The banquet hall of the Sky Citadel shimmered like a gilded cage, filled with the murmur of a hundred conversations, the clink of silverware, and the heavy scent of spiced wines.
Magna sat stiffly at the crescent-shaped table, the weight of a hundred noble stares pressing against her skin, each glance a whisper of judgment or curiosity. The seating arrangement alone was a calculated insult—Lucien, the crown prince she was supposed to marry, positioned directly across from her instead of beside her, a stark declaration of their fractured alliance. His broad shoulders, clad in a pristine white tunic intricately embroidered with delicate gold patterns, were framed by the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the formidable Moon Tower.
Every flicker of torchlight caught the subtle shimmer of the emerald green jewels adorning his deep purple cloak, which was lined with emerald green, making him seem less like a man and more like a statue carved from shadow and light. His dark, impeccably styled hair was precisely in place.
To her left, Leolvhant lounged with feline grace, a picture of defiant nonchalance. He casually peeled a blood orange with his mother's dagger, its blade gleaming. His honey-gold hair gleamed under the chandeliers, a vibrant contrast to the royal blue robes he'd defiantly worn to a Xianthosi state dinner, the intricate jade and turquoise embellishments on his shoulders catching every stray beam of light.
"Smile, little storm," he murmured under his breath, sliding a perfectly peeled slice of blood orange onto her plate, its ruby-red flesh vibrant against the gold. "You look like you're plotting murder. Or perhaps considering the quality of the cutlery."
She wasn't. Not yet. Her shimmering gold gown, its black beadwork glinting, felt less like a celebration and more like the very cage Leolvhant had implied.
King Cyrus dominated the head table, his massive frame draped in ceremonial robes stitched with terrifying, intricate scenes of the Mongthar Wars—bloody battles and conquered kingdoms. Each time he lifted his jeweled goblet, its surface encrusted with rubies, the servitors scrambled to refill it, their hands trembling visibly.
Queen Livia observed the room like a spider at the center of her meticulously spun web. Her famed beauty, once legendary, had sharpened with age into something venomous, each etched line a testament to ruthless calculation. Diamond pins, rumored to hold enough poison to drop a warhorse, speared through her elaborate crown braid, holding it aloft like a menacing crown.
"The Moon Tower apartments are being prepared for you, daughter," Livia said, her voice sweet as fermented honey, yet carrying a chilling undertone. Her eyes, sharp as a hawk's, flickered from Magna to Lucien. "A bridal suite fit for a princess of Korythae. Such solitude, perfect for quiet contemplation."
Magna's fingers tightened around her wineglass, a tremor running through her. In her first life, she'd been isolated in that very tower, its spiral stairs a lonely prison of solitude, a constant reminder of her gilded captivity.
Leolvhant's boot nudged hers under the table, a silent communication.
"Alas," he sighed dramatically, flipping his dagger to catch the light, the movement drawing a few uneasy glances from nearby nobles. "I've already claimed the Moon Tower's storerooms for my art collection. Unless Mother wishes to relocate two hundred Kazarothi erotic tapestries...? The collection is quite... extensive. And rather explicit for a bridal suite, I'm afraid."
Livia's perfectly sculpted smile froze, a sliver of genuine irritation flickering in her eyes before it was quickly masked.
"Leolvhant will house you in the Jade Wing," Lucien cut in, his voice cutting through the strained silence like a blade through silk. It was his first direct address of the evening, his amber eyes never leaving Magna's face, a silent, burning question in their depths.
"Closer to the royal family. Where you belong."
The unspoken threat hung heavy between them—where we can watch you. Where you will be under our direct control.
A servitor, impeccably silent, presented the main course—pheasant glazed with glistening pomegranate syrup, arranged meticulously on a bed of fragrant saffron rice. Magna stared at the dish she'd once loved in her past life, now remembering how Lucien had fed her the very same meal from his own fingers on their wedding night, a memory now tainted by betrayal.
"You're not eating," Lucien observed, his voice deceptively mild, yet laced with an edge. His amber eyes bore into hers. "Perhaps it's not to your taste? Or are you simply... nervous about your new accommodations?"
"Not hungry," she lied, the words tasting like ash in her mouth. She met his gaze defiantly, though a shiver traced her spine.
His amber eyes darkened imperceptibly. With a barely perceptible nod, Garrick, Lucien's silent bodyguard, emerged from the shadows to taste each dish before the royals. The massive man's scarred face betrayed nothing as he meticulously sampled the pheasant, the wine, even the gilded cutlery, his movements swift and practiced.
Leolvhant rolled his emerald eyes, a theatrical gesture. "Really, brother? Poison is so pedestrian for Xianthos. A bit… unoriginal for a kingdom of your supposed sophistication."
"Precisely why we check," Lucien said coolly, a faint, humorless smile touching his lips. "One can never be too careful when certain… alliances are forged unexpectedly." His gaze flickered pointedly to Magna's bangle.
Queen Livia's laughter tinkled like breaking glass, sharp and artificial. "Our wayward prince learned caution after that unfortunate incident with the Kazarothi envoy's tea. Didn't you, darling? Such a peculiar vintage, it caused quite the… constipation."
Leolvhant's grin turned razor-sharp, a dangerous flash of teeth. "I merely improved the vintage, Mother. Some palates simply aren't refined enough to appreciate its subtle… clarifying effects."
Magna, feeling the tension mount, decided to add her own prickle. "Indeed," she chimed in, addressing Lucien with a mock innocence.
"One would hope your court's security extends beyond mere tea. One hears whispers of... uninvited guests in royal chambers, for instance?" Her gaze held his, a silent challenge for the memory of their last encounter.
Lucien's jaw tightened, a muscle flexing under his skin. He hadn't touched his wine either, his gloved hand resting near his ornate dagger at his belt. The same pristine white glove that she knew concealed skin stained crimson from an old, secret Ember-Jade accident. The same hand that had-
No. She wouldn't think of that now. Not here. Not while he watched her so intently.
A troupe of acrobats tumbled into the hall, their silk ribbons swirling like storm clouds, a welcome, vibrant distraction. Magna seized the opportunity.
"With your leave, Majesties, I find myself rather fatigued from the journey. I'll retire." She rose swiftly before the king could object, her movements fluid despite the rigid posture.
Leolvhant stood with exaggerated gallantry, pulling out her chair. "Allow me to escort my... Princess. I find myself quite weary of political maneuvering."
"Stay." Lucien's command cracked like a whip, sharp and unyielding, cutting through the murmurs. His amber eyes pinned Leolvhant. "Father wishes to discuss your… art collection further. There are certain pieces he finds… unorthodox for Xianthosi consumption."
The brothers locked eyes in a silent battle Magna couldn't decipher, a complex dance of power and hidden history. With a mocking bow that belied the tension in his frame, Leolvhant sank back into his chair, but not before subtly slipping something into her palm—a tiny, cold silver key.
"Third door on the right in the Jade Winf whistles," he whispered, his voice low and quick, " Turn left for the interesting tapestries." His emerald eyes held a flicker of genuine concern.
As Magna swept from the hall, her gold gown shimmering, she felt the oppressive weight of Lucien's gaze following her. Not the predatory stare of a mere jailer, but something far more dangerous—the look of a man who'd seen a ghost rise from the dead.
And didn't know whether to worship it or exorcise it.