We spent two days—three nights in Eloria, I thought it'd be different there, but I still couldn't sleep.
Every time I tried, my mind just wandered, from how much the plot had changed even before the story starts—how addicted I'm becoming to my family—how disturbly much I'd been smiling lately—to the fogged part of my memory.
Restless didn't quit cover it, times like these, I'd trade all the Aurel in Oayai for Chinese food and my depressing playlists. So...to save my sanity, I found myself wandering instead. Watching. Listen. Pretending to help.
Baron Harland—Grand-dad—played the most part. in his words, "Hamptons are multi-talented in the best ways," he said. " don't tell your Father I said that" I didn't get it. But I didn't care too. apparently my multi-talent was standing around while grown men argued over lumber and influence channels.
Theo fetched water for the workers—he kept tripping over nothing—and eventually broke a more buckets than he.
Mia and Gia assisted Carl with—something, they spent all their free time in his office anyways.
Eloria was still standing, technically.
Hampton estate was still home, just not one we could live in at the moment.
Because it's people refused to fall.
The Imperial Council had called for Father the second day.
No messenger, no seal — just the Dowager Princess's personal summons.
And we were off the next morning.
.><><><.
The palace gates opened the exact same way everytime, big–obviously old, but soundless.
Same banners. Same lions statues. Same exaggerated beauty.
We'd been gone three days, and already we were back—becaused the Hampton house, is a founding family first. Before anything.
Father looked better.
No brusies, or scars. But Deviella still insisted on rest and medicine. His influence was still recovering, but of course—duties always come first.
Theo sat beside Father, swinging his legs against the carriage seat, while the twins whispered something about "fancy palace food."
I sighed.
{I'm the only one overthinking this, aren't I.}
Zerlious led the escort ahead, disciplined as always. Behind us, Rosie and Deviella followed in the second carriage. Deviella had insisted she should ride with us
"to attend to His Grace personally." She said.
Father said no. And I nearly fell asleep.
As the palace steps came into view, I spotted her immediately.
The Dowager Princess—radiant, terrifying, somehow looking more menacing than usual.
"Is she greeting us personally?" Mia asked,
"I don't know, is she?" I turned to Father.
The man exhaled in response.
The moment He stepped down from the carriage, The Dowager was already upon him.
SMACK!
"You absolute moron!"
The slap cracked through the courtyard loud enough to scare the pigeons off the roof.
Father blinked, slowly turning his head back toward her with an infuriatingly calm expression.
"Happy to see you too."
"Next time, I'll have a sword in hand! Do you have any idea how close you came—" she jabbed a finger into his chest "—to giving me a heart attack?!"
Father winced slightly. "Still healing there, Lora."
Rosie and Deviella exited the other carriage just then.
"Oh, please. You're fine." Another jab.
He smiled faintly. "Flattered you checked."
She glared for a full, dangerous heartbeat… "this isn't over." Tone low—but not whispering, then she turned on her heel with a muttered, "Hmph! Most of the council's already gathered. You've got ten minutes to look alive before I start yelling again." And off she went — gown swaying like a war banner.
The silence she left behind was loud.
Deviella's face was epic. I bit my lips together hard, not to laugh.
Rosie was just dazed.
Which told me, that was the first time they ever saw those two like that.
Mia blinked first. "Who. Was that?"
Beating me to the question.
"That was the Dowager Princess Mia, your memory can't be that bad already." Gia countered confidently. But dumb.
"No, my dear," Father said lightly, "that was Lora—just the Princess of Oaiya."
Theo tugged his sleeve, eyes wide. "Is she fond of hitting you?, you two seemed close, just now"
"I don't know, will you ask her for me" he said dryly, lifting him into his arms.
"No." No hesitation in the boy's voice.
He chuckled, glancing toward the palace. "you're right to be scared."
I followed him out of the carriage, trying not to smile. His stride was steady, confident — like he'd already forgotten how close death had been.
Maybe he had.
Or maybe he was just use to this.
Either way, the palace loomed ahead.
