The Noriel carriage stopped at the palace steps while the day edged past its peak.

Aline adjusted her gloves and forced her hands to stay still.

"Stop fidgeting," her mother said. Shalen Noriel sat across from her, dressed in deep green silk that matched her eyes. "You look nervous."

"I'm fine."

"You're pulling at your sleeves." Her mother's gaze sharpened. "Is it him?"

Aline kept her gaze on the window instead. "It's nothing."

"It's always something when it comes to your cousin."

"Shalen." Hosrick's voice held a warning. He sat beside his wife, broad-shouldered and gray at the temples, wearing the kind of expression that suggested he'd rather be anywhere else. "Leave her alone."

"I'm simply observing."

"You're prodding."

"Someone has to."

Cassar bounced on the seat between them. "Are there going to be horses?"

"No, darling," Shalen said.

"Swords?"

"No."

"What about—"

"There will be food and boring conversation," Hosrick cut in. "Try to look interested."

"That sounds terrible."

"Welcome to nobility."

Aline almost smiled. Her brother was seven, gap-toothed, and utterly uninterested in anything that required him to sit still. She envied him.

The carriage door opened. A footman offered his hand.

Shalen descended first, every movement precise. Hosrick followed, then lifted Cassar down despite the boy's protests that he could jump. Aline came last, smoothing her dress—pale blue with silver embroidery, the kind of thing her mother had picked out because it was "appropriate."

Aline would have chosen red.

The palace entrance loomed ahead. Guests streamed through—lords and ladies in their finest, jewels catching the fading light, voices rising in practiced greetings.

"When's Vencian coming?" Cassar bounced on his heels, grinning. "Is he here yet?"

Aline focused on the flow of people ahead, anything but the name.

"Soon, probably," Shalen said.

"Will Aunt Lumea be here too?" Cassar asked.

"No." Hosrick's voice went quiet. "Your aunt sent word she won't be attending."

Shalen glanced at her husband. "Did she say why?"

"She asked us to look after Vencian. Make sure he's all right." Hosrick's expression darkened slightly. "That's all."

Aline looked away, the words hitting harder than she expected.

She'd tried visiting after Caesor and Moses died. Vencian had been polite, distant, his grief worn like armor. She'd asked questions—too many, probably—because she'd needed to understand what had happened to the boy she'd grown up with.

He'd answered in monosyllables.

She hadn't gone back.

Coward.

"Aline." Hosrick touched her shoulder. "Stay close to your mother. Don't wander off."

"I won't."

He studied her face, then nodded. "Good."

They moved toward the entrance. Cassar tugged at his father's sleeve, already complaining about his collar.

Aline followed, her steps slowed despite herself.

The venue spread before them—vaulted ceilings, crystal chandeliers, walls draped in crimson and gold. Tables lined the perimeter, laden with wine and delicacies. Musicians played somewhere out of sight. The air smelled of roses and expensive perfume.

Aline scanned the crowd. Familiar faces, familiar names. The kingdom's highest nobility gathered in clusters, talking, laughing, performing the careful dance of court politics.

Then the murmurs started.

Heads turned toward the entrance. Voices dipped, then rose with interest. Aline turned too.

Seris Valemont had arrived.

She moved through the crowd like she owned it, her dress a deep emerald silk, cut to move like water when she crossed the floor.Her hair was pinned up, revealing the line of her neck. She wore no jewels except small earrings. Sapphires, probably.

Aline's shoulders loosened at the sight of her.

She crossed the room without thinking.

"You're stunning," she said when she reached her.

Seris's expression shifted—neutral to pleased in the space of a heartbeat. "Aline."

"That dress." Aline gestured at it. "Where did you even find something like that?"

"My mother's seamstress."

"It should be illegal."

"To look good?"

"To look that good." Aline fell into step beside her as they walked toward the refreshment tables. "Who are you trying to impress?"

"No one."

"Liar."

Seris's mouth curved slightly. "I'm here for the crown prince's engagement. Looking presentable seemed appropriate."

"You're beyond presentable. You're—" Aline waved her hand vaguely. "You're making everyone else look underdressed."

"That's the point."

Aline laughed. It felt good, breaking through the tension she'd carried since arriving.

They accepted wine from a servant, scanning the room for somewhere to sit. A small table near the eastern windows stood empty—far enough from the center to avoid scrutiny, close enough to watch everything.

Perfect.

They claimed it, settling into chairs with practiced ease.

Seris had always been like this—sharp, confident, beautiful in a way that made people stare. But sitting across from her now, Aline could see the small things: the way Seris held her glass with both hands, the tension in her shoulders, the careful neutrality in her eyes.

She was nervous.

Seris Valemont. Nervous.

"Are you all right?" Aline asked quietly.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"You're gripping that glass like it might escape."

Seris loosened her hold fractionally. "I'm fine."

"You're a terrible liar."

"I'm an excellent liar. You're just better at reading me than most people."

Fair point.

"Your family?" Seris asked.

"Somewhere." Aline gestured vaguely toward the crowd. "My brother's probably trying to escape already."

"Smart child."

"He has his moments."

The music shifted. Conversation rose and fell in waves. More guests arrived—lords from the eastern provinces, merchants who'd bought their way into minor titles, a handful of clergy in white robes.

Aline sipped her wine and tried to enjoy the moment—sitting beside her friend, wearing a pretty dress, pretending everything was normal.

Then the murmurs started.

Low at first, rippling through the crowd like wind through grass. Heads turned toward the entrance. Voices dropped, then rose again—sharper, more interested.

Seris sipped her wine, barely glancing up. "Which poor soul is causing the commotion?"

Aline looked.

She stilled, wine halfway to her lips.

"Vencian," she said quietly.

"Oh," Seris said, her eyes still on her drink rather than at the entrance. "Still. Why are murmurring like they haven't seen a high noble before?"

Aline's gaze stayed fixed on the entrance. "He's not alone."

Seris looked up then.

"He's with a girl," Aline said.

"Oh." Seris's fingers tightened around her glass.

Just slightly.

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