By dawn, the tension in the palace had thickened into something tangible.
Lucien walked the east wing corridor in silence, his guards trailing several paces behind. He barely noticed them. His thoughts were still on Aveline—the way she'd stood her ground in court, her voice like silk hiding a dagger.
And the way Calista had cracked.
He didn't care what mask she wore next—Lucien had seen enough to know: this wasn't just court intrigue anymore.
It was a war brewing beneath gilded ceilings.
He turned sharply, dismissing the guards with a nod, and stepped into a rarely used council chamber. The heavy oak doors closed behind him with a solid thud.
Already waiting were two figures—one of his personal informants, cloaked and hooded, and Lord Kael, a loyal ally from his father's inner circle.
"My lord," Kael greeted, frowning. "You called for a private briefing?"
Lucien didn't sit.
"I want every piece of information we have on the D'Amara family's old alliances," he said coldly. "Every noble they once had in their pocket, every servant dismissed after the trial, every letter intercepted or conveniently lost. I want names. Faces. Motives."
Kael stiffened slightly. "This… is about Lady Aveline."
"It's about what's coming," Lucien corrected. "She isn't the threat here. She's the target. And I need to know who's aiming."
The informant stepped forward. "There's something else. A courier was caught leaving the north gate last night. Carrying a message bearing House Halbrith's seal."
Calista's family.
Lucien's eyes narrowed. "Where was it going?"
"To the Grand Temple," the informant said. "To request formal charges—against Lady Aveline."
Kael's face drained. "They're going for blood."
"They won't get it," Lucien said sharply. "Not while I breathe."
A moment of stunned silence followed.
Then Kael nodded. "Understood, Your Highness. I'll gather what we have."
Lucien waited until they were gone, then turned back to the window.
A storm was coming.
And for the first time, he wasn't just watching it from the palace steps.
He was stepping into it.
Same Morning — West Wing, Aveline's Private Chambers
The wind had changed.
Not the weather—though clouds had begun to gather above the city walls—but something subtler. More insidious.
Aveline stood at the window, her tea untouched. Elise moved quietly around the room, adjusting the drapes, fluffing cushions, pretending not to feel the tension that had settled like frost.
"Is it just me," Elise ventured, "or are the corridors quieter today?"
Aveline didn't respond immediately. Her gaze remained on the horizon.
"No," she murmured. "They're watching. Waiting."
She'd felt it the moment she woke—the way servants had avoided her eyes, how the guards lingered just a bit too long at her door. Even the usual gossip had gone silent, replaced by a loaded, brittle stillness.
Something had happened.
And whatever it was—it wasn't small.
A knock interrupted her thoughts.
One of the royal stewards entered, bowing low. "My lady, Her Majesty the Dowager Queen has summoned you. Immediately."
Elise stiffened. Aveline turned slowly.
Of course she had.
She gave a cool, unreadable smile. "Tell her I'll be there shortly."
The steward hesitated. "She was… insistent."
"So am I," Aveline said smoothly.
When he left, Elise stepped closer, whispering, "Do you think it's about the court meeting?"
"No," Aveline replied, her voice like steel wrapped in silk. "It's about what I didn't say."
She crossed to the mirror, adjusting her gloves, her expression composed. Regal.
"Let them summon me," she said. "Let them play their next hand."
Then softer, to herself—
"I've been waiting for it."
Later — The Dowager Queen's Solar
The solar was warm with filtered sunlight and the scent of roses. Too warm. Too sweet.
Aveline entered in silence, her gown sweeping behind her like a shadow. The guards stepped back, allowing the door to close with a quiet finality.
At the far end of the room, seated like a crowned spider at the center of her web, was Dowager Queen Virelle.
She didn't rise.
"Lady D'Amara," the Queen said, stirring her tea with slow precision. "I must admit, I was curious whether you would come."
Aveline dipped into a shallow curtsy, just low enough to be polite. "When the Queen Dowager summons, it would be unwise not to."
A pause. Porcelain clinked softly.
"You've made quite the impression, my dear," Virelle said, folding her hands over her lap. "The court hasn't been so… animated in years."
