The next day Isadora sat at the window seat in Celeste's drawing room, a treatise on Veridion's ley lines open but forgotten in her lap. Outside, two maids exchanged whispers as they passed.
"He won the skirmish," one murmured.
"True—but he came home blind," the other replied.
Isadora glanced up, indifferently. Poor Lucien, she thought—and returned to her reading. In the palace's war chamber, King Aldric stood before a long oaken table scattered with maps and battle reports. Commander Rane reported quietly, arms folded.
"He held the line, Sire," Rane said. "But the poison struck deep. His sight is lost."
Aldric's face darkened. He turned to Chancellor Dorne, who spread an old scroll between them. "Read the record," the King ordered.
Dorne cleared his throat. "Your Majesty, history records every Crimson-Eyed heir as the realm's greatest hope—and its most tragic loss. Gifted with power, yet inevitably claimed by it before the crowning day."
Lady Alera, leaning against a pillar, whispered, "They were the only blood fit to rule… and yet none survived."
Aldric clenched his fist on the table. "Then we break the cycle. Send the alchemical council to D'Aragon hall at once. Spare no resource. Lucien will not die by poison or prophecy."
A hush fell over the chamber. As the royal herald sounded the summons, Aldric added, "And keep this quiet. Rumors of curses weaken men's resolve."
Rane bowed. "At once, Your Majesty.
Two days later- At the Debut Ball
Guests arrived in muted gowns and dark coats, umbrellas dripping in the courtyard. Inside, the great hall was warm with lantern light and soft laughter.
Isadora stepped through the doors in a simple teal gown, her dark hair gathered behind her head. She offered gentle nods to acquaintances, then drifted toward the refreshment table.
Nearby, Celeste greeted a group of ladies. Isadora slipped in beside her. "Everything looks lovely," she said, picking a strawberry from a silver platter.
Celeste smiled. "You've done well arranging it."
Before Isadora could reply, a hush fell near the entrance. Lady Seraphina Vael swept into the room, her crimson dress trailing behind her. She paused, eyes flicking over the assembly—then locked on Isadora.
With a graceful step, Seraphina approached. "Your first ball must be exhilarating," she purred, voice smooth as silk. "I hear you've become quite the favorite among the organizers."
Isadora set down her fruit. "I'm simply glad it's done," she replied evenly.
Seraphina's eyes narrowed. "I trust you've practiced your dance steps?" She leaned in, lowering her voice. "It would be dreadful to stumble before the prince…"
Isadora's lips curved into a polite smile. "I'm certain I'll manage."
Seraphina's mask slipped for the briefest moment—an eyebrow raised, a silent challenge—before she swept away, already chatting with other guests.
Isadora exhaled softly and turned back to Celeste."She thrives on mischief," Celeste replied with a wink. "Just be yourself."
Music began again as the first dancers took the floor. Isadora lifted her chin and moved toward the circle, joining the others without hesitation. Behind her, Seraphina watched—calculating and unrelenting.
The hall resumed its gentle swirl of color and conversation, and Isadora let the night carry her forward, one step at a time.
Isadora slipped into the candlelit hall in a quiet wave of pale blue silk. The chatter of debutantes and their escorts swirled around her—soft laughter, polite greetings, the scrape of polished shoes on the marble. She tucked a loose curl behind her ear and gave Celeste a quick, reassuring smile.
A few acquaintances murmured congratulations as they passed—"Congratulations on your debut, Lady Isadora," "Your gown is lovely, milady"—and she answered each with a nod or a soft "Thank you," though her mind drifted to the next tray of petit fours.
From the opposite side of the room, Lady Seraphina Vael glided forward, mask in place, eyes sharp beneath the lace. She paused beside the punch bowl, offering Isadora a delicate cup. "I hear your preparations have been the talk of the household," Seraphina said, voice honeyed. "One hopes the evening lives up to its reputation."
Isadora took the cup and lifted it in a small toast. "Every detail is perfect," she replied evenly. "I'm grateful for Celeste's hard work."
Seraphina's smile tightened. "Of course. It must be wonderful—to have so many hands at your service." She dipped her head and drifted on, already chatting with another guest.
Isadora watched her go, then sipped the punch. The sweetness was a welcome distraction. Across the room, the string quartet began a familiar waltz, and a pair of dancers moved into the center of the floor. Celeste caught her eye and nodded.
"Shall we?" Celeste asked, offering her arm.
Isadora smiled and took it. As they joined the others, she felt the night settle around her—not as a trial to endure, but simply as her first real step into this world's dance. Seraphina's slip of politeness faded into the background, replaced by the soft rhythm of music and the steady beat of her confidence.
As the last waltz ended, Celeste slipped her arm through Isadora's and guided her toward a small group gathered near the refreshment table.
There, under the soft glow of a lantern, stood Lady Evelyn D'Aragon—Lucien's cousin—dressed in pale lavender silk. She offered Isadora a reassuring smile.
"Good evening, Lady Isadora," Evelyn called, stepping forward. "I'm glad you could make it."
Isadora returned the smile, smoothing her gown. "Thank you, Lady Evelyn. It's… quite an event." She glanced around at the unfamiliar faces. "I don't know many people here yet."
Evelyn laughed quietly. "You'll meet plenty tonight. For now, let me introduce you to Celeste's circle." She indicated a trio of well-dressed guests. "Lady Brynne Holt, Lord Marlowe Stanton, and Baroness Thalia Kerr. They've heard so much about your arrival."
Isadora inclined her head to each in turn, offering a polite nod and a soft "Pleased to meet you." Conversations rippled around them, but Evelyn stayed close.
"It can be overwhelming," Evelyn murmured once the introductions were done. "Just remember—you have every right to be here."
Isadora relaxed a little, lifting a glass of punch. "Thank you. It helps, having someone I know."
Evelyn touched her arm lightly. "Dance with me in a moment? I promise I won't step on your toes."
Isadora laughed. "I'd like that."
Together, they stepped onto the edge of the floor as the next dance began, Evelyn guiding Isadora confidently into the circle of swirling silks and polite smiles—her only true friend in a sea of strangers.