The corridor stretched ahead of him, marble floors gleaming under the light of chandeliers. Vencian's footsteps echoed in the quiet, each one marking the distance between him and Rulen's final warning.

Giving those ritual materials to you was one thing.

The words circled through his mind, refusing to settle.

Rulen had given him the ritual materials. Given them.

Why?

The second question followed immediately on the heels of the first: how much did Rulen know?

Did he understand what those materials were truly meant for? Did he realize they were for some different purpose perhaps to bring someone from another world entirely, replace one soul with another? Or had he simply provided them thinking they were for some other purpose—research, perhaps, or curiosity?

Vencian's fingers curled into fists at his sides.

And the final question, the one that made his chest tighten: did Rulen know what had actually happened?

Did he know that Vencian Vicorra was gone, replaced by someone who didn't belong in this world at all?

The possibility sat in his mind like a stone, cold and immovable. If Rulen knew—if he'd suspected even for a moment—then the warning took on a different weight entirely. Someone keeping a dangerous secret contained and not a friend trying to protect him

Vencian exhaled slowly, forcing his thoughts to slow. Speculation wouldn't help. He needed answers, but those would have to wait. Right now, he had an engagement to attend and a Pentarch member to identify.

He turned the corner toward the main hall, the noise of the gathering growing louder with each step. Voices layered over one another, laughter punctuating the low hum of conversation. The scent of wine and perfume drifted through the air, mingling with the faint aroma of roasted meats from the kitchens below.

A tug at his sleeve pulled him out of his thoughts.

Vencian stopped, glancing down. A small hand gripped the fabric of his coat, and when he followed the arm upward, he found himself looking into a pair of pale blue eyes framed by auburn hair that fell messily across a young forehead.

Cassar Noriel blinked up at him, his expression bright with recognition.

"Vencian!"

The tension in Vencian's chest eased slightly, and he crouched down to the boy's level. "Cassar. What are you doing wandering around by yourself?"

"I'm not wandering. I was looking for you."

"Were you?"

Cassar nodded enthusiastically. "Mama said you'd be here, and I wanted to see you. You haven't visited in forever."

"I've been busy."

"That's what Aline said." Cassar's nose wrinkled. "She said you're always busy now."

Vencian smiled faintly and ruffled the boy's hair. "Your sister's not wrong."

Cassar grinned, then threw his arms around Vencian's neck in a sudden hug. The gesture was so unguarded, so purely affectionate, that Vencian felt something in his chest tighten. He returned the embrace carefully, mindful of how small Cassar still was.

"I missed you," Cassar murmured against his shoulder.

"I missed you too."

Footsteps approached from behind, and Vencian straightened, lifting Cassar up as he turned. Shalen and Hosrick Noriel appeared around the corner, Shalen's expression lighting with relief when she spotted her son.

"There you are," Shalen said, hurrying forward. "Cassar, I told you to stay with us."

"I wanted to see Vencian."

Hosrick followed at a more measured pace, his expression warm as he met Vencian's gaze. "Good to see you, nephew."

"Uncle. Aunt." Vencian set Cassar down gently, keeping a hand on the boy's shoulder.

Shalen reached them and immediately began fussing over Cassar's hair, smoothing it back into place. "You look well, Vencian. Truly. I wasn't sure we'd see you tonight."

"I couldn't put off public appearances forever."

"Still." She stepped closer, her eyes scanning his face with the kind of maternal scrutiny that made him feel oddly exposed. "You've grown into yourself. You look more like your father the more I see you."

The words landed heavier than she'd likely intended. Vencian's smile didn't falter, but something in his chest twisted. "Thank you."

Hosrick placed a hand on his shoulder, the grip firm and grounding. "We were glad to hear you'd be attending. Your aunt's been worried."

"I'm fine."

"You say that, but—" Shalen's voice caught, and she shook her head. "I'm sorry we couldn't make it back in time. After... after everything."