"I merely answered what was asked of me."
"You turned whispers into knives."
Aveline didn't flinch. "Sometimes, knives are necessary."
Virelle's smile was slow. Cold. "You remind me of your mother."
That made Aveline pause—but only for a breath.
"I'll take that as a compliment."
"Oh, it wasn't meant as one."
Another silence. The air seemed heavier now.
Virelle leaned forward, voice lower. "You've disrupted balances that took decades to build. You've made allies of enemies, enemies of ghosts. And now, House Halbrith wants your name struck from every noble ledger."
"Do they?" Aveline's gaze didn't waver. "Then they're welcome to try."
"They already have. A courier was intercepted last night. Petitioning the Grand Temple for charges against you. Treason. Witchcraft."
That made Elise, standing behind Aveline, visibly tense. But Aveline?
She only tilted her head, calm and sharp as a blade.
"Then I hope they've written their lies well. Because I have no intention of falling quietly."
Virelle studied her for a long moment.
Then, almost fondly, she said, "If you weren't so dangerous, I might almost admire you."
"I didn't come to be admired," Aveline replied. "Only to be heard."
And with that, she curtsied again—just as shallow, just as deliberate—and turned to leave.
Behind her, the Dowager's voice floated out softly:
"Be careful, Lady D'Amara. The court doesn't just destroy people like you."
Aveline paused at the door.
"No," she said without turning. "It tries."
Then she stepped out—and closed the door behind her.
Later That Day — Lucien's Private Study
The scroll in Lucien's hand crackled as he reread the seal: the official crest of the Grand Temple. He didn't open it.
He didn't need to.
The courier intercepted last night had delivered the same message—one he'd hoped wouldn't reach his desk.
But it had.
Charges against Aveline.
Fabricated. Cowardly. Political.
Lucien stood by the hearth, jaw tight, staring into the fire like it could give him answers.
"She was in the Dowager Queen's solar earlier," Kael said from behind him. "We couldn't get close, but she came out… different."
Lucien turned slowly. "How?"
"Cold. Steady. She didn't speak to anyone. Not even her maid."
Lucien dropped the scroll onto the table. "Then she knows."
"She's not safe."
"She hasn't been for a while."
He moved to his desk, pulled out a sealed letter—one he'd already prepared days ago, just in case—and handed it to Kael.
"Deliver this to Lord Arcen of the Eastern Border. He owes me a favor."
Kael frowned. "Reinforcements?"
"Allegiance," Lucien replied. "If the court means to destroy her publicly, I want lords who'll stand on her side when the storm hits."
"And if they refuse?"
Lucien's voice was ice.
"Then they're choosing their own graves."
Kael took the letter, bowed, and left.
Lucien remained by the fire, staring at the fading embers.
He didn't know how this would end—not yet.
But he knew one thing:
He wouldn't let them take her down without a fight.
Aveline's Chambers — Just After the Solar Meeting
The moment the door shut behind her, Aveline exhaled.
Not fear. Not weakness.
Control.
She pulled off her gloves slowly, each motion deliberate. Elise stood nearby, hands twisting nervously in her apron.
"They mean to break you," she said softly. "With lies. Rumors. They're already whispering about the Grand Temple."
Aveline met her eyes through the mirror. "Then let them whisper."
Elise hesitated. "And if it becomes more than that?"
"Then I'll speak louder."
A knock interrupted them.
This one was different—soft, quick. Familiar.
Elise opened the door just enough to reveal a hooded figure. A palace runner. Trusted.
The boy handed over a scroll, sealed in black wax. Elise passed it to Aveline without a word.
She broke the seal.
No signature. No crest. Just a single line in Lucien's unmistakable handwriting:
"They've moved. So have I."
Aveline stared at the words.
Not an apology. Not a warning.
A promise.
She folded the letter, slipping it into the inner lining of her sleeve. When she looked up, her expression had changed—calmer, but with fire behind her eyes.
"Elise."
"My lady?"
"Send word to the eastern tower. I want to visit the archives. Quietly."
"The archives?"
Aveline's smile was cold and razor-sharp. "If they want a trial… then I want leverage."