Morning light crept into the room quietly, pale and restrained, filtering through the curtains without urgency. Claude stirred first, blinking as awareness returned slowly.
He became aware of her weight against him before anything else.
She was still asleep.
Her hair was spread across the pillow, face turned slightly toward him, lashes resting against her cheeks. Nothing in her expression hinted at unrest. If anything, she looked peaceful, an impression so rare it held him still longer than he intended.
Claude sat up, pulling on a clean shirt he'd left draped over the chair. He paused once more, glancing back at her, then stood and crossed the room quietly.
When she moved, it was slow.
A small movement first fingers tightening slightly in the sheets. Then she rolled onto her side, hair falling forward as she pushed herself upright. She didn't look at him immediately. Her movements were measured, deliberate, as though she were orienting herself.
Claude stayed still.
I woke up from the bed and crossed to the wardrobe without a word, choosing a dress with care. There was no rush in my actions, no trace of embarrassment or surprise,
I can let him know I'm embarrassed, what was I thinking last night.
I have quiet composure. By the time I turned back, I looked entirely put together.
Controlled.
I have left to go to the closet putting on a dress.
The dress covered my back completely.
Claude noticed anyway.
He always would.
Their eyes met briefly. His gaze lingered not on my face, but on the space just behind my shoulder blades,
I knew he's thinking about my scars on my back and I knew he knew.
He opened his mouth.
Closed it again.
I moved first.
"There's something I wanted to ask you."
That was enough to pull his focus back to her fully.
"Yes?"
"There's a princess arriving from the southern trade states," I said evenly. "Princess Samirah."
Claude lifted a brow. "I know her."
"Of course you do," I replied. "You know everyone."
A hint of a smile touched his expression.
"I'd like to meet her properly," I continued. "Not just at court."
"Why?" he asked.
"She's influential. And I'd prefer the introduction to be… personal."
He studied me for a moment. Whatever he saw seemed to satisfy him.
"I can arrange that."
I inclined my head slightly. "Thank you."
Claude adjusted his sleeves, then hesitated.
"Reanna."
I looked at him.
Now what, I got what I wanted. Why is he still talking?
"If you ever want to talk about what I noticed last night," he said carefully, "you don't need to hide it from me."
I froze and my expression didn't change.
"Maybe another time," I replied.
He nodded once.
He didn't push.
And as he left the room, Claude knew one thing with absolute certainty
Whatever game she was playing, she was playing it well.
And someone else had taught her how.
The southern delegation arrived beneath banners of gold and deep indigo, their procession slow and deliberate, meant to be seen.
Courtiers gathered along the marble steps, whispers already weaving through the air before the first carriage stopped.
I stood beside Claude, hands folded, posture composed. My dress flowed in deep shades of blue, the fabric soft and fluid, catching the light like open sky reflected on water. The color was intentional. Calm. Distant. It made my eyes look clearer than they felt, steadier than I was.
The doors opened.
Princess Samirah stepped down first.
Her skin was a beautiful light chocolate brown. Long brown hair spilled freely down her back, threaded with fine gold chains that shimmered as she moved. Her dark, intelligent brown eyes swept across the court with sharp awareness.
She wore layered silks in rich tones of dusk burnt amber, deep violet, molten gold embroidered with patterns older than this kingdom itself. Gold adorned her generously heavy cuffs etched with foreign script, cascading necklaces resting against her collarbone, rings glinting on nearly every finger.
None of it felt excessive.
It felt earned.
Behind her came two men.
The first was tall and broad shouldered, his posture unmistakably martial. Scars lined his hands openly, worn without shame. Rashid.
The second was slimmer, his gaze sharper, constantly movingmeasuring faces, reactions, alliances forming in real time. Idris.
Introductions followed. Titles spoken. Formalities observed.
When Samirah's gaze settled on me, it didn't pass over.
It lingered.
"This is Lady Rihanna of House Valen," Claude said.
I inclined my head. "It's a pleasure, Princess."
Samirah's eyes flicked briefly to my dress, then back to my face.
"You look like the sky before dusk," she said. "Clear. Endless."
Something warm touched her expression.
"The pleasure is mine," she added.
Rashid studied me openly. "You're composed."
"I've had practice," I replied.
"Hm," he said approvingly.
Idris tilted his head. "You choose your words carefully."
"I choose when to speak."
That earned a quiet smile.
Inside, the reception unfolded in layers of sound and movement. Music drifted through the hall. Servants moved like water between nobles. Claude and Daniel were quickly pulled into conversation with Rashid and Idris, voices low and diplomatic.
Samirah stayed near me.
"You don't perform," she said quietly, gold bracelets chiming softly as she adjusted them. "Most people here do."
"I find it exhausting," I admitted.
She laughed softly. "Then I like you already."
Rashid rejoined us briefly, offering a cup. "You seem familiar with us."
"I pay attention," I said lightly.
Idris's gaze sharpened. "To what?"
I hesitated just long enough to seem thoughtful.
"I think we must know one of my brother's closest friends," I said. "He speaks highly of Rashid. Says you're practically family."
Both brothers still.
Rashid's brows lifted. "Who?"
"Landon," I said calmly.
Recognition was instant.
"That bastard," Rashid said with a fond scoff. "Always collecting allies."
"He mentioned you helped him build trust early on," I added. "People follow you. That tends to reflect on those close to you."
Idris watched me closely now. "He told you this?"
"Enough," I said simply.
Rashid laughed. "Anyone who knows Landon well enough to say that without boasting earns my respect."
Samirah glanced at me, curiosity deepening.
"You know him well," she observed.
"Well enough," I replied.
And better than any of them would ever realize.
When the brothers were drawn back into conversation with Claude and Danenel, the noise softened between us.
Samirah and I drifted toward the tall windows overlooking the gardens.
"You didn't say that to impress them," she said.
"No," I replied. "I said it because it was useful."
Her smile was slow. Genuine. "Good. I dislike flattery."
We spoke then about travel, about growing up watched, about strength carried quietly. She told me about desert skies that never closed in. I told her just enough about stone walls and silence.
When I glanced back later, Claude was watching.
Not because I stood alone.
But because I didn't.
Samirah leaned closer and said softly, "You understand power."
"I understand survival."
She reached out briefly, her gold bracelets warm against my wrist. "Then you are welcome in my world."
And for the first time in a long while, the future didn't feel like it was tightening around my throat.
It felt like something I could shape.
Time slipped without either of us noticing.
What began as polite conversation softened into laughter real laughter, the kind that escaped before it could be controlled. Samirah spoke with her hands when she was animated, gold catching the light as she laughed at her own stories. I found myself smiling more easily than I had in months.
She told me about the heat of her homeland, how nights smelled of spice and fire, how music carried farther beneath open skies. I told her about winters that pressed in too tightly, about silence that lingered too long in hallways built for echoes.
"You hide well," she said at one point, studying me with that sharp, thoughtful gaze.
"So do you," I replied.
Her smile widened. "Then maybe that's why this feels… easy."
It did.
At some point, I became aware of our eyes on us.
Claude stood a short distance away with Rashid and Idris, their conversation paused. Rashid's arms were crossed, his expression openly amused. Idris watched us with that calculating calm but there was approval there too.
Claude followed my gaze and gave a small nod.
"It's good they're getting along," Rashid said, not bothering to lower his voice.
"It is," Idris agreed. "My sister doesn't warm to people quickly."
Claude's mouth curved slightly. "Neither does she."