And if the Dowager's entrance was anything to go by, this council meeting wasn't going to be gentle.
They told me to wait outside.
Apparently, war discussions are for adults only—which was fine, until I found out where I was waiting.
In the palace courtyard, surrounded by even more of Oaiya's finest—young nobles—with all the silk ribbons and polite venom wrapped together. Some of them I'd left here before, others came with their northern parents for the council meet.
Mia and Gia were smart enough to vanish with Rosie toward the kitchens. Theo was—somewhere. And I, however, was ordered to mingle. Was happy to.
{No one ever approaches me anyway.}
I hover near the nake-ish—baby fountain, observing it a little more than inappropriately. Listening to some children laugh at some tasteless excuse for a joke.
That's when he called—
"Lady Hampton?"
I turn. He's taller than me—by alot. Broad shoulders, relaxed posture, hair the color of autumn wheat, and eyes—
Gray? No, greenish-gray, like stormwater. Unbothered. Suspiciously calm. Like Raymond, but even sharper.
"Do I know you?" I arched a brow.
"I'm Renard Arvel," he says, bowing lightly. "We should have met. But you were ill last winter's summit."
"Ah," I say. "That was deliberate."
He blinks. Then laughs. "I see, why?"
"I don't owe you an explanation."
He doesn't press. Which earns him a point. Most people like to talk until their tongues fall off.
{Wonder what he wants, Mummy told him to score dowry points or something. Is his house under siege?. Am I overthinking this? }
"Renard! There you are!"
Marissa Reddit, glides over–gracefully, skirts rustling like she's performing for an audience. Golden hair, golden eyes, golden everything—.
{I swear, her voice gives me a headache every time I heard it.}
"Marissa," Renard greets politely.
"You disappeared on me." She turns, finally pretending to notice me. "Oh! Iris. I didn't realize you were here."
{Sure you didn't .}
"It's fine," I reply, "I couldn't care any less"
Her smile stiffens. "You've grown since I last saw you."
"You would too," I said. "if you decide to stop living of the palace charity."
Renard coughs, probably hiding a laugh.
Marissa presses on. "I was just telling everyone of how impressive your father's victory was," she says. Leaning in "Though it must've been… difficult. Coming back to the capital after so long."
I glance at her. "Difficult? How?"
"Oh, I just mean...you know, Your family business is out in the open."
I slick smile curved at my lips.
{She's pushing buttons.}
"I see," I say, smiling thinly. "You've been listening to gossip again. Should I congratulate you?...or "
Her nostrils flare. But she tried—failed to hide it behind a smile "Don't be rude, iris. I'm simply stating fac–"
"Then stop being stupid, and I'll consider it, deal?" I smiled brightly. Charming. Tilting my head.
That earns a collective gasp from the nearby nobles. Even Renard's eyes widen slightly.
{C'mon, do something about it. Let me lay hands on you for once.}
Marissa steps closer, voice low and sharp. "You think being the Duke's daughter makes you special?"
"It's not a thought, dear cousin" I murmur, leaning forward just enough for her to feel it. "I know it does."
For a heartbeat, neither of us moves. And then—
Smack!
A tight—sudden slap made my head turn, I tasted iron in my mouth.
{Perfect.}
Smack!
I hit her back, her stupid scrap ear-ring tore my flesh. It stinged but I couldn't afford to show it.
The courtyard hums. Marissa shot me a murderous glare. And I loved it.
"How dare you?!" She spat. Blood. And God!, was it satisfying. "I'm older than you, don't have have any respect for—"
"Oh like you have lots of respect for my father." I mocked, still smiling.
As the children backed away—whispering, everything began to shake—vibrating, under feets, into towers–through glass. Like the palace had come alive.
.><><><.
The Council Chamber of the palace was now a cathedral of authority—ceilings painted with fading constellations, banners of each great house lining the walls, their crests glinting under soft lamplight. The air hummed with tension, thick as incense.
A long table sat-in-the middle, polished to reflect. Around it sat Oaiya's finest — dukes, lords, ministers, commanders. Every robe whispered wealth, rings declared lineage. And in the middle of it all sat Sylvester Hampton, spine straight, calm as night.
