The road to Velmora unfurled like a ribbon of light, and Evelyn drank it in greedily—the terraced vineyards spilling down green slopes, the white-sailed barges cutting the silver of the river, and, beyond it all, the capital rising in tiers of marble and gold. By the time her escort reached the city's outer gate, she had already rehearsed a dozen smiles.
At the palace walls, spears crossed to bar her way.
"State your name and purpose," the gate captain said, eyes raking the small Elarethian party. His voice carried the effortless authority of a realm long used to order.
Evelyn lifted her chin. "I am Princess Evelyn of Elareth, daughter of Queen Isadora," she said, producing a slim signet set with the Elareth crest. "I come on a matter of family urgency to pay call upon Queen Aurora of Velmora."
"Where is your writ of entry?" the captain asked, unblinking.
A fractional pause. Then a warm, rueful smile.
"There was no time for courtesies. Our messenger rode… elsewhere. I come as sister to offer amends, not as envoy to demand audience. If I have erred in haste, I will endure your censure."
The captain weighed her, thoughtful, then signaled a runner. "You will wait."
Evelyn kept her pleasant expression as the heat pressed down and her escort shifted behind her. Inside, jealousy gnawed—look at these walls, this order, these banners… and all of it under the hand of the girl we tossed like refuse—She arranged her face into contrition, praying the palace's famed discipline could be bent by a well-delivered plea.
-
In a windowed council chamber, Aldric stood over a map strewn with markers like bright seeds—Kael opposite him, two advisers flanking. They spoke in low, steady tones.
"If the border conflict to the north-east widens, the mercenary bands will sniff for work," Kael said. "But they'll keep to the river roads. I'd garrison the bridges and let the rumor mill do the rest."
A soft knock. A guard entered, saluted. "Your Majesty, Princess Evelyn of Elareth is at the outer gate. No writ. Small escort. She claims a private call upon Queen Aurora."
Silence ballooned. Aldric's eyes narrowed, then he exhaled once, slow. "Send for Aurora," he said. "Hold Evelyn at the gate until my leave."
The guard bowed and withdrew.
-
Aurora was at her writing table, a piece of charcoal smudging an arching vine across thick paper, when Lira slipped in with a breathless curtsy. "My lady—His Majesty requests you. Elareth's princess is at the gate."
Aurora's hand stilled. For a heartbeat she stared at the charcoal swirl, as if the drawing might answer the question rising in her chest. Why would she come? She set the charcoal aside, wiped her fingers, and rose.
"Very well," she said, already moving.
-
They chose not the grand throne hall, but a smaller receiving chamber of pale stone, sunlight pooling across the mosaic floor. Aldric waited in a high-backed chair. When Aurora entered, his expression softened—infinitesimally—the feeling only she could draw from him.
"Shall I send her away?" Aldric asked under his breath.
"Let us hear what she says," Aurora murmured, though her eyes were cool. She took the chair beside him.
The doors opened. Evelyn stepped in—and for a suspended instant, forgot to breathe.
She had braced for power. She had not braced for beauty. The chamber shone, clean and precise, and Aldric, seated at its center, seemed cut from it—broad-shouldered, still, eyes like winter sky. Evelyn felt her heart stutter, struck by him before she could guard against it.
And beside him—Aurora. Silver and poised, the very image Evelyn had loathed in dreams: impossible, undeniable.
Evelyn recovered, sank into a graceful bow. "Your Majesty," she said, voice sweetening. "Queen Aurora."
Aldric's reply was flat as polished stone. "You arrived without writ, without warning, in a season when our gates are not opened lightly. Why are you here?"
Evelyn pressed a hand to her breast—hurt, humbled, exquisite. "To make amends," she said, turning toward Aurora as though the king were a witness, not a judge. "I have done poorly by you. I wished to see you—to beg forgiveness, and to mend what I have ruined."
Aurora's gaze did not waver. "We do not have a relationship that requires visits."
A beat. A small, practiced flinch.
"No," Evelyn whispered, "we do not. Because of me." Her lashes lowered. "But I have come to change that."
Aldric's fingers tapped once on the arm of his chair. "You will return to Elareth," he said calmly. "Today."
