Morning came, but the air in the Everwind wing was thick with quiet urgency.
Aveline stood by the tall window of her chamber, the light slanting through delicate curtains, gilding her in gold. She didn't move. Didn't speak.
The storm was in her silence.
She hadn't slept.
Lucien's words had unraveled every thread she'd thought she controlled.
The Queen wasn't the only one who knew.
A court advisor.
Someone close to the Crown. Someone with influence, subtlety, and access.
Someone who wanted her ruined—quietly, cleanly, and without ever lifting a blade.
A knock at the door broke her thoughts.
Elise entered, clutching the morning correspondence with pale fingers. "Three invitations, my lady," she said, laying them out. "A garden luncheon, a poetry gathering… and tea with Lady Calista."
At that, Aveline turned.
Her gaze fell on the last card.
Lavender paper. Ornate gold script.
Too sweet. Too perfect.
Calista never invites unless she's already rehearsed her attack.
"Tell the others I'm indisposed," Aveline said coolly, picking up the lavender card. "But for this one… I'll attend."
Elise hesitated. "My lady, after what happened last time—"
Aveline smiled—just a little.
"That was before I learned how to play."
The rose garden was pristine, almost unnaturally so. Not a petal out of place, not a leaf marred.
It smelled of sunlight and secrets.
Lady Calista sat beneath a silk canopy, her golden curls perfectly arranged, a book resting in her lap more for decoration than reading.
Aveline approached slowly, wearing a pale blue gown threaded with silver. Soft. Innocent. Disarming.
Calista looked up, smile sugared.
"Aveline," she purred. "You came."
"I always make time for beauty," Aveline replied smoothly. "And your garden is exquisite."
As she took her seat, a servant poured the tea—rosehip and verbena. Light. Fragrant. Deceptively harmless.
They sipped in silence for a moment, letting the performance begin.
"You've been… busy," Calista said finally, stirring her cup without looking up. "The court can't seem to stop saying your name."
"Jealousy is loud," Aveline said lightly. "It likes to hear itself talk."
A flicker crossed Calista's face—irritation, perhaps—but it vanished quickly.
"I heard about poor Lady Brielle," she continued. "So tragic. But then, you've always had impeccable timing."
Aveline set her teacup down with delicate grace.
"And you've always had a talent for wrapping daggers in compliments."
Calista's smile tightened.
"I'm only concerned for you, dear. The court is… shifting. Some say you're growing bolder. Others say reckless."
"Let them say what they like," Aveline said, her voice quiet but sharp. "I'd rather be underestimated than irrelevant."
The wind shifted through the garden, carrying petals across the table like confetti.
Calista leaned in slightly. "Be careful, Aveline. Even queens can bleed."
Aveline met her gaze without flinching.
"So can snakes."
A velvet pause hung in the air after Aveline's reply, both women smiling too sweetly, their teacups poised like weapons.
Then—
"Ah, what a charming scene."
A new voice slid in, smooth and low.
They turned.
Prince Thorne.
The second prince. The quiet one. The one who rarely appeared in public unless summoned—and never without purpose.
He strolled toward them in deep navy, his silver insignia catching the light like a warning.
Calista's posture stiffened.
Aveline, however, tilted her head and offered a graceful smile. "Your Highness. What a surprise."
"Not unwelcome, I hope," he replied, eyes drifting between the two women.
"Not at all," she said calmly. "Though tea is rarely graced with royalty."
He chuckled softly. "I find court gossip is best seasoned fresh. And where better than here?"
Calista stood, brushing invisible dust from her skirts. "We were just finishing."
"No need on my account," Thorne said smoothly, pulling out a chair and sitting beside Aveline. "I insist. Please, Lady Calista—do continue."
Her smile turned brittle.
Aveline, sensing the power shift, adjusted without missing a beat.
"You were saying something about queens bleeding?" she said lightly, turning back to Calista.
Thorne's gaze sharpened.
Calista hesitated.
Then—still smiling, still poisoned silk—she dipped her head. "Just a metaphor, of course."
"Of course," Aveline echoed, her voice like ice beneath lace.
Thorne chuckled again, but this time, the sound was darker.
"Oh, I do enjoy metaphors," he said. "But I prefer truths."
A beat.
Then: "Lady Everwind, perhaps you'd do me the honor of walking the gardens. Alone."
Calista paled, just a little.
Aveline rose with fluid grace, leaving her teacup untouched.
"I'd be delighted."