The golden carriage halted at the gates of Veritas Spire, the shining heart of the Federation of Arena.
Helya Lains stepped out gracefully, her violet robes swirling in the synthetic breeze generated by discreet environmental regulators embedded in the polished stone floor. Her expression was calm, her back straight, her every movement trained—perfectly regal. She had studied the real princess's mannerisms for years.
"Princess of Starlight," a voice greeted her—calm, precise, and… watchful.
Cael Thorne stood in his formal uniform, silver-plated and black-trimmed, his left shoulder bearing the sigil of the Federated Guard. But his gaze was not ceremonial—it was calculating.
"Lord Thorne," Helya replied, dipping her head just enough to acknowledge him but not bend too low.
A polite silence settled between them. Behind their eyes, however, walls were already being built. She scanned his posture, the way he moved—military, but adaptable. Dangerous.
He noted how her magic signature barely flickered, controlled to near perfection. That wasn't natural.
"We've prepared your chambers. There will be a formal dinner tonight, followed by integration briefings tomorrow," Cael said.
"Delightful," Helya said smoothly, though she was already memorizing every escape route and camera angle.
As they walked side by side through the crystalline corridors of the Federation's diplomatic wing, neither let down their guard.
Deep within her mind, a voice echoed—her handler's last transmission before she crossed the border.
"Remember, you are Princess Helya Lains. The peace depends on your deception. And so does our war."