Violet
The streets of Rubraflor were adorned with thousands of red and white ribbons, as if the skies themselves had decided to join the event, showering fire-flower petals on every corner. It was as though the beating heart of the Kingdom of Cups was pounding stronger than ever. For the first time in thirteen years, the four kingdoms of Cartara would once again sit at the same table. The Council of the Seasons had returned.
The walls that had imprisoned me since childhood were now open to the world. Carriages adorned with foreign crests passed through the main gates. The people—artists, merchants, children, musicians—filled every street. The music of enchanted flutes mingled with the sweet scent of spring wines and rose bread. Laughter and hope flowed like the fragrant river that ran through the palace.
And yet, my heart tightened.
There I was, on the palace terrace, dressed in a ceremonial gown of living petals and golden threads, watching each delegation arrive. My eyes were fixed on the north gate. There appeared the blue and silver banners of the Kingdom of Espadaris. Silent, precise, aligned. Soldiers in armor reflecting the sunlight like mirrors of ice.
At their forefront came him—the man behind the war stories. The brother of the king of Espadaris. The army chief who had led the last campaign of the war thirteen years ago. The one many said was responsible for the fall of my mother, Queen Liora, during the last diplomatic mission. Officially, she had died in an "accident" during a ceasefire. But who believes in accidents in the middle of a battlefield?
Kael. His name was whispered with respect by generals. My father, King Alderian, never mentioned him. But I had learned. Read. Heard. And there he was.
Black hair, straight, falling to his neck. He wore a simple but imposing ceremonial armor. No helmet. His expression was serene, but not friendly. He walked as if carrying the weight of a hundred swords, yet refused to let go of even one. When his gaze crossed mine—for a brief, very brief moment—nothing happened.
No spark. No warmth. Only an almost polite coldness. And that was more disturbing than any enchantment.
He was... too calm. Like the surface of a lake about to freeze.
"Princess Violet," whispered Caelion beside me, with his usual teasing smile. "You just blasted him with your stare."
"He deserves much more than that," I murmured.
Caelion raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
The carriages of Espadaris were received with a formal ritual, no applause, just reverence. The Ignaros delegation arrived shortly after, in heavy polished iron carriages pulled by golden beasts. From them descended a single figure: a tall woman, bronze-skinned, braided hair, eyes like glowing coals. She represented Queen Kerya's diplomacy and carried an aura of almost arrogant confidence.
But what truly drew the eyes was the arrival of Aurum.
A completely black carriage, pulled by mechanical ravens, emerged from the afternoon mist. From it descended a hooded figure, wrapped in dark veils and a golden mask, without making a single sound. She simply walked, like a living shadow, to the Hall of Seasons. Aurum never spoke more than necessary.
The Hall of Seasons had been transformed. A huge round table occupied the center of the hall. At its top, the symbols of the four suits were carved in crystal. The tapestries now displayed scenes of past unity—as if trying to remind everyone that peace had once existed.
I settled into the seat designated for royal observers, next to Caelion and my sister Elyra, who rarely left her chambers due to her fragile health. Still, she insisted on coming. Her sweet eyes shone with hope to see something new.
My father sat on his throne of Cups, hosting the event. His gaze still carried the shadow of my mother—something neither time, nor wine, nor political victories had erased. And to his left was him: Kael, the Blade Chief. Upright posture, watchful eyes, never once diverting from his duty. As if every breath in the hall could be a threat.
King Thalen of Espadaris was a middle-aged man with a well-trimmed beard and icy but not empty eyes. He observed everything with calculated skepticism. He was the kind of man who believed silence revealed more than long speeches. When he spoke, his voice was deep but curiously hopeful:
"Your Majesty Alderian, thank you for hosting the Council again. The mistakes of the past weigh on us all, but perhaps this cycle will bring something beyond bitter memories."
My father nodded.
"May the new cycle wash away the old blood with wine and wisdom. Cartara needs alliance, not arms."
The Ignaros diplomat smiled sideways.
"Profitable alliances are always welcome. The forges of Drelkar are ready for... peaceful negotiations." Her voice held the tone of someone who never lowers her guard, not even during a toast.
The figure of Aurum simply extended a scroll covered with arcane symbols. Elren, the chief counselor of Cardan, translated:
"'Aurum sees. Aurum listens. Aurum contemplates.'" — he paused — "'We propose a treaty of silence: no military movements on the borders of Ouros will be tolerated. In exchange, visions and alerts will be shared.'"