She didn't need to specify what she meant. The funeral. Caesor and Moses, laid to rest while half the kingdom watched and whispered.

"You came," Vencian said quietly. "That's what mattered."

Hosrick had arrived three days after the burial, mud-splattered and exhausted from the journey. He hadn't said much—just stood beside Vencian at the graves and stayed there until the sun set. It was more than most had done.

"Still," Shalen said, her voice soft. "We should have been there."

Cassar tugged at Vencian's coat again, oblivious to the weight of the conversation. "Are you staying for the whole party? Mama said there's going to be dancing."

"I'll be here for a while."

"Good." Cassar grinned. "Aline said you don't dance anymore, but I think she's wrong."

"She's not wrong."

"You used to dance with her all the time."

Vencian's smile turned rueful. "That was a long time ago."

"Cassar, that's enough," Shalen said gently, though her expression held a trace of amusement. "Let Vencian breathe."

Footsteps approached again, lighter this time, and Vencian glanced up to see Aline returning from the direction of the main hall. She wasn't alone.

Seris Valemont walked beside her, her posture perfect, her expression poised. The deep emerald of her gown caught the light as she moved, the fabric trailing slightly behind her. Her hair was pinned back in an intricate arrangement, and her eyes—cool, unreadable—swept over the group before settling on Vencian.

Shalen's demeanor shifted immediately, her hand tightening on Cassar's shoulder as she straightened. Hosrick inclined his head in a respectful nod.

"Lady Valemont," Shalen said, her tone warm but deferential. "It's an honor."

Seris's gaze flicked to her briefly before returning to Vencian. "Lady Noriel. Lord Noriel."

Aline stepped forward, her smile bright but brittle at the edges. "I ran into Seris in the hall. She was asking after you."

The words hung in the air, innocuous on the surface but laced with something sharper underneath. Vencian met Seris's gaze, and for a moment, neither of them spoke.

Protocol demanded he acknowledge her. She was higher in rank, the daughter of a Duke, and this was a formal setting. The rules were clear.

Vencian stepped forward and extended his hand, palm up.

Seris's gaze dropped to it, then back to his face. The pause stretched for a heartbeat longer than necessary before she placed her gloved hand in his.

He lowered himself into a shallow bow, bringing her hand up as he pressed his lips to the glove covering her knuckles.

He straightened, releasing her hand. "Lady Valemont."

"Lord Vicorra."

Her voice was even, perfectly controlled, but her eyes held something colder. The silence that followed pressed against them all, heavy and uncomfortable. Aline's smile faltered, her gaze darting between them like she was trying to find a way to smooth over the tension.

"The hall's filling up quickly," Aline said brightly. "We should probably—"

"Yes," Shalen agreed quickly, her hand still firmly on Cassar's shoulder. "We wouldn't want to miss the prince's entrance."

Hosrick shifted slightly, his expression carefully neutral. Cassar looked confused, glancing between the adults with the kind of innocent bewilderment that came from sensing something wrong without understanding it.

Seris's gaze hadn't left Vencian's face. There was no warmth in her expression, no flicker of the girl he'd once known—or thought he'd known. Just the carefully maintained mask of nobility, polished and impenetrable.

A bell chimed in the distance, clear and resonant.

The sound cut through the awkwardness like a blade, and every head in the corridor turned toward the main hall. Voices rose in a sudden swell of excitement, the murmur of the crowd shifting into something louder, more focused.

"The king," Hosrick said quietly.

Aline's relief was visible as she stepped back, gesturing toward the hall. "We should go. Come on, Cassar."

The group began moving, the tension dissolving into the urgency of the moment. Seris turned without another word, her gown sweeping behind her as she rejoined Aline. Shalen guided Cassar forward, and Hosrick fell into step beside them.

Vencian followed at the rear, his hand curling into a fist at his side.

The bell chimed again, and the crowd surged toward the center of the hall.

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