Elena told herself—sternly—that breakfast would be simple.
Eat food.Avoid chaos.Absolutely do not have feelings.
Then she walked into the Great Hall and immediately regretted her optimism.
Nobles filled the room like a murder of crows in embroidered robes. Servants moved between long tables. Everyone stared as Soren entered beside her—not at him, but at her, the foreign woman walking at the elbow of the prince.
Soren bent his head slightly toward her.
"You will eat with Lady Claire," he murmured, voice low enough for only her to hear. "It is expected."
"Right," she said. "Protocol."
"And," he added, "you will address me properly in public."
She swallowed. "Your Highness."
Soren nodded once, approving. The faint approval did dangerous things to her nervous system.
Claire waved her over excitedly from the middle tables. Soren escorted her there—close enough for warmth, distant enough for propriety. When she took her seat beside Claire, he gave one last brief, unreadable look before walking to the officers' table across the hall.
He didn't look back.
Elena tried to focus on her plate.
Truly, she tried.
Claire chatted lightly about fabrics and council gossip, but Elena's appetite had fled. Her pastry sat untouched. Her tea cooled. Her hands felt too warm, her neck too prickly.
The atmosphere in the hall shifted before she even knew why.
A hush swept across the tables.
Heads turned.
And then—Mirenya appeared.
Elena's spine straightened involuntarily. She had seen beautiful women before. But Mirenya was the kind of beautiful that made everyone else feel like a rough draft.
Hair like red wine poured over her shoulders. Skin pale and luminous as porcelain. A gown stitched in metallic hues that shimmered with every breath she took. She did not walk. She glided.
"Oh dear," Claire muttered. "Brace yourself."
Elena groaned softly. "I don't want to."
"Neither do I," Claire said, "but here we are."
Mirenya moved toward Soren with predatory elegance, her presence drawing stares the way a flame draws moths. Elena wasn't close enough to hear every word—but she caught the tone: sweet, sultry, calculated. A woman who had never once doubted her effect on a room.
She bowed to Soren, and even from across the hall Elena could see how perfectly she angled her body, how her smile tilted in careful invitation.
"Your Highness," Mirenya said, her voice carrying just enough for Elena to catch it. "Yesterday's display was… breathtaking."
Elena stabbed a piece of fruit. Violently.
Claire murmured, "Careful. That apple is already dead."
Across the hall, Mirenya leaned closer to Soren—far, far too close. Her fingers brushed the table near his hand. Her gown shimmered as she tipped her head coyly.
Elena looked away sharply—and almost swallowed her tea wrong.
Her heart thudded unpleasantly.
Fragments of Mirenya's voice floated across the room:
"…private gathering tonight…""…select company…""…your presence would honor us…"
Elena's jaw tightened.
Claire gave her a sideways glance. "Your face is doing something interesting."
"It's doing nothing," Elena said stiffly. "This is my neutral face."
"It's your homicide face."
Elena didn't answer, because—
She felt something.
A tug at the back of her neck. A warmth along her skin. A presence.
She lifted her gaze.
Across the hall, Soren was watching her.
Not casually.Not politely.Not even discreetly.
His eyes were locked on her—calm, steady, assessing in a way that made her breath catch.
Not at Mirenya.
Not at the officers.
Her.
His attention wrapped around her like a quiet hand, uninvited and impossible to ignore.
Elena's pulse tripped. Hard.
She tore her gaze away and forced herself to focus on her plate—still untouched.
She couldn't take another minute of this.
"I'm going to get some air," she whispered.
Claire squeezed her hand. Elena rose quietly, making sure no one was watching, and slipped out through the side door. She didn't look back.
But Soren did.
He stayed seated—perfectly composed, protocol intact—but his eyes followed her until the door closed behind her.
Only then did he lower his gaze, jaw tightening by the smallest fraction.