King Thalen frowned.
"Alerts? About what?"
The masked figure only tilted her head. No answer.
Nervous laughter filled the room but soon faded with the official toast. Raised glasses. Exchanged glances. A carefully rehearsed performance.
Outside, the celebration continued. Citizens danced in the squares. Children ran with card masks. Bards narrated the return of peace as if it were a newly fulfilled prophecy.
But inside me, none of it felt real.
I knew what was a facade. I knew what masks were—after all, my face, my name, my very existence were a mask of longing and duty.
And among all the figures in that room, the one who disturbed me most was Kael. Not for his war deeds. Not for his calm face. But because he seemed... tired. As if peace were not a choice, but a punishment.
Maybe... he was pretending too.
Maybe we all were.
But the Council had begun. And the cards were on the table.
The main hall of the Cartara palace was radiant, filled with rare flowers, fine fabrics, and the golden glow of candles flickering along the walls. The Council of the Seasons, silenced for decades by war, was once again bringing the four kingdoms under one roof. From my place to my father's right, I observed every detail like a silent sentinel, hiding the turmoil dancing in my chest.
My eyes met Kael's for a moment. There was something in him that seemed to carry invisible scars, and maybe it was just my old grief distorting his features. His image blended with the pain of my mother's absence. An absence still so present it became a living shadow within those golden walls.
But the focus soon shifted. My father opened the meeting with noble words about reconciliation and abundant harvests. And for a while, everything seemed to follow the expected diplomatic course. Ignaros, with the representative of Queen Kerya, poured sweet promises about trade routes. Cardan, with speeches about unity and the future. And Aurum… that silent figure, wrapped in a black veil and golden mask. An enigma in human form.
Then King Thalen of Espadaris leaned forward. I felt the tension form even before his words touched the air.
"Even if we speak of harvests and spice routes," he said, his voice firm and sober, "we cannot ignore the signs that accumulate. The winds have changed. Reports of strange movements at the edges of the Ignaros forests put us on alert. There is something… ancient, awakening. Something that cannot be ignored."
All eyes turned to the masked figure. Her silence was as deafening as thunder. No words. No gesture. Only the cold gold of the mask and the dark fabric that hid any clue.
The atmosphere in the room stiffened, but Lyriana, the representative of Queen Kerya, was quick as a varnished arrow.
"Majesty Thalen, vigilance is noble, but not every whisper in the leaves heralds war. Sometimes, it is just the winds of the past blowing again. The trade agreements between Ignaros and the other kingdoms have remained prosperous and stable. Let us not sow distrust where there is only the echo of old legends."
Her words were wrapped in an elegant smile, but I noticed the tension in her jaw. She knew more than she said. We all did.
Thalen didn't reply, but his expression remained hard, like untempered steel. My father then stood with the solemnity of a monarch wishing to avoid the erosion of hope.
"May this table be the foundation of a new era," he said, looking each in the eyes. "May the cards played today be no bluffs, but true intentions. A majestic future is still possible."
His speech drew restrained applause. But it was Draven who emerged with the most emotion, raising his wine glass.
"May fate not use us as pawns, but may we be masters of our moves! For peace… and for freedom!"
The toast thundered through the palace walls. My heart tightened. I wanted to believe in it. I wanted a life beyond the walls, beyond protocols. I wanted freedom. And at that moment, I wished that night would seal not only treaties but new beginnings.
Then, before I could lose myself further in thought, my youngest sister stood on her chair, orange juice in hand, eyes shining and radiating a health none in that hall had ever dreamed of having.
"If the world falls, let it fall dancing!" she shouted, echoing our mother's phrase with such vividness the whole hall stopped.
There was a one-second silence. Then laughter. Some genuine, others diplomatic. Glasses rose, music returned, and the feast continued with almost rehearsed joy.
I watched everything with misty eyes. My mother's image appeared in my mind—out in that open field, dancing with the wind, her words always challenging pain with lightness.
Amid the celebration, I noticed something. Draven, who should have been with the hall guards, had stepped away. Leaning against one of the columns, he watched… me. His gaze was not of desire, nor kinship. It was awe, as if he saw something impossible. As if I, the princess imprisoned by grief and walls, had for a moment shone before him.
Perhaps, on that night when kings forced smiles, old ghosts lurked at the edges of diplomacy and alliances danced beneath veils of secrets, the true game of Cards had finally begun.