Elara's POV
My hands won't stop shaking.
I press them against the white silk of my wedding dress, trying to make them still. Today is supposed to be perfect. Today, I'm marrying Maven Thorncastle, and for once in my twenty-four years, I'll finally matter to someone.
"Stop fidgeting," Mother hisses beside me. She doesn't look at me. She never does. "You're already embarrassing enough without looking like a nervous rabbit."
The words sting, but I'm used to them. I've heard worse my whole life.
Weak. Useless. Defective.
Behind the ceremony doors, I hear voices—hundreds of them. All the important mage families in Valoreath came to watch House Morwen's second daughter finally get married off. They're probably whispering about me right now. About my pathetic magic that can barely light a candle. About how lucky I am that anyone would marry me at all.
But Maven said he loves me. He said my magic doesn't matter. He said—
The doors burst open.
My heart stops.
My sister Celestine stands in the doorway wearing a dress identical to mine. White silk. Silver embroidery. The same orange blossoms in her dark hair. But she's holding someone's hand.
Maven's hand.
"Hello, little sister," Celestine says. Her voice is sweet, like honey poured over poison. Lightning crackles faintly around her fingertips—her magic always shows when she's excited. "I have some news."
I can't breathe. Can't think. Maven won't look at me. He's staring at the floor like a coward.
"What's going on?" I whisper.
Celestine's smile grows wider. She's beautiful when she smiles. Everyone always says so. Beautiful and powerful and everything I'm not.
"Maven and I are in love," she announces. Her voice carries through the open doors into the ceremony hall. I hear gasps. Whispers. "We have been for two years now. Isn't that romantic?"
Two years.
Two. Years.
The room tilts. I grab the wall to stay standing.
"That's impossible," I say. My voice sounds small and broken. "Maven loves me. We're getting married today. Right now. Tell her, Maven!"
Maven finally looks up. His handsome face twists with something like guilt. But not enough guilt. Never enough.
"I'm sorry, Elara," he mumbles. "But Celestine and I... we're better suited. Her magic is strong. She'll help my career in the Council. You have to understand—"
"I don't understand!" The words rip out of me. "You said you loved me! You said magic didn't matter!"
"I lied." His voice goes cold. "Of course magic matters. Everything in this world is about power. And you have none."
My father appears behind Celestine, his robes swishing with importance. Lord Morwen, head of House Morwen, looks at me like I'm a stain on his expensive carpet.
"Celestine will marry Maven today," Father announces. "The contracts have been modified. The alliance between our houses will proceed as planned—just with the correct daughter."
"Correct?" I choke on the word. "I'm your daughter too!"
"You're a disappointment," he says flatly. "You've always been a disappointment. At least this way, you can serve the family by stepping aside gracefully."
The ceremony hall has gone completely silent. Three hundred guests are watching this happen. Three hundred witnesses to my destruction.
Celestine walks closer. She's still smiling. Still perfect.
"Don't be dramatic," she says. "You couldn't have really thought Maven loved you? Look at yourself, Elara. You can barely do magic. You read books all day like some common scholar. You're boring and weak and—let's be honest—kind of pathetic."
Each word is a knife. But the worst part? The absolute worst part?
I see agreement in the eyes around me. Mother. Father. Maven. The guests peeking through the doorway. They all think she's right.
"Please," I whisper. I don't even know what I'm begging for anymore. "Please don't do this."
"It's already done." Father nods to two servants. "Escort Elara to the east wing. She can collect her things. I want her out of this house by nightfall."
"Out?" My legs feel weak. "Where am I supposed to go?"
"That's no longer my concern. You're not my daughter anymore." Father turns his back on me. Actually turns his back. "The ceremony will begin in ten minutes. Someone fix Celestine's hair—those flowers are crooked."
The servants grab my arms. I'm being dragged backward, away from my own wedding, still wearing my dress. People are staring. Some look shocked. Some look sorry. But most look entertained, like this is the best gossip they've heard all year.
Celestine waves at me. A small, cheerful wave.
"Goodbye, little sister," she calls. "Thank you for being so understanding!"
I'm pulled through corridors I've known my whole life. Past portraits of Morwen ancestors who would be ashamed of me. Past my childhood bedroom where I spent hours trying to make my magic work, crying when it never did.
The servants dump me outside the main entrance. Just throw me out like garbage.
"Your bags will be brought down shortly," one says. She almost sounds kind. "I'm sorry, Miss Elara. Truly."
Then they close the door.
I stand there in my wedding dress on the steps of my family's estate. Inside, I hear music starting. The ceremony music. Celestine is marrying Maven. Right now. In the wedding that was supposed to be mine.
Something breaks inside me. Something that's been cracking for years finally shatters completely.
I'm not worth loving. I'm not worth keeping. I'm not worth anything.
I should just disappear. Maybe then everyone would be happier.
I'm still standing there, numb and empty, when I hear footsteps behind me.
"Miss Morwen?"
I turn. A man in dark robes stands there. Not a servant's robes. Something official, with a symbol I recognize—the Mage Council.
"Yes?" My voice is hollow.
He holds out a sealed letter. "I have a message from Archmagus Corvinian Roth himself. He wishes to offer you a position."
I stare at the letter like it might explode.
"A position?" I repeat stupidly. "Why would the Archmagus want me?"
The messenger's expression is strange. Is that pity? Fear? I can't tell.
"He believes you have... potential," the man says carefully. "If you accept, transportation will be arranged immediately. You'd leave tonight."
Tonight. Leave tonight. Never see this place again. Never see the people who just destroyed me.
My hand reaches for the letter before my brain catches up.
"What kind of position?" I ask.
The messenger's eyes go dark. His next words come out soft, almost sad.
"Does it really matter?"
And that's when I know—deep in my bones, in some part of me that's still working—that something is very, very wrong with this offer.
But I take the letter anyway.
Because what else do I have left to lose?