— Princess Aveline Ravelynn of Elaria:
I backed away from the marble pillar the moment I realized they saw me.
My heart beat louder than it should have — not with fear, exactly, but something heavier. Thicker. It curled through my blood like smoke I couldn't cough out.
"Lira," I whispered, my voice tight as I turned. She was right behind me, her eyes still fixed toward the far end of the hall where the two kings stood like carved obsidian. "They saw me."
"They see everything, those two," she murmured, trying to sound casual, but her voice betrayed her unease. "But don't worry, they won't bite."
I managed a breath, smoothing the front of my gown with trembling fingers. Pale blue silk wrapped me like liquid sky, the corseted bodice embroidered with silver leafwork and delicate pearls that traced the high neckline and sleeves. The long skirt flowed behind me like a river. My mother had always said I looked most like a princess when I wore this shade. But I didn't feel like royalty now. Just… watched.
And not by the eager kings and princes arriving one after another.
Only them.
I kept my chin lifted as I moved toward the grand dining hall. The trumpets had stopped. The noise had quieted. But I could still hear my father's voice at the far end of the corridor, formal and proud, echoing through the golden archways as he welcomed another ruler.
One of the last, I guessed. The final arrivals.
We slipped through one of the side corridors and came into the feasting chamber. It was massive — glittering chandeliers hung from the arched ceilings, and two long tables flanked a central one raised on a marble dais, where my father sat at the center. Dozens of noble guests filled the seats, gold-threaded tunics and glittering rings, overly perfumed and smiling too hard.
I stepped forward.
And every head turned toward me.
"There she is," someone murmured from the left. "The jewel of Elaria."
I smiled.
Princess smile.
Polished, practiced, and empty.
A step. Another. And then my father's voice rang out loud enough for all to hear.
"My lords, my guests, my fellow kings. May I present to you — my daughter. Princess Aveline Ravelynn of Elaria."
A murmur spread like a ripple in a still pond. I heard my name pass from mouth to mouth. Some stood. Some simply stared. Most smiled.
And all of them looked at me like I was something to win.
I moved down the central aisle, my gown whispering across the polished floor, and offered the appropriate curtsy before my father's throne. He nodded once. A signal. Begin the parade.
One by one, they came.
The kings. The princes. The suitors.
Each introduced himself with varying degrees of charm and ambition. Some kissed my hand. Some bowed low. One even attempted poetry.
There was Prince Halric of Azmere — tall, blonde, and far too proud of his jawline. Then King Thalon of Viremont, who must've been nearing seventy, and who I dearly hoped was here for his son and not himself. Then the twin princes from Mylenne, who finished each other's sentences and kept winking like we shared a secret joke. We didn't.
I smiled through it all.
I asked kind questions. I laughed where I was meant to laugh. I accepted flattery with grace.
But my thoughts kept drifting… back to them.
Back to the two who hadn't bowed. The two who hadn't tried to impress. The two who didn't look at me like I was a prize wrapped in silk.
The Kings of Dravareth.
I glanced toward the end of the table.
There they sat, apart from the others — by design or by decree, I didn't know. But they didn't seem to mind the isolation. In fact, they looked like they preferred it. Like it was where they belonged.
One of them — the one with hair like dark steel and eyes sharper than blades — was watching the table without moving. Expression unreadable. He wore black armor that gleamed in the light, a cloak fastened with a silver wolf's head clasp. King Lucan Velshar. I didn't need someone to point him out. You felt who he was.
The other — broader in the shoulders, with dark gold skin and an almost serene kind of menace — leaned slightly toward him. Their hands weren't touching. But close. King Rhysand. The one they whispered about. The one who supposedly matched Lucan's cruelty with charm. His gaze slid across the table, eyes glinting with quiet calculation.
Then — they both looked at me.
My breath caught.
Not fear.
Not even surprise.
Just… that strange thing again. Recognition. Like a name half-remembered. A story you used to know but can't quite recall.
"They're still watching you," Lira whispered near my shoulder, her voice low.
"I know."
"You don't look afraid."
"Should I?"
She hesitated. "Everyone else is."
I looked back at them.
"I'm not."
My father rose then, drawing every gaze to the dais. His jaw was tight. His smile was hollow.
"We are honored," he said, "to welcome the rulers of the six great kingdoms to Elaria. And even," he added, voice straining just slightly, "those from beyond."
His gaze flicked toward the two kings like a stone thrown into deep water.
Lucan didn't flinch. Rhysand tilted his head, just slightly.
"We trust this gathering will prove fruitful," my father said, "as we begin the Seven Days of Honor."
A polite round of applause. Awkward. Measured.
The Kings of Dravareth didn't clap.
And I… I couldn't stop looking at them.
Not because I feared them. Not because I admired their beauty, though that was undeniable.
But because I felt like something in me had shifted the moment they entered this palace.
And I needed to know why.
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