Chapter Thirteen · The Price of Alliance

Under the vaulted ceiling of Quartz Canopy Hall, candlelight fractured into shifting layers of brilliance and drifted over white floral arrangements that smelled faintly too sweet.

“Long live the former King Aethrador! Long live the legacy of the Tharion dynasty!”

Music filled the air. Glasses clinked. Words of celebration moved among clusters of nobles.

Chancellor Syveris stood beside Prince Luca, one hand resting on the wine decanter.

“This is a memorable night, Your Highness,” he said.

He filled Luca’s glass before the servants could step in.

Luca laughed. “Then I suppose I shouldn’t hold back tonight.”

“No one would want you to,” Syveris replied with a faint smile.

The glass was refilled as soon as it emptied.

Syveris raised his own glass in a brief toast, then stepped away, leaving Luca surrounded by a wave of congratulations.

Princess Lyra moved through clusters of laughing nobles, a small crown resting on her head.

In a quiet corner of the hall, a young lady stood alone. A necklace caught the light at her throat, its design reserved for the royal court.

Lyra had never seen her before.

“Lady, what is your name?”

“Elena. I come from the Aulith Fae.” The girl glanced briefly at Lyra, then looked away again, both hands wrapped around a glass of wine she had not yet touched.

“Aulith Fae. Are you the High Lady’s daughter?”

“No. I am her niece.”

Lyra’s eyes dropped to the necklace.

“An engagement gift?”

Elena gave a faint smile.

“Prince Luca gave it to me. My father said that if our fae line binds itself to the royal family, Aulith will be granted greater favor.”

Her voice faded at the end of the sentence.

Lyra lifted her glass in a quiet toast, but her thoughts drifted back to a conversation she had overheard in the Throne Hall.

Syveris. High Lady of Aulith.

Soul Covenant.

And now marriage.

Too many coincidences?

Lyra kept her eyes on Elena.

A girl standing in candlelight refracted through crystal, more display piece than future bride.

A faint unease settled in her chest.

A while later, Lyra left the grand hall. The smell of wine had begun to make her lightheaded.

When she stepped into the Great Garden, she unexpectedly crossed paths with Haris. Music still drifted faintly from the hall behind them.

“About the fountain, when we were children…” Haris said.

Lyra looked at him.

“I was curious about you. I wanted to show off.”

His voice stayed quiet.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“I’ve forgotten it already,” Lyra said.

But she had hated him for it anyway.

Her eyes shifted away.

Why is he suddenly being normal today?

A faint smile touched her lips.

Haris drew in a breath.

“Last time… because of you, my father was cleared of all charges. Thank you.”

Lyra looked at him, then let out a small laugh. “Don’t say it like I did something great. High Commander Rogan was always a good man.”

Neither of them spoke after that. They walked side by side through the cool garden.

The air felt better here.

Suddenly—

“Prince, please… let go of me!”

A young maid’s panicked voice rang out nearby.

Lyra and Haris exchanged a glance before quickly moving toward the sound.

In the shadow of a tree, Luca was gripping a young maid’s wrist. Her dress had been pulled askew as she struggled to break free.

Luca laughed loudly. The smell of wine clung heavily to him.

“Don’t tremble like that,” he said.

His knee edged closer as he leaned in.

Lyra rushed forward, shoved him hard, and pulled the maid behind her.

“Prince,” she said sharply, “show some restraint. This is the Royal Palace.”

Luca swayed slightly, squinting at her.

“A princess? You don’t even have magic?”

He let out a low laugh, then turned his gaze toward Haris.

“And you. Why are you even with her? Acting all high and mighty.”

“That’s enough, Luca,” Haris said coldly.

Luca shrugged, lifting his chin.

“I like who I like. You don’t get a say in it.”

Lyra stepped forward, frowning as her gaze locked onto his.

“Not against her will,” she said firmly.

“It doesn’t matter.” Luca stepped closer. “After the wedding, things will be different.”

A chill ran down Lyra’s spine.

She grabbed Luca by the front of his collar and lifted her fist.

