The chamber was carved from summer—ivy climbed the stone walls and hung loosely from the rafters, softening stone with curling green. The air was warm, almost damp, the kind a cat might nap inside. The Queen's frosty gaze provided a sharp contrast to the otherwise languid room.

Her eyes moved over the seated nobles, lingering on the foreign ones—clothed in Krillian brown and green, fingers heavy with jeweled rings, wealth displayed too obviously. Queen Addilyn sat at the head of the table, still as death. Her gown—soft blue and sleeveless—moved like poured water around her. Light brown hair was swept into a regal bun, loose curls tucked beneath a single pearl flower gleaming just above her ear. The cool tones softened her skin and sharpened her silence.

The Queen rose from her seat just as her greatest ally stepped daintily into the room.

Calla. Veiled, silent, deliberate.

She was dressed modestly, wearing silken white robes—sleeveless, the fabric breathing softly against her skin, edged with golden lace. A thin ribbon of gold coiled once around her throat. Her veil, embroidered with faint hemlock, was translucent enough to betray the suggestion of beauty beneath. It was uncommon for veils to be worn—seen as an insult in both courts—but the nobles said nothing, simply watched as Calla reached her place beside the Queen. Addilyn placed a hand on her shoulder, as if anchoring her there.

The touch whispered loyalty. The placement shouted possession.

Her gaze fixed on the man across the table: King Thane of Krillian.
He sat tall, unbothered by the heat—his robes of ochre and sun-bleached green loose at the wrists and open at the throat. His hair, rich and chocolate-dark, was slicked back neatly, not a strand misplaced; his stubble cast just enough shadow to make the smile seem earned. He had the look of a man who believed peace meant he'd already won.

A man who, five years after Addilyn spilled her mother's blood for the crown, had launched a war to claim the throne he believed weak.
A war that dragged on for three years. A treaty signed only two years ago.
And now, he had returned.
Not with weapons, but with a hidden smirk and the stench of arrogance.

"Leave us," Addilyn commanded, her voice even.

The councilmen hesitated. They enjoyed watching their Queen weave the threads of power as she pleased. Slowly, reluctantly, they slipped from the room—the Krillian nobles only following suit when their King nodded his permission. The servants followed behind them, heads bowed, eyes downcast.

Only Lord Remy Thornehail remained—leaning against an ivy-wrapped column, one leg crossed over the other. His silver hair fell straight to his waist, perfectly brushed, catching the light like water. His chest was bare beneath his robe of candle wax–colored silk, soft and fluid as melted light—open and low, the folds of fabric held only by a thin silver belt at his hips. Silver clung to him like a second skin—the tips and lobes of his ears connected by fine chains that swayed when he walked, his left hand bore a ring on each finger, a chain linking them back to the cuff at his wrist, and in the hollow of his throat, a small opal sat flush against his skin—oval and pale, not fastened by chain or clasp. It looked as though the stone had been embedded directly into flesh. It shifted with every breath—never loud, never still, always watching.

The Queen's concubine watched the King with practiced laziness, popping grapes into his mouth as he did.

The King rose slowly, as if entranced. He circled the treaty table with long, lazy steps, one hand drifting over the polished oak, appearing lost in thought—though his eyes were locked on Calla. When he reached her, he did not acknowledge the Queen of the land. He did not bow.

He lifted one hand and let it brush the edge of her veil. "You're veiled," he murmured. "How interesting."

Calla made no reply, her head bowed as a sign of respect.

Addilyn supplied the script. "King Thane Krillian, may I present Calla, my most trusted confidant."

Calla lowered herself into a graceful curtsy. Her voice remained a mystery.

Thane bowed over her hand, lips grazing her flesh just long enough to feel intentional. "Why hide a face the Founder clearly carved to incite ruin?" he said softly. "Surely you're aware that some things grow more dangerous when hidden."

Addilyn's voice was frigid, almost too defensive. "The noblewomen asked it of me. Their husbands watched her too hard for too long. So I compromised."

Thane chuckled under his breath and straightened. "Your court is fragile indeed."

He turned to Addilyn, a wolf's smile on his mouth. "Perhaps I can help."

"Oh?"

"As a sign of unity, I'll take Calla as my concubine. Perhaps have her compete for my hand. It may ease your tensions and serve as proof that we no longer hold hostilities toward each other."

Behind the Queen, Remy pushed off the column, the clinking of his jewelry announcing his presence. His tone, while smooth, had an edge.

"She has no bloodline. No house, no title." He looked directly at the King. "What claim could she have to a place in the grand court of Krillian?"

Thane didn't turn to him. He didn't need to.

"I don't require pedigree. I require intrigue. And she..."
His gaze drifted up the curve of Calla's garments, lingering on the drape of the veil. "...intrigues me."

His eyes slid to Lord Thornehail, taking in the stiffness of his shoulders, the slight frown playing on his lips. "Besides," he drawled, "I decide who is fit for my court. Surely someone from a line as old as yours would be happy to see an unnamed leave."

The Queen raised a hand, silencing a protest that wasn't going to come.

"Such an action will be good for our lands to see. However, I require something more... reliable to assure me that you have tampered your ambition."

The King's expression was one of disdain before breaking into a practiced smile.

"Of course, Your Highness. That is why we are here in the first place, no?"

The Queen nodded once, picked up the revised version of the Zeonial–Krillian peace treaty, and placed it in front of the King. While he read, the Queen gave a quiet nod to her confidants, before turning to begin negotiation.

The pages fluttered like wings between them—too delicate to trust, too formal to discard.

Calla stepped back into the shadows, soon joined by Lord Thornehail—his metal-laden ears jingling. His tall form bent slightly as he leaned toward her. His hair fell around her like a curtain. He offered her a subtle nod, then glanced at the veil.

Even in the low light, her honey-colored eyes shimmered faintly behind the sheer fabric—an echo of something hidden and sharp.

They were not eyes trained for court—they were eyes trained and tested for storms.

From across the chamber, Thane's voice rang out. "Calla."

She stepped forward. Remy drifted back, his robe swirling, lips curved in a quiet, amused smirk.

The King extended his hand. Calla placed hers in his palm with deliberate softness. His fingers closed around hers, just tight enough to claim. Calla kept her head bowed and kept herself withdrawn.

"She will not be able to go with you to Krillian for a few days." Thane frowned at the monarch's words. "She'll need time to transition her duties and to prepare," Addilyn continued.

The King's hand found the wooden charm at his belt—a religious token shaped like a tree—and rubbed his thumb across it. He glanced again at Calla's veil.

"I cannot delay my return any longer. I trust that because the matter of the peace treaty has been settled, she will arrive in three days?"

His hand settled onto Calla's shoulder in a show of possession.

Addilyn's eyes glinted. "Of course. Remy, escort His Majesty to his quarters."

Remy bowed to his Queen and swept from the room, leaving the King to follow.

Thane turned to Calla, once more lifting her hand to his lips. "I will have a room ready for your arrival. One worthy of what you are," he promised her.

Then he turned, his charm swinging, and vanished through the chamber doors. The guards outside pulled them shut with a thud.

Calla inhaled softly, her spine straightening. The Queen's hand returned to her shoulder.

"Well done," she whispered. "He believes you to be nothing but beauty."

Calla stared at the place King Thane had stood.

Addilyn smiled faintly when Calla replied: "Beauty and danger often walk hand in hand."