The midday sun spilled in golden ribbons through Aya's tall windows, casting a gentle warmth over the gown draped across her form. It shimmered faintly, a whisper of moonlight woven into silk, with threads of silver trailing like frost along the sleeves and bodice. The train flowed behind her like wind on snow, pooling elegantly at her feet.
Raina stepped back, her brows furrowed in concentration as she adjusted the fall of the skirts. "Hold still, my Lady."
Aya obeyed, barely breathing. Four maids fluttered around her like birds, pinning, adjusting, smoothing seams. The scent of lavender clung to the air — Raina had insisted on lining the dressing room with sprigs to keep her calm.
"You look very beautiful," the youngest of the maids voiced, her eyes wide as she clasped her hands under her chin.
Aya offered her a wry smile. "Thank you."
"It's true," Raina said quickly, moving to adjust the silver clasp at Aya's shoulder. "It suits you, Lady Aya. Now, how do you want your hair done...?"
Aya looked at her reflection. Her storm-gray eyes met her own gaze — steady, but unsure. She looked regal, yes. But more like someone wearing a mask. Her hands fidgeted slightly at her sides.
"I think it's too much?" she said, unsure, almost to herself.
Raina shook her head. "It's perfect for your station."
"Really?" Aya whispered.
There was a pause.
"You should be a little bit more confident, my Lady," Raina said as she smiled back at her.
Aya blinked once, caught off guard by the affection in her voice. Then she nodded and let herself smile — small, but real.
Later, with the gown folded away in silk and the room cleared of bustling maids, the sun had dipped below the edge of the horizon when Aya stepped onto her balcony. The city glowed in amber and crimson below her, torches being lit one by one across the castle grounds. From this height, Athax seemed quiet, peaceful, even.
She leaned against the stone railing and looked up.
The stars were just beginning to show.
She thought of her mother.
Lady Jun of House Svedana had once been the most beautiful woman in the North — or so the stories said. Aya remembered her Mother before the years darkened her image. Her mother's fleeting laughter, gentle fingers, and stories told by firelight.
Aya's older siblings had told her how their mother had fallen in love with a soldier—not a prince or lord, but a man with weathered hands and eyes like early snow. Against her family's wishes, she chose him. She married for love.
But love had not been enough to stop the tides of greed and politics. Their father had grown hungry for power. And in the end, his own wife, Lady Jun, had been caught in the cold machinery of succession and war.
She closed her eyes.
What kind of Queen will I be? she thought. Useful? Kind? Feared?
And what if Killan wants children? What happens then?
Aya could only hope she would be half what her mother was. She loved her children and her people. And even at her end, she loved the very man who pushed her to the brink of insanity and death.
"Save them, my love," Aya heard her mother's voice as if it was yesterday. "You're the only one who can. Don't let him hurt you or anyone anymore."
A soft tremor ran through her limbs. Not fear — but something akin to it. Her fingers curled along the balcony edge, and the stone beneath her hand suddenly warmed.
A flicker. A breath of energy. Her pulse spiked.
The air around her rippled outward — like water struck by a single drop.
Her summoner's gift had always responded to feeling. And right now, Aya was a storm beneath the skin.
Elsewhere in the city, under the flicker of dim torches, Eir walked quietly through a silent alley. She moved with purpose, her cloak drawn tightly around her shoulders.
Waiting near a pillar stood a man — tall, dressed in plain leathers, face half-shrouded.
"You risk much being seen here," she muttered.
"So do you," the man replied. His voice was smooth, practiced.
He produced no name, nor did she ask for one.
"I guess now, it's safe to say you will never be able to get into the King's bed," he said, glancing sideways at her. "For tomorrow, your new Queen will be crowned and claimed."
"I haven't forgotten," Eir said coldly. "You need not remind me."
"She has the favor of the people, from what I heard. The council. All the Northern Houses bend toward her."
"And what of you?" Eir snapped.
He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "There are those in the West who remember old promises. Old betrayals."
"Good," Eir murmured. "Then we are not finished."
She turned and left with a swirl of her cloak, disappearing into the shadows. Behind her, the man waited a moment longer… and then faded into the dark.