her hands, crusted with dried blood, shook as she slipped back into the gala's chaos.
The silver dagger's glint from the trees and the note's threat, You don't belong here. The Starheart will burn you, churned in her mind like a song she couldn't shake. Romeus had walked her to the hall's edge, his sword hand twitching like he smelled another trap. "Stay out of cursed places," he'd said, his grin sharp but his gray eyes hard, before vanishing into the crowd.
The gala was a glittering mess. Elves twirled in robes that shimmered like liquid moonlight, their laughter high and sharp. Humans stood stiff in crisp tunics, eyes darting like they expected a knife in the back.
A self-playing harp grated on Rory's nerves, its notes too perfect, too eerie. Her torn dress and bloody hands drew stares, some curious, some hostile, but she kept her chin up, weaving through the crowd. She had to blend in, finish this quest, and find the traitor in House Sylvana. The System pinged, its blue panel flickering in her vision:
Quest Update: Survive the Welcoming Gala. Return Complete. Reward: Charm Boost. New Task: Attend Magic Lesson Tomorrow.
"Wizard school now?" Rory muttered, dodging a tray of glowing fruit that smelled like it could knock her out cold. A warm tingle, the Charm Boost, washed over her. She straightened without thinking, and when she spoke, her voice was a calm, smooth contrast to the panic in her gut.
A hand brushed her elbow, light but deliberate. Rory flinched, expecting Lord Calen's wine-soaked breath and smug grin. It was the freckled maid from earlier, her face pale as moonlight, eyes wide with something like fear. "Lady Juliette, your father orders you to stay," she said, voice barely above a whisper. "Lord Calen is pushing his suit."
Her fingers twisted together, and Rory's gaze snapped to the silver ring on her hand. Its gem caught the chandelier's light, flashing like the dagger in the grove.
Rory's pulse spiked. That ring. Was it the same one from the note? Was this maid the traitor, or just a scared kid caught in someone's game? "Tell my father I feel sick," Rory said, the lie flowing easily, disarming in its casual tone. "Too much dancing, you know?"
The maid, caught off guard by her calmness, nodded and scurried off. Rory watched her go, her gut screaming watch that one. Traitor or not, she wasn't sticking around for Calen to corner her.
She ducked into a side chamber, its green silk walls muffling the gala's noise. Sinking onto a cushioned bench, she pressed her scabbed palms to her eyes, the sting of the grove's thorns sharp in her memory. She'd nearly died tonight, and for what? A cryptic note? A gem nobody could find? Her old life, late-night study sessions, cheap coffee, arguing with her roommate about dishes, felt like a cruel dream. Her throat tightened, homesickness threatening to spill over. She shoved it down, but the more she tried to suppress it, the hotter it burned. The panic from the grove, the note's threat, her father's cold orders, it all boiled up, a hot, helpless anger in her chest.
The System pinged, sharp and clear: Skill Available: Spark. Basic fire magic. Cost: One Mana Point. Channel your emotion. Learn? Y/N.
Rory's eyes widened. "Fire magic? Hell yeah." She jabbed "Y" on the invisible panel. Warmth flared in her core, like swallowing hot tea, spreading to her fingertips. Spark Learned. Mana: Nine of Ten. She held up her hand, and a tiny flame flickered on her fingertip, small but hers. A grin spread across her face. Her first real win in this stupid world.
Morning came too fast. Rory woke in Juliette's massive bed, its carved leaves looming like they were judging her. The maids bustled in, less pushy today, dressing her in a blue tunic and sturdy boots. "For the magic lesson," the freckled maid said, her voice softer now.
Rory's eyes flicked to her hand. The silver ring was gone. Her stomach twisted. Of course it was. Either the maid was a traitor hiding her tracks, or someone had warned her to ditch it. Neither option felt good.
She kept her mouth shut, not ready to show her cards. The maid led her through the manor's halls, past glowing tapestries and servants who bowed too low. The air smelled of cedar and magic, heavy and electric. Rory's new boots felt solid, grounding her in this alien body. She wasn't Rory Monroe here, not really, but she wasn't Juliette either. Not yet.
The lesson was in a courtyard behind Sylvana Manor, ringed by trees that pulsed with faint light, like they were breathing. A dozen young elves stood in a circle, their hands weaving mana into vines, orbs, or wisps of mist.
The instructor, Mistress Veyra, was a thin elf with eyes like knives and a voice to match. "Mana is will made real," she barked, her braid swinging as she paced. "Fail, and you are nothing."
