Chapter 4: A Dagger of Joy
The great hall of Adrael Keep roared with life. Torches blazed in their sconces, casting a flickering, golden light on the house banners that hung from the high rafters—each one a testament to the black-horned lion's might. The air, thick with the aromas of smoked Wyvern ribs and Adraels' Reserve wine, hummed with the joyous sound of a house celebrating a sudden, masterful victory.
Then, the herald's voice cut through the din. "Make way for the Lord Don Adraels and the Lady Caria Thornf!"
A hush fell. Every eye turned to the grand entrance.
Don entered cloaked in shadows and flame—a tailored doublet of midnight black velvet, the Adraels sigil a subtle, light-absorbing brocade on the cuffs. He was the image of silent strength, a living embodiment of his house's formidable reputation. Beside him, Caria was a brilliant contrast, a storm made calm. Her gown of shimmering, pale silk seemed to capture the torchlight, and the delicate silver crystal at her throat pulsed with a faint, inner light. They moved as one, a balanced pair—the shadow and the star, the steel and the lightning.
They greeted the Earl and their mothers at the high table before turning to acknowledge the thunderous applause of the court.
"A sight to make our enemies tremble," Earl Dunnel murmured with deep satisfaction as they took their seats. Lyanna and Daela simply smiled, the architects of this moment enjoying their creation.
But for everyone in the hall celebrating a new alliance, there was one for whom the joyous noise was a deafening silence.
Leinara Veyeb stood near a stone pillar, half-hidden in shadow. For her, the scene was a beautiful, terrible dagger to the heart. She had grown up beside Don, their childhood an inseparable tangle of shared secrets and sparring sessions in the dust. She had seen the boy, the friend, and had watched, with a quiet and hopeless ache, as he grew into the man who now stood beside another. To see him with Caria—so perfectly matched, so undeniably right—was to see the end of a dream she had never dared to speak aloud. She raised her goblet in a toast she did not feel, a perfect mask of polite joy fixed on her face.
Don's gaze swept the hall, acknowledging the cheers of his father's vassals. But his eyes, which missed nothing on the battlefield, missed even less when it came to those he cared for. He saw her. A ghost at the feast. Excusing himself from his siblings, he made his way through the crowd.
"Leinara," he said softly, his voice cutting through her reverie. "You are a world away."
She started, her composure nearly cracking. "My lord," she stammered, dipping into a curtsy. "I was just... admiring the celebration. It is a great day for our house."
"Is it?" Don's gaze was gentle but searching. "Your smile doesn't reach your eyes, old friend. Tell me what's wrong."
"Nothing, my lord. Truly," she insisted, her voice tight. "I am just... tired."
From the high table, Caria watched them. She saw Don's concern and the girl's valiant, failing effort to hide her pain. But Caria saw more than that. Her gift, the ability to perceive the emotional resonance of others, showed her the truth in shimmering light. She saw the deep, golden aura of their shared history, a bond of true friendship. But woven through it, painfully bright, was the aching, sapphire-blue light of unrequited love. It was a pure, selfless thing, untainted by jealousy, which made it all the more tragic. *So, you truly love him,* she thought, not with triumph, but with a pang of profound empathy.
With a grace that captivated all who watched, Caria rose and descended from the dais. She approached the pair, her smile warm and genuine. Don turned, surprised, as Leinara stiffened, expecting a confrontation.
"You must be Leinara Veyeb," Caria said, her voice soft. "Don has spoken of his oldest friend." It was a small, kind lie, but it instantly disarmed the tension.
Leinara blinked. "Lady Caria. I..."
Caria extended a hand, not in demand, but in invitation. "Any friend of Don's is a foundation stone of this alliance. The strength of this union will be measured by the loyalty of those who stand with us. I would be honored to know you."
Stunned into silence, Leinara could only accept the offered hand. Caria's grip was firm, her aura a clean, bright silver that felt like truth. With a gentle pull, she led a still-reeling Leinara back towards the high table and the circle of young nobles.
"Come," Caria said, her eyes meeting Don's over Leinara's shoulder. "Let us celebrate together."
In that single, masterful act, Caria had not claimed her prize. She had reinforced her position, honored her betrothed's closest friend, and woven a potential rival into the fabric of their new, complicated lives. The game of thrones had begun, and Caria Thornf had just proven she knew exactly how to play.