The night air bit at my skin, cool and fragrant with blooming roses. Below the terrace, the palace gardens glowed under hundreds of lanterns, each reflecting on the fountains like scattered stars. Inside, laughter and music still spilled from the ballroom — a golden, glittering world that no longer felt mine.
I braced my hands against the marble railing, forcing my breath steady. Father's words echoed in my skull, sharper than any sword.
"It is not a request, Zelene."
No matter how I turned it over in my mind, the sentence remained final, immovable — like the stone pillars on our crest.
"We don't need their influence!" I had said. "We have the Council, the nobles' favor, the courts—"
"Favor fades," Father had cut in, calm but absolute. "Alliances sealed by blood endure. The Dravenharts guard the northern borders — and their loyalty ensures our survival."
And Caelan, my ever-loyal, ever-silent brother, hadn't spoken a word in my defense. His gaze had been steady — resigned. He agreed with Father... or at least, he understood him.
Now, under the open sky, it all felt surreal. Two years in this world — in this body — and I still sometimes forgot how to breathe here. I wasn't born an Evandelle; I had woken as one. A life inherited through fate or cruelty, I hadn't decided which. But now it wasn't enough to pretend. Now I was being traded.
"Strange, isn't it," came a voice behind me, low and smooth, "how quickly the world decides what we're worth."
I froze.
When I turned, the shadows seemed to peel away from the stone arch — and from them stepped him.
Kael Dravenhart.
The man every noble whispered about in tones of fear or fascination. The northern war prodigy, the obsidian heir. Cold as winter steel, they said. Cruel by nature. A man molded by blood and command.
And yet the moment his gaze found mine — quiet, unreadable — the air around us shifted.
"Lord Dravenhart," I said, forcing steel into my voice. "You appear unbothered for someone whose life has just been rewritten by an arranged marriage."
He stopped a few paces away, the moon catching on the silver detailing of his black attire. His presence was... controlled. Like he'd been sculpted from shadow and self-discipline.
"Should I be?" he asked simply. "I find panic rather inelegant."
I narrowed my eyes.
"How convenient. I suppose indifference runs in your bloodline."
A flicker ghosted across his mouth — not a smile, exactly, but something close.
"And fire runs in yours," he said. "I can see why the Evandelles fascinate the court."
"You don't sound fascinated."
"Oh, I am." His gaze lingered, dark and assessing. "Just not in the way they expect."
The shadows around him seemed to breathe — faint, fluid movements that weren't quite wind. My Aether stirred in response, a whisper under my skin. Light meeting dark. Opposites tugging at invisible threads.
"So this is what my father wants," I muttered. "A union of light and shadow. Convenient."
"Convenient for them," Kael corrected quietly. "Not for us."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning," he stepped closer, voice lowering to something almost conspiratorial, "if they plan to use us as pieces, we might as well learn how to play the board better than they do."
That caught me off guard. "You sound like someone already plotting."
> "And you sound like someone who wants to learn," he said, and there was no mockery — just observation.
For a moment, neither of us spoke. The wind moved between us, carrying the faint hum of violins from the ballroom.
Then he bowed slightly — just enough to be polite, yet with a deliberate undertone of defiance.
"Until next time, Lady Evandelle."
And just like that, he turned and vanished into the palace shadows.
I let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding.
---
When the quiet returned, I pressed a hand to my chest. My pulse was erratic, my thoughts worse.
Play the board better than they do.
Maybe he was right. Maybe the only way to survive was to understand what everyone else was planning.
The faint hum under my skin grew stronger — the pull of my Gift.
I hesitated, then whispered, "Let's see what they're saying."
The threads answered.
Silver light unfurled from my fingertips, delicate and web-like, connecting to the air — to sound, to whispers, to the intangible. I let the Aether Requiem expand, stretching across the ballroom far below. Voices, faint and layered, began to form.
"The Evandelle girl — engaged to him?"
"A shame. She's too spirited for a Dravenhart."
"Or too dangerous. Perhaps they suit each other."
"Did you see his expression? Like he's evaluating his next conquest."
My hands trembled. I tried to hold the thread steady — to focus — but emotion made the weave unstable. The light fractured, threads snapping apart like spider silk in a storm.
Pain shot through my temples. I gasped, clutching the railing until the hum faded.
Still not strong enough. Still learning.
But I'd learned enough to know this: the court had already turned my engagement into gossip, strategy, entertainment.
And in this kingdom, words could kill faster than blades.
---
The sudden chime of the palace bells cut through the night.
The orchestra inside stilled mid-note. A hush rippled through the ballroom.
I gathered my skirts and turned back toward the light spilling from the grand hall, just as the herald's booming voice echoed through the palace:
"Their Majesties, King Seredin and Queen Lysara of Eryndale — entering!"
A thousand candles flared brighter. Gowns shimmered. Courtiers bowed.
I straightened my spine and stepped back into the golden chaos. Whatever resentment burned inside me, whatever fragile fear lingered, it would have to wait.
Tonight, I was Lady Zelene Evandelle — heir of the mind, pawn of the crown, and soon-to-be bride of the Dravenhart heir.
And as I crossed the ballroom threshold, I could feel Kael's gaze already on me — sharp, steady, and impossible to ignore.