The sunlit drawing room was warm with the scent of rosewater and honey cakes, the clinking of fine china echoing against high painted ceilings. Marin, determined to behave like a proper lady for once, lowered herself into a delicate chair beside Lady Alendra Vale. She'd been invited to the tea party by Alendra herself, who had insisted Marin meet some of the more influential noblewomen.
That morning had started with a knock at Marin's door. Alendra herself had arrived, smiling knowingly. "You're coming with me today, Lady Draven," she'd declared. "And I'm not letting you wear whatever you pull out first."
Marin had laughed, eyeing her modest wardrobe. "I should warn you—most of what I own is 'don't-trip-on-the-hem' practical."
"Then we'll choose something with a hem you can manage," Alendra teased, stepping inside and immediately moving toward the wardrobe. Together they sorted through dresses, Alendra making her case for rich colors and flattering cuts while Marin tried to argue for comfort and sturdiness.
"Try this," Alendra said, holding up a soft blue gown with delicate embroidery. "It brings out your eyes."
"It'll bring out my knees when I inevitably fall," Marin countered, but allowed herself to be dressed.
Alendra chuckled and squeezed her arm reassuringly. "Don't worry, Marin. Between the two of us, you won't be the only one with a few… less-than-graceful moments. Let me tell you a secret — I once tripped in front of the High Council carrying a tray of reports and sent them flying into the fireplace. The commander still teases me about it. We all have our moments."
That small confession loosened Marin's shoulders. "So you're saying clumsiness is a mark of distinction?"
"In my case, it's proof I'm human," Alendra replied warmly. "And I suspect the same is true for you."
Once satisfied with Marin's outfit, Alendra swept her away to her stately home—a blend of elegance and practicality, with shelves of well-thumbed books alongside lavish tapestries. As they walked the halls, Alendra shared stories of her family's borderland estate, the brothers she'd lost, and how she'd grown into her role as an intelligence liaison in the war room. Marin listened intently, sipping tea in the sitting room as she learned how Alendra balanced diplomacy with information-gathering.
"In return," Marin had said with a laugh, "it's best to keep me far away from anything fragile or expensive if you want to keep it in one piece."
Alendra had laughed warmly and promised she'd take her at her word.
Halfway through pouring tea, the chair beneath Marin gave a loud creak. She froze. The creak turned into a crack. Then—collapse. Marin pitched sideways in a flurry of skirts and teacups, landing squarely in the lap of a visiting lord.
The entire room gasped. He was Lord Rellan Voras, a minor but well-connected diplomat from one of the border provinces, known for his easy charm and sharp political manoeuvring. His surprise was clear as his brows shot up, his hands instinctively gripping the armrests as if bracing for impact. "Lady Draven," he stammered, a tight smile twitching on his lips, "what an… unexpected greeting."
Marin's face went hot as she scrambled upright, her hands brushing over his tunic in apology—only to feel something crinkle beneath her fingers. Her eyes flicked down just as a folded slip of paper slid free from his sleeve and landed near Alendra's feet.
Alendra's gaze snapped to it, sharp as a hawk's. "What's this?" she murmured, stooping to retrieve it before the flustered lord could snatch it back. Rellan's composure faltered; his mouth opened as if to protest, but no words came. She scanned it briefly, her expression hardening. "Guards." Her voice carried across the room, crisp and commanding.
The nearest footman handed it to the palace guard stationed by the door. Moments later, two guards closed in, the visiting lord protesting loudly. The coded message inside was unmistakable—enemy correspondence. Alendra's tone brooked no argument as she added, "Take him to the dungeons, and inform General Draven immediately."
As the man was escorted out, the other noblewomen whispered behind their fans, eyes darting between Marin and Alendra. Inwardly, Alendra couldn't help a flicker of admiration — this woman, so different from the perfumed, sharp-tongued nobility she'd grown up among, had a way of stumbling straight into the heart of trouble and somehow making it work in her favour. Marin's unpolished honesty and lack of pretension were a relief after years surrounded by those who valued little beyond appearances.
"I'm so sorry," Marin stammered, brushing at her gown. "I didn't mean to ruin tea—"
"You didn't ruin it," Alendra said with a small, approving smile. "You've improved it considerably. In fact, I think this might be the most productive tea I've hosted all year."
Marin laughed nervously. "I just fall into these situations. Literally."
"That's exactly why I like you," Alendra said warmly. "You're kind, you're curious, and you're not afraid to look foolish in the name of helping someone. Most here would sooner pretend not to see than get their dress dirty. I was raised among women who value appearances above all else. It's refreshing — and fascinating — to meet one who values truth."
Over steaming cups of tea, Alendra told Marin about her own life. Her family hailed from the borderlands, where politics and war often spilled into everyday life. She had lost two brothers to skirmishes with Valtoria and vowed to be of use however she could. Though she wasn't a soldier, she served as an intelligence liaison in the war room, relaying coded messages and sifting through rumors brought in by scouts.
"And sometimes," Alendra said with a wry smile, "you find more truth in gossip over tea than in a hundred official reports."
Marin grinned. "Then maybe I'm in the right place after all."
They shared another laugh, and for the remainder of the tea, Alendra kept Marin close, whispering observations about the guests and exchanging knowing glances whenever someone said something ridiculous. The conversation flowed until the clink of teacups faded and the noblewomen began to drift away. Alendra leaned close. "Come, let's take a walk in the palace gardens before we part. There's someone I suspect will want a word with you."
Still chatting as they strolled arm-in-arm among the hedgerows, they traded stories of fashion disasters and the frustrations of palace life. Marin found herself laughing more than she had in weeks, and Alendra—usually reserved in public—looked almost carefree.
Their walk ended outside the tea pavilion, where a tall, familiar figure was waiting. Kael stood there, cool composure in place but his eyes scanning Marin first before anyone else. Without a word, he stepped forward, drew her into a brief but solid embrace, and brushed a light kiss against her cheek. Marin's face went warm instantly.
Alendra's lips curved knowingly. "General, I thought it best you hear of Lord Rellan from me directly. He was carrying coded correspondence—selling secrets. We had him taken to the dungeons."
Kael's pleasant expression shifted; his voice went quiet, edged in frost. "I see." His gaze lingered on Marin for a moment longer, softer again, before he turned toward the path leading to the lower levels.
As he strode away, the air seemed to chill faintly, a dusting of frost spiderwebbing across the edge of the nearby railing. Alendra swatted his arm as he passed. "Kael, mind the flowers!"
Marin's eyes widened in fascination, watching the frost melt under the morning sun. "Does he always… do that?" she murmured.
"Only when his emotions slip through," Alendra replied with a knowing smirk. "Annoyance, anger, even…" she glanced at Marin with a playful glint, "other feelings. You'd be surprised how much ice has nothing to do with magic." She leaned a little closer, voice dipping conspiratorially. "Which means Lord Rellan's day is about to get considerably worse. Now—shall we make mischief before he gets back?"