Velanthian Wing, Imperial Fortress—
Elira woke to the scent of ink and rosewater—the last vestiges of her homeland lingering on the handkerchief Lysa had tucked into her pillow. Morning light filtered through the tall windows, golden but pale. The sun in Dravendor never quite warmed anything.
She dressed in a soft violet gown—one of the few pieces from Velanthia that hadn't been exchanged for Imperial black or crimson. Today, she would not wear their colors. She would not pretend to belong just yet.
"Are you certain you want to attend the morning court?" Lysa asked as she fastened the silver sash around Elira's waist. "He didn't invite you."
"I wasn't invited yesterday either," Elira said. "But I made it clear I'm not furniture. I intend to keep my place at the table."
"But… he might be worse today."
Elira smiled, warm but sharp. "Then let him be. I'll bring honey to the court—if they choose to taste poison instead, that is their mistake."
—Imperial Morning Court, The Crimson Gallery—
The Crimson Gallery was named for its vast ceiling mural—a war scene painted entirely in blood-red hues. Beneath it sat nobles, merchants, council members, and the ever-watchful guards. Crown Prince Kaelion sat on the central throne-like seat, arms resting on the sides like he was carved from obsidian himself.
When Elira entered, a ripple moved through the crowd.
She walked with calm grace, violet silk flowing like water behind her. Eyes followed her, some curious, some skeptical, and some—dangerously intrigued.
Kaelion did not look up at first. He continued reviewing the report in his hands as if her presence were wind brushing past a statue.
Lord Veyron, ever the serpent, was the first to speak. "Ah, Princess Elira. How radiant this morning. Are we to believe you will be joining us regularly, then?"
Elira smiled sweetly. "Only if my presence doesn't turn your stomach, Lord Veyron. Though I hear your constitution is strong—particularly when swallowing bitter truths."
A few nobles choked on their drinks.
Kaelion looked up then. His cold eyes met hers.
He said nothing.
But he didn't stop her, either.
She took the empty seat beside him without asking. A calculated risk.
And he let her.