"Duke Hampton returns from death, and still arrives before half of you," the Dowager Princess said dryly, her tone steel. "Consider that your first embarrassment of the day."
A few shifted in their seats, muttering.
One Lord — a barrel-chested man with a beard that could hide a scandal — leaned forward. "Your Highness, if we might skip the dramatics. The Runeblood attacks have already cost the Empire three borders. We must respond decisively."
"And we will," Sylvester said evenly. "But not by marching blind. We still have no idea how they're meeting us so well."
That shut them up fast.
Eyes darted across the room. The only sound was the thumbing of Veron's nails against wood.
The Dowager folded her hands. "We have reason to believe there's a betrayal in our mist. In one of our seats today."
A ripple of unease passed through the table.
"The Mage Towers traced coded transmissions to the Northern influence channels," a younger official reported, voice trembling slightly. "We compared the signatures. They match one of the ducal encryptions."
Heads turned. Some in suspicion, others in morbid curiosity.
The Dowager's gaze slid toward Duke Arvel, who sat stiff and unreadable.
Marquess Veron spoke next, leaning back lazily. "Surely you don't mean to accuse a Duke of treason without proof."
"I'd never," the Dowager replied coolly. Her fingers snapped once. A pair of guards entered, dragging in a pale clerk clutching a ledger. He stumbled forward, eyes wide.
"This man worked under Duke Arvel's correspondence wing," she said. "Show them."
The clerk opened the ledger with trembling hands, revealing the coded letters—and the wax seal—broken. Obviously the Arvel's sigil.
A suffocating silence followed.
Duke Arvel's jaw tightened. "My seal was stolen—"
"Convenient," Sylvester murmured.
Arvel shot him a glare sharp enough to cut glass. "You'd do well—"
The Dowager raised a hand. "Enough. Guards."
"This is absolute rubbish!, I'm being framed!" Duke Arvel protested.
"Oh quit the theatrics...," The Dowager said, her tone repulsed.
Steel scraped marble as royal guards approached.
Duke Arvel stood, composure slipping just enough to betray the truth.
"I have served the Empire, in earnest all my life, you can't do this to me!" he hissed. "You'll regret this."
"You can only pray," She replied.
The guards seized him by the arms. His protests echoed as they dragged him out. The massive doors slammed shut, the sound reverberating through the council chamber like thunder.
A long pause. Then Sylvester exhaled. "Who would have thought…"
"I know," The Dowager said.
Following the silent murmurs. "Now what?" Someone asked.
"Well with the filth gone, we can finally talk strategy without worrying who's listening." Veron answered.
Sylvester's eyes narrowed slightly. "Shall we begin."
They debated fortifying the eastern posts and clearing the mountain routes before winter set in.
Plans were laid to relocate survivors from the borderlands and ration supplies through the southern provinces. And finally, they agreed—the next strike must come swift, but calculated. Before the Runebloods could breathe again.
"We march in a Fortnite..." The Dowager declared.
"You mean we march. You are staying right here." Sylvester teased.
But before She could speak—
the floor shuddered.
At first, faint — a tremor underfoot. Then the crystal chandeliers swayed, a low vibration rumbling through the walls like a distant roar.
"What in the—?" someone blurted.
A young attendant bursts in through the door, panting hard. "Your Highness—! Forgive the intrusion, but—Lady Iris and Lady Marissa—are fighting!"
Half the room froze.
The Dowager blinked. "Fighting?—"
"Magic, your Highness," the attendant gulped. "It's… not a small fight."
For a long—stunned heartbeat, no one moved.
Sylvester straightened, the calm mask slipping for the first time. "Iris?" he repeated, as if the name itself couldn't possibly belong in that sentence. His daughter didn't fight. She debate, outmaneuvered—always to smart for her age. "Iris doesn't fight?!" He continued in disbelief.
Lord Verren cleared his throat carefully. "Perhaps it's... a misunderstanding?"