Rory snorted softly, leaning against a pillar. "Great pep talk," she muttered, earning a glare from a nearby novice. She ignored it, gripping the wooden staff Veyra had tossed her earlier. She tried Spark, her finger twitching. A flame sputtered, weak as a dying candle, and Veyra's gaze locked on her like a hawk spotting a mouse.
"Lady Juliette, your focus is pathetic," Veyra snapped, her voice cutting through the courtyard. "Again. With purpose."
Rory clenched her jaw, the hum in her chest flickering. She pictured the grove's vines, their thorns biting her skin, the note's threat scrawled in blood-red ink. Fear and anger surged, hot and sharp. She pushed it into her magic, and a flame burst from her hand, bright and hot, scorching a patch of grass. The novices gasped, stepping back. Veyra's lips twitched, maybe impressed, maybe annoyed.
"Not bad," a familiar voice drawled. Romeus leaned against a tree, his red Draconis tunic a bold slash among the elves' greens. His scar caught the sunlight, and his grin spelled trouble. "Didn't know Sylvanas played with fire."
Rory's heart skipped, the Charm Boost making his gaze hit like a punch. "What, you're my keeper now?" she shot back, dousing her flame. The novices whispered, their eyes darting between them. A Draconis here was like a wolf among lambs, and Romeus was eating it up.
"Bodyguard," he said, stepping closer, his boots crunching on the dirt. "Your father hired me to keep you alive." His voice was teasing, but his eyes held an edge, like he was daring her to push back.
Rory stared, waiting for the punchline. It didn't come. "Bullshit," she said, the Earth-word slipping out. "My father would rather swallow his own sword than hire a Draconis. Try again."
His grin was all sharp edges. "Desperate times, princess. Ask him." He leaned in, just enough to make her breath catch, his voice dropping. "You attract trouble, Juliette. I'm just here to clean it up."
Her brows shot up, but before she could fire back, Veyra clapped, sharp and loud. "Sparring. Pair up." The novices scrambled, staffs clacking as they found partners. Rory faced Romeus, who'd swapped his sword for a wooden staff, his grin still infuriatingly smug.
"No magic," Veyra ordered. "Skill only."
Rory gripped her staff, her new elven agility making her feel light, like she could dance on air. "Don't cry when I win," she said, smirking, the Charm Boost giving her words a playful edge.
He laughed, low and warm, like a fire she wanted to get closer to. "Big words for someone who stumbles over her own feet."
They circled, the dirt soft under their boots. His first strike came fast, a whistling crack she barely parried, the impact jolting up her bones. She gasped, not from pain, but from the sheer force of him. This wasn't a lesson; it was a test. Sweat trickled down her temple, her tunic sticking to her back with a damp chill.
She could smell the pine on the air and the clean, sharp scent of his leather armor. He lunged, and she parried, their staffs locking. His face was close, his breath warm, his scar inches away. Her pulse raced, not just from the fight.
"You're good," he said, voice low, his staff pressing hers. "But you fight like you're running from something."
"Maybe I am," she said, pushing back. She spun, aiming for his side, and landed a hit. He grunted, stepping back, but his grin grew, like he respected it. The novices cheered, their voices a mix of shock and excitement. Veyra gave a sharp nod, her eyes gleaming.
The System pinged: Skill Progress: Spark +1. Mana Control Improved.
Rory's grin matched Romeus's. The courtyard felt alive, the air buzzing with her small victory. But the rhythm of her victory shattered. A cold silence fell, so absolute Rory could hear the rustle of leaves. She followed the novices' terrified gazes. Lord Calen stood at the courtyard's edge, his gold robes a gaudy stain against the green, his presence like a storm cloud rolling in.
He'd been watching for who-knows-how-long, his smile all teeth, twirling a silver ring on his finger. Its gem flashed, just like the maid's, just like the dagger in the grove.
"Lady Juliette," he called, voice slick as grease. "A word about our future."
Rory's skin crawled. The System flashed: Quest Update: Avoid Lord Calen's Proposal. New Information: Marriage Contract Drafted. Wedding in One Week.
Her stomach dropped. A week? She glanced at Romeus. His hand tightened on his staff, his grin gone, replaced by a look she couldn't read. Calen held up a parchment, his voice loud enough for the whole courtyard to hear. "Sign tonight, my lady. We wed tomorrow."