“You wear your father’s crest well,” Vireya said, lips curled. “But not everyone can be saved by blood.”
The Federation banquet glittered like a battlefield. Polished floors reflected a hundred pairs of polished shoes, and every smile was a dagger.
Seren stood just beyond the second column, speaking with a trade envoy about shipping reforms when the scent of orange blossom and danger wrapped around her like a noose.
Vireya’s voice sliced through the hum of music and murmurs. She approached in a crimson gown far too bold for diplomacy, wine glass tilted just enough to feign elegance.
“You wear your father’s crest well,” she said again, circling slightly to stand just a little too close. “But not everyone can be saved by Daddy.”
Seren turned slowly, her expression carved from stone.
“True,” she said. “But that doesn’t excuse the way you treated me.”
A few nearby heads turned. The temperature around them dipped. Vireya laughed softly, but there was no warmth in it.
“You don’t fool me with your poised act. You still flinch when you hear his name, don’t you?”
Seren raised her glass but didn’t drink. “No. But I flinch when I smell desperation.”
The smile cracked for just a second.
“He still speaks of you,” Vireya said quickly, tilting her head. “More than he should. Late at night. After the court lights dim. You’re not as forgotten as you want to be.”
“I don’t want to be forgotten,” Seren said. “I want to be remembered correctly.”
Vireya’s tone sharpened. “You act as if you weren’t complicit. As if you were some innocent casualty.”
“I was,” Seren replied, “until I realized surviving was no longer enough.”
Before Vireya could reply, a voice interrupted from the side: clear, dry, and deliberate.
“He also used her as a shield,” Riven said, appearing between them with a glass in one hand and a sharp smile on his lips. “Funny how no one ever brings that up at parties.”
The music kept playing, but the room tensed. Vireya’s smile turned brittle. “You always did know how to interrupt at the wrong time.”
“And you always did know how to mistake cruelty for charm,” Riven said smoothly. “Some habits die hard.”
“Is this how you advance your career now?” she asked. “Trailing behind her like a loyal hound?”
“I don’t follow anyone,” he said. “But I don’t mind standing on the right side of things.”
A noble nearby let out a quiet laugh behind his glass. Someone murmured “Finally,” behind a fan. A few amused glances passed like sparks.
Vireya stiffened. “You think this wins her anything?”
“It doesn’t need to,” Seren said softly. “Because I already won.”
She turned then, robes catching the light, and walked away without a backward glance. Vireya stood motionless, her grip tightening on her glass. One drop of wine spilled onto the floor.
Outside, the air was gentler. Seren leaned on the veranda railing, her fingers smoothing over the marble edge as her heartbeat finally slowed. The moon hung low, casting long shadows across the courtyard, and the garden lamps flickered with soft firelight.
She didn’t turn when the door opened. Riven stepped into the quiet and stopped a few paces behind her.
“You didn’t need my help,” he said finally.
Her voice was low but steady. “I didn’t.” She glanced at him, the faintest curve to her mouth. “But I appreciated it anyway.”
That night, when she returned to her chambers, she lit only one candle. She slipped off the robe, loosened her hair, and lay beneath the covers with no armor, no tension, no ghost waiting in the corner.
And for the first time in years, Seren Veris slept—without dreaming of her wedding.