But the rumbling above them said otherwise. The chandeliers swaying—hummed with residue of spiked influence in the air.
Sylvester pushed back his chair, standing. "That's no misunderstanding."
The Dowager signed, "ahh, not this again."
Sylvester's jaw flexed once. "She's not one to thrown tantrums," he muttered under his breath, striding for the door.
A beat later, softer, "...at least, she didn't."
.><><><.
The ground quivered beneath my shoes. At first, I thought it was in my head again—again?.
Somehow. This felt familiar. But—not quite.This electricity—This burn.
The tiles rattled. The air warped. Influence crackled between us like static before a storm.
Marissa's voice cut through it. "You crazy bitch!" she screamed, gold hair wild, eyes glowing. "I'll show you—"
"Shut. Up."
My words came out steady. the pulse under my skin begged to break loose. I hadn't slept properly in weeks. Not since the kidnapping. Since Mother. This whole damn Runeblood mess. This world spiraling off course!. Every part of me had been itching, for something to punch—and here she was. Asking for it.
I almost loved her for it. Almost...
Marissa threw the first surge. Light—bright, trained—burst from her hands and cracked against the courtyard tiles. The marble split, shards flying.
I didn't dodge. I stepped through it.
It hurt like fire and release.
She gasped, stumbling back. "What is wrong with you?!"
I laughed. Sharp, breathless, half-mad. "Come find out."
Another wave of her magic came flying—too wide, too loud, fueled by panic. I swung my arm through it, slicing it clean, the energy sparking off my sleeve. "So...predictable," My own influence flickered alive, red wine voilet-veins, crawling over my skin like lightning veins. "Is that all you've learned cousin?" My gaze narrows on her.
Renard shouted something, but it was already too late.
I lunged.
Marissa tried to shield—pretty, but slow. It shattered the moment my fist met it.
She screamed.
We crashed into the fountain, water spraying over the crowd of horrified heirs. I pinned her down with a hand to her throat, the stone under us cracking with every hit.
"You want respect?" I hissed. "Earn it!"
She clawed at me. I punched back. her magic flared again—raw, desperate. It shoved me off just long enough for her to get up and swing. Her ring caught my temple. Blood trickled down the side of my face.
And I laughed again. I touched the blood trailing down my face.
"Interesting.." I said, before I licked it off my finger.
Her face twisted. "You're insane—You're psycho!"
"Say it again."
My grin stretched too wide. My grip tightened around her neck "You go around talking about—"
Someone grabbed me by my waist—pulling me off Marrisa. Before I could even struggle—
"What in Enia's name is going on here?!"
The voice crashed through the courtyard like thunder.
Viscount Reddit—Marissa's father—stormed in, face pale with fury. Behind him, the rest stumbled in with wide eyes.
Renard had both arms around Marissa now, holding her back. Ryder held me tight, and I could feel the tremor in his grip, whether from my pulse or his own fear, I didn't know.
Marissa was crying—screaming, "She's crazy! She attacked me!" Her dress drenched, sleeves torn, face ruined. Bleeding—from nose and mouth. She never looked more beautiful.
I stood there, dress stained of my own blood, water soaking through my sleeves, and hems of my dress, influence still sparking faintly against the stone.
I hadn't felt this peaceful in—weeks.
"I only finished what you started." I stated. Voice calmer than I expected.
Father's eyes met mine. He said nothing. His gaze held no anger, he was rather.... Scared.
He'd seen me angry before—cold, cutting words, sharp tongue. But this? This wasn't me. Not the one he knew. Not the one I knew either.
Another Noble's voice broke next. "Well," she muttered, fanning her face once. "is anyone going to explain."
"So much power," The Dowager signed. "but now an ounce of sense to guide it."
It earned her a glare from the Viscount—and a faint, helpless snort from Father.
"Both of you," She continued, walking forward until she stood between us, gaze heavy but restrained. "Go clean up. Now."
I turned, expecting to feel at least a sting of guilt.
But nothing. Not even close.
For the first time in weeks, my chest felt lighter. My head quiet.
As Ryder led me out, I almost smiled again—