Kaelith's fingers traced the elegant flourishes of ink in the dim candlelight. The velum was heavy and crested with the royal seal, yet the signature wasn't the King's. It was Queen Ilyana's—delicate, dangerous, and deliberate.
> A private tea in the Queen's Garden Pavilion awaits your gracious presence.
Beneath the flowery words, there lingered something more—something veiled. Threats woven into pleasantries.
"She has not learned... and perhaps never will," Kaelith murmured.
From the threshold, a figure leaned in, arms folded. "You will be going," he said—not quite a question.
"I don't have a choice," she replied quietly. "Not when every whisper is a knife. And this kingdom has so many eager hands."
She rose slowly, every movement a calculation.
"Would you leave now?" she asked, her tone unreadable. "Now that they've given us a path back?"
He didn't answer.
Moon lilies, whispering roses, and star-kissed vines embraced the Queen's marble pavilion. It bloomed only once a year—under twilight, where the stars watched in silence.
Kaelith arrived dressed in muted silver, her serpent brooch catching the last rays of sunlight. She was on time, and she was alone.
Queen Ilyana stood within the pavilion like a blade dressed in jewels. Her cloak was violet and glittered with tiny stars, as though she wore constellations on her back.
"She brings the storm with her," Kaelith whispered.
"The air is clearer after rain," she added as she stepped forward.
The tea was hot, floral, and poured into delicate pale-glass cups. Perfume curled with the steam, heavy with things unsaid.
"You should know," Ilyana said at last, gaze trained on Kaelith's teacup. "You're so theatrical. But I've faced ghosts louder than you."
Kaelith smiled faintly. "I'm no ghost, Your Majesty. Quite the opposite. You tried to bury me."
She fought to keep the tremor out of her voice.
"You were always too clever," the Queen said, sipping calmly. "Even as a child. Perhaps that's why Corven loved you."
Kaelith's brow twitched. "He told you that?"
"No," said Ilyana, eyes gleaming. "But I see it in the way he looks at you. Still trying to solve the riddle that is you."
Kaelith placed her cup down with careful precision. "I didn't come here to discuss love."
"Of course not," the Queen said. "You came to make demands. To claw your way out of disgrace."
Kaelith leaned forward. "To reveal orchestrated lies. To speak the truth behind the attack on my house."
"Ah," the Queen said, voice like a silk noose. "Careful, Duchess. Dig too deep, and you may unearth something better left buried."
Then she stood—graceful, threatening.
"But I offer you an alternative," she said softly. "Withdraw your claims. Return to Ravencourt in peace. We'll forgive your trespass. And if you desire, you may have lands in the east."
Kaelith tilted her head. "And in return?"
Ilyana leaned in, voice quiet but cold. "No more questions. No provocations. Simply disappear—quietly."
Kaelith's voice was sharp and low. "You fear me."
The Queen's answer was calm. "I fear the cost of war."
Kaelith stood straighter. "You're worried about what I'll find—Thalia, Elric, and the forged letters your spies wrote in my name."
The Queen's smile cracked slightly. "Do you really believe this court will heed the words of a disgraced duchess?"
"I don't need belief," Kaelith replied. "Only doubt."
Ilyana stepped back. Her composure held—barely.
"Then you've chosen your war."
Kaelith leaned closer, her final words a dagger: "No, Your Majesty. You chose it the day you framed me."
She turned and left.
"Be careful where you tread," the Queen called after her. "Some flames devour even their makers."
Kaelith didn't look back.
The borrowed chambers were quiet when she returned. Too quiet.
The door was ajar.
Her fingers tightened around the hilt of her dagger as she stepped inside.
A single candle flickered on the ornate table, its flame trembling. The room felt wrong. Off.
"Such elegant creatures," Kaelith murmured, eyes catching movement in the corner.
A raven sat on the windowsill, unmoving. Watching.
Her eyes shifted—blood.
One drop.
Then another.
Then a trail.
It led to the wardrobe.
Kaelith moved slowly, heart thundering like a war drum.
She opened the door.
The corpse tumbled out, stiff and bloodied. The mouth had been stitched shut with crimson thread. The eyes were wide open in eternal horror.
It was a palace servant.
Pinned to his chest—a solitary black rose.
Beneath it... a mark.
Her breath hitched.
A forgotten sigil. The crest of a clandestine group once loyal to the Crown—before they vanished into smoke and legend.
>And now?
Now they leave messages for me.
Her lips curved into something between a smirk and a snarl.