A shard of ice struck her wrist mid-motion.

“Don’t,” Haris said, shaking his head. “He’s not worth it.”

Lyra looked at him.

Her grip on Luca’s collar slowly loosened.

If she struck him here, it would no longer be about protecting a maid. It would become a scandal—one with a crown on her head.

Luca jerked free from her grip, letting out a mocking laugh.

“Just wait,” he said. “After I’m married, I’ll make sure all of you understand your place.”

No one spoke.

He turned and walked away, unsteady on his feet, his laughter still carrying through the air.

Lyra clenched her fist. The fire in her chest had not cooled.

Her gaze drifted toward Quartz Canopy Hall. The light inside still blazed brilliantly. Elena still stood within it, unaware of what had just happened.

A betrothal. A threat.

And a crack had just formed at the edge of the royal garden’s shadows.

“He hides behind his father’s power and thinks no one can touch him,” Haris said. After a pause, he added, “Let’s not take this any further. It’ll only cause trouble.”

He gave her a brief farewell, then left Lyra alone.

Late into the night, the banquet finally came to an end.

Lady Elena had been assigned a room on the upper floors of the White Lily Pavilion, an area of the palace reserved for honored guests from allied houses.

Lyra couldn’t stop her thoughts from circling back.

After everything she had seen, if she were in Elena’s place, she would feel nothing but humiliation—being bound to a husband known for wandering eyes and reckless behavior.

Her steps slowed, but they didn’t stop. Before she realized it, she was already standing in front of Elena’s door.

A maid from Aulith lowered her head.

“Your Highness, the lady is changing. Please wait here a moment.”

“It’s fine. I’ll stand here for a bit,” Lyra said.

A night breeze moved through the corridor, lightly lifting the hair at her brow.

The hallway fell into silence. Lyra leaned against a stone pillar.

From a distance, a Spirit Bird descended and dropped a slip of paper at her feet.

No seal. No wax. No insignia. The edges were still faintly warm, as if it had just left someone’s hand.

“Whose letter is this?”

Lyra bent down and picked it up.

At first, the paper was blank.

Then fine ink lines appeared like threads, glowing with a faint blue light.

Words slowly formed before her eyes.

When the ritual is completed, command authority will be transferred.

Ensure the northern camp does not receive supply shipments in time.

Merge the forces that same night.

Her heart skipped a beat.

What was this?

Command authority. The north. Consolidating forces.

Not a single word mentioned rebellion—but the intent was clear.

“Right after the wedding night…”

Lyra barely had time to register the words before the ink began to fade.

She brought the paper closer to the candlelight, trying to read it again. But the letters curled inward, as if being pulled back into an unseen point, then vanished entirely.

The paper turned completely blank once more.

Footsteps echoed in the corridor.

“Your Highness, the lady is ready to see you.”

Lyra folded the paper along its original crease and held it tightly.

She stepped inside.

Elena, her softly curled blonde hair falling over her shoulders, lowered her head and offered a polite smile.

“You’ve come to see me, Your Highness?”

Lyra glanced around the room before turning back to her.

“I wanted to make sure you’re alright. We should properly host a descendant of Aulith.”

“I’m fine,” Elena said, her fingers lightly brushing the pendant at her throat. “The prince said everything would begin anew after the wedding.”

A new beginning…

Lyra placed the blank piece of paper on the table beside her.

“Did you drop this?”

Elena looked down and shook her head.

“What is it?”

“Nothing. I must’ve picked it up by accident outside your door.”

Lyra took the paper back.

“Rest well. I’m heading back to the Moontis Chamber.”

Elena opened her mouth as if to ask something, but hesitated. She didn’t dare press further.

She bowed and escorted Lyra out a short distance.

Lyra walked down the corridor, her steps slowing with each passing moment.

Something about all of this didn’t sit right.

No evidence. No witnesses.

An innocent girl reassuring herself. A piece of paper whose words had vanished.

The wedding. The message. The timing.

All of it pointed in the same direction—the northern camp.

Someone was playing a game.

And she was already inside it.