Night wind slipped through a window left slightly ajar, curling into Solaris Palace like a whisper of warning. Behind the veil of silk curtains, Aurelia Vaelthorn stood motionless, watching the moon-drenched gardens below. Her gown, a deep shade of storm-blue, blended perfectly with the shadows—like a sea that seemed calm but hid a rising storm.
A soft knock broke the silence.
"Come in," she said without turning.
Heavy, deliberate footsteps entered and stopped a few paces behind her.
"Is there something you wish to inspect?" asked the cool voice she now recognized too well.
Aurelia glanced over her shoulder. "Caelum Thorne. The knight who always appears when silence grows too loud."
He stood straight in his dark night uniform, the sword at his hip catching a sliver of moonlight.
"I was stationed on the east wing. But when I saw you hadn't returned to your chambers, I decided to ensure your safety."
"Concerned?" she asked, arching an eyebrow, a hint of mockery in her voice.
Caelum didn't reply right away. His gaze deepened.
"His Highness the Crown Prince doesn't appreciate unpredictability. You happen to be one."
Aurelia's lips curled. "I'd rather be a thorn in Serion's side than a flower plucked and forgotten."
Silence followed. Then her voice softened—fragile, almost unheard.
"But you're right. I should be more careful."
Caelum dipped his head slightly. "I'll always be nearby, if you'll allow it."
—
By morning, the palace buzzed with unease: a senior advisor had been found dead in his private study. A clean stab through the heart. No signs of struggle. On his desk, an anonymous letter exposing a network of illicit dealings among high-ranking nobles.
In her sitting room, Aurelia read the report in silence, tea untouched before her. Across from her sat Marchioness Ilvare, clad in gold like a serpent dressed for court. A matriarch feared and revered in equal measure.
"Serion will use this," Ilvare said softly. "He'll tighten his leash under the guise of justice. Anyone who stands tall will be accused of treason."
"Maybe that's why the letter was left so openly," Aurelia replied. "A convenient noose."
Ilvare's gaze narrowed. "You're learning. This kingdom isn't built on law—it thrives on illusion."
"And who directs the illusion?"
A faint smile. "Serion. But never forget—even the best actor can die in silence, if the stage is taken from him."
Aurelia turned to the window. Sunlight struck the palace courtyard like a blade of molten gold—beautiful, but far too sharp.
—
That afternoon, Serion summoned her.
He stood before the cathedral-tall stained glass of the throne hall, silver cloak brushing the marble floor.
"Aurelia," he said without turning. "Time changes everything. Even wounds can harden into a crown."
She walked with slow, deliberate steps.
"Or into poison that thickens in the blood."
She halted a few paces behind him.
"You believe you can defy me. But this system—my roots go deep. My power runs beneath every stone of this palace."
Her voice sharpened. "I don't need to pull out your roots. I just need to poison the soil."
Serion turned to face her, slowly. His silver eyes glittered.
"Dangerous words. But strangely... I admire them."
"You enjoy games. And I'm a game you won't win easily."
A smile flickered on his lips. "We'll see, Aurelia. Whether you came to take revenge—or to fall again."
—
That night, Aurelia sat alone on her balcony. The breeze tugged at her hair, but her thoughts were colder still. In her palm, she turned over a small locket—her mother's last keepsake.
The door creaked open.
Caelum stepped outside, his presence calm but unmistakably watchful.
"You're not asleep?"
"And miss a night like this?" she murmured.
He didn't reply. He sat opposite her, uninvited, but not unwelcome.
A lull settled over them, broken only by distant insects and rustling trees.
"When I was a child," Aurelia said at last, "my mother used to say, 'Never trust anyone who smiles too much at court.' I thought she was bitter."
Caelum watched her, gaze steady.
"And now?"
"Now I know—smiles are the cheapest way to hide a dagger."
Caelum hesitated, then slowly reached out. His fingers brushed the locket.
"I don't know what happened in those ten years. But I know this—you survived."
She turned her face toward him. Their proximity blurred the line between duty and something more. His expression was cold, but not hollow.
"Why do you care?" she whispered.
"Because I want to see how your story ends. And I want it to be yours—not theirs."
For the first time, Aurelia didn't feel alone in her war. She said nothing. But she didn't pull her hand away.
—
By noon, the grand hall was packed.
Serion stood tall, voice smooth as he declared his intent to marry a southern princess—a political move to strengthen alliances and pressure dissenters into silence.
Among the nobles, Aurelia stood without flinching. But in her eyes, a slow fire sparked.
"So you want to corner me sooner than I expected, Serion?" she murmured.
Behind her, Caelum caught the whisper.
Their eyes met—just for a second.
And in that look, a silent vow passed between them:
War has begun.