The great gates of the east wing opened with a slow groan as Serenil followed his father into the royal reception hall. The chamber was adorned in ruby velvet and gold-trimmed banners, the sigil of the Aetheryn line blazing proudly above the hearth—a silver sword wreathed in violet fire.
He didn't know what to expect from the woman waiting beyond those doors. He only knew her name.
Calyra Aetheryn. The eldest child of King Sylas. His half-sister. The Crimson Crown Princess.
And next to her stood a man nearly as tall as the throne itself, clad in silver-engraved plate armor, with sharp amber eyes that watched everything without blinking.
Lord Kareth Vahlensire, her husband and the commander of the Solar Legion.
As Serenil stepped into view, their gazes turned toward him.
"So," Calyra said with a bright, cunning smile, "this is the infamous little brother I've never met."
Serenil blinked. Her voice was like music—refined, layered, and dangerous.
Calyra strode forward, not waiting for introductions. She crouched to Serenil's eye level, brushing a gloved hand through his silver hair.
"You're… eerily quiet," she noted. "But your eyes—father's eyes, and something else. You're not simple, are you?"
Serenil tilted his head. "I don't like noisy people."
Kareth let out a soft chuckle. "He's sharper than he looks."
Calyra smirked. "I like him already."
There was no warmth in her words, but there was intrigue—like a predator admiring another predator's claws.
As the servants brought wine and fruits, Serenil observed his sister with the precision of a tactician. She was beloved by the nobles, ruthless in court, and a tactical genius in war. Rumors said she poisoned two barons by the age of fifteen. Others said she whispered kingdoms into collapse.
She watched him just as closely.
Dinner passed with polite conversation and measured smiles. But beneath it all, Serenil could feel it:
A subtle tension, the weight of unspoken power.
And a strange truth…
He didn't dislike her.