The ballroom shimmers beneath the golden glow of a thousand candles, their light catching on polished marble and crystal chandeliers that hang like constellations overhead. The air is thick with the scent of roses and perfumed nobility, every detail of the evening meticulously arranged—as if the kingdom itself is holding its breath.
"Make no scene. This is your brother's day."
My mother's voice is cool as she watches my maid adjust the final pin in my hair. I meet her gaze in the mirror, my expression carefully blank. She has power here, but it is borrowed—once a princess of a conquered kingdom, now a queen with a voice that rarely rises above a murmur.
"I'll behave," I say, though we both know the lie in it.
I turn to examine myself in the full-length mirror. The gown is deep blue velvet, sleeveless, with diamonds scattered across the bodice like stars. Beneath the layers of silk, a hoopskirt gives the dress its regal shape, and my gloves—long, matching, and equally adorned—glisten in the candlelight. My hair is pinned into an elegant twist, a few loose curls artfully arranged to frame my face.
"Why are you wearing the queen's pin?" Her voice is sharp.
I touch the jeweled brooch at my collarbone. "Because I'll be queen someday. Why not start now?"
Her lips thin, but she doesn't argue. She knows better than to challenge me outright. "Do as you please. Just don't ruin this night."
"It's my night too," I remind her.
She gives me one last withering look before sweeping from the room.
Tonight is the announcement—the official declaration of the heir to the throne. And though I've known the answer my entire life, the knowledge still lodges in my throat like a shard of glass.
Downstairs, the guests have already gathered, their jewels and silks a shifting sea of wealth and ambition. My brother, Elric, stands at the top of the grand staircase, every inch the prince in his midnight-blue coat, trimmed in silver. His dark curls are uncharacteristically tamed, his expression schooled into polite neutrality.
"You look pleased with yourself," he murmurs as I join him.
"I have to,"I reply. "After all, tonight I'm being presented to society."
Or rather, tonight my true game begins.
He smirks."Good luck, then."
He'll need it more than I will.
The trumpets sound, and the ballroom falls silent.
"Prince Elric of House Virell, firstborn son of King Aldrin and Queen Celestia!" the herald announces.
A murmur ripples through the crowd as Elric descends, each step measured, his presence commanding even in its simplicity. He bows at the base of the stairs, then melts into the crowd, his voice lost beneath the swell of music and applause.
Then—my turn.
"Lady Elara of House Virell, daughter of King Aldrin and Queen Celestia!"
I step forward, my movements deliberate, my smile a blade sheathed in silk. My gown flows like liquid moonlight as I descend, my gaze fixed just above the crowd—letting them look, letting them see the woman who should have been heir.
At the foot of the stairs, Elric stands beside a man I don't recognize. Tall, lean, his posture relaxed yet deliberate. His dark hair frames a face that is both striking and inscrutable, a short beard accentuating the sharp line of his jaw. And his glasses—unusual for court, yet they suit him, lending him an air of quiet intellect.
He turns as I reach the final step, and our eyes meet.
A breath. A heartbeat.
Just long enough for something unfamiliar to flicker in my chest.
Then I look away.
Just another piece on the board.
I sweep into the crowd, my smile practiced, my mind already calculating.
A gentleman in emerald silk steps forward, bowing. "May I have this dance?"
I take his hand without hesitation.
The dance is a waltz—fluid, predictable. The gentleman in green is Lord Dain of House Merrick, a minor noble with ambitions far grander than his holdings. His fingers are too warm against my gloved hand, his gaze lingering a second too long on the diamonds at my throat.
Pawn, I think, as I spin beneath the chandelier's glow.
I let him lead, but only because it suits me. When the music swells, I guide him subtly toward the edge of the floor, where the king's advisors cluster like vultures over wine.
"—the trade routes in the south cannot be ignored," one is saying.
"And yet," I interject smoothly, releasing Lord Dain's arm, "the real issue isn't the routes—it's the tariffs. Lower them, and the merchants will police the roads themselves."
Silence. Then, the eldest of the advisors, Lord Vexley, peers at me through rheumy eyes. "You speak as though it's simple, my lady."
I tilt my head. "Isn't it? Greed is predictable. Give the merchants room to profit, and they'll bleed each other dry before they let bandits interfere."
A pause. Then, laughter—sharp and surprised. "By the gods," Vexley mutters. "She's her grandfather's shadow."
I don't smile. I don't need to.
For the next hour, I weave through the ballroom like a blade through silk. A word here about the northern harvests. A suggestion there about the navy's neglected ships. Each sentence is a carefully placed stitch in the tapestry of their perception.I am not just a princess. I am a queen.
And they notice.
Whispers follow me. Eyes dart away when I turn. Even the foreign dignitaries, who arrived expecting only to flatter the heir, lean in when I speak.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see him again—the man from the stairs. He stands with my brother, but his gaze is fixed on me. Not with the hunger of the other lords, but with something sharper. Assessment.
I look away first.
Later, when the wine has softened the room and the music swells into something reckless, I find Elric by the terrace doors. Alone.
"Who was that man?" I ask, plucking a glass of champagne from a passing tray.
Elric smirks. "Which one? Half the court has been tripping over themselves to compliment you tonight."
I sip, letting the bubbles sting my tongue. "The one you were speaking with earlier. Dark hair. Glasses."
"Ah." His smirk deepens. "Lord Aloe Verith. Duke of the Eastern Vale. He's here as an emissary for his father."
"And what did he say about me?"
Elric's grin is infuriating. "Why? Did you like him?"
I nearly choke. "Don't be absurd. I'm merely curious why a stranger would be staring at me like I'm a puzzle to solve."
"Maybe you are." He shrugs. "For what it's worth, he said you were the most interesting person in the room. And that your solution for the grain shortages was the only one that didn't sound like it was written by a council of drunkards."
A flicker of warmth curls in my chest. I crush it.
"How flattering," I drawl. "Tell me, does he always praise women for having the audacity to think?"
Elric laughs. "Careful, sister. You almost sounded impressed."
I finish my champagne and set the glass aside. "I'm not."
But as I turn back to the ballroom, my eyes find Aloe again—just as his find mine.
This time, I don't look away.
Not a pawn, I think.
Perhaps a knight.