Evelyn's smile faltered. "Please," she said, turning to Aurora with wet-eyed sincerity. "Allow me a chance."
The chamber held stillness like a held breath.
Aurora studied the woman before her—the same sharp chin, the same eyes that had watched her scrub stone and bleed. She felt Aldric's restraint beside her, the danger coiling at the edges of his patience.
"If you have come to make amends," she paused, "I hold no grudges against you. And with that said, you may return to Elareth."
Selene's eyes widened. Go back? Her thoughts raced. No. I cannot. Not without bringing you down—without reclaiming my place at His Majesty's side.
"Evelyn," Aurora called.
The sound of her name jerked Evelyn back to herself. She smiled quickly.
"Please allow me to stay," she said softly. "I wish only to mend what lies between us." Her eyes shimmered.
Aurora looked to Aldric. His expression was a clear refusal—but Aurora chose otherwise.
"Let her stay," Aurora said, her voice low but unmistakably firm.
Aldric's gaze slid toward her, searching. "Are you certain?"
Aurora inclined her head once. "I am."
The king's attention returned to Evelyn. "You may remain," he said, each word cut clean. "Understand this, If there is any deceit in you—if your purpose is anything but what you claim—mercy will not meet you here."
"I am grateful beyond words," Evelyn said, bowing again, relief flowing like warmth across her face. In her chest, triumph flared—I am in.
Under the table's carved edge, Aldric found Aurora's hand, closed over it. "I must return to matters I left with Kael," he said more gently, to her alone. "Will you see to our… guest's accommodations?"
"I will," Aurora said, rising. She bowed to Aldric; Evelyn dipped again—another practiced silk fold—and followed Aurora out.
They walked the bright corridor in silence, guards falling in behind like shadows. Courtiers glanced up—curiosity flickering, then shuttered beneath discipline. At the turn toward the west wing, Aurora stopped and faced Evelyn.
"Your chamber will be the one I used when I first came to Velmora," she said, her gaze held steady. "I hope you meant what you said," she added, no heat in the words, only the bluntness of a blade set on a table. "For your sake."
Evelyn's smile reappeared, softer now. "I do." she answered.
Aurora turned to Lira. "See to her lodging," she said. "Linens fresh, and a bath drawn. The balcony doors stick—have them planed."
"Yes, my lady," Lira said, bowing. She gestured, and two palace maids stepped forward to lead the Elareth princess down the long gallery.
Evelyn allowed herself one last glance as Aurora walked away—silver hair catching sunlight, a hush following her like reverence. Then she faced the direction of her corridor and followed the maids.
The chamber awaited her—airy, high-windowed, with a filigree balcony looking over cypress and fountain. Even empty, it was more gracious than anything she had ever possessed in Elareth. The maids curtseyed and withdrew when the last chest had been set inside, and the door clicked quietly shut.
Evelyn stood very still in the center of the chamber.
It was beautiful. It was infuriating.
Something naked flickered in Evelyn's eyes—this chamber was hers? The thought tasted of bile and honey.
She crossed to the balcony and pushed the doors open. Garden air slipped in—cool, fragrant with lemon and crushed rosemary. Below, a pair of servants carried a basket of gleaming fruit; a child of some courtier darted through a colonnade, laughing, chased by a nurse. No hunger bit at this place. No fear bowed its people to the ground.
Her fingers tightened on the railing until the knuckles blanched. All of this. For her.
She turned back inside and let her palm trail the smooth edge of a table, the silk of a canopy cord, the polished bronze of a mirror. In that circle of reflection, a hard-eyed young woman stared back—composed, beautiful, furious.
"Smile," she told the mirror. She did. It was flawless.
But beneath the varnish, a vow steeled. If this palace crowned her, I will unmake her crown. If this king adores her, I will make him doubt. If this kingdom lifts her name, I will teach it to whisper mine.
The water in the adjoining chamber hissed into a waiting bath. Somewhere a bell tolled the hour. Evelyn smoothed her gown and exhaled, slow.
I am inside the walls, she thought, and the knowledge warmed her like strong wine. Now I begin.