The smell of cinnamon and scorched citrus curled down the hallway, thick and a little too sharp, which meant the kitchen spell had triggered too early again. My stomach gave a low, reluctant growl—it was tempting to go investigate—but I had about twenty minutes to make myself look like someone else.

I yanked the hem of my uniform skirt down over my thighs and leaned closer to the mirror. A pinprick of magic, quick and practiced, shimmered over my skin, wrapping me in the familiar warmth of glamour. It settled with that faint pressure I could always feel if I focused on it—a mask I wore as easily as breathing now.

I didn’t need it here. Not in the Summer Court. But I was heading straight for the human world the moment I left, and the habit was as ingrained as brushing my teeth. Better to keep it up. Safer that way.

The mirror rippled faintly, Veil-touched glass making my reflection waver before it sharpened into the lie: green eyes instead of starlit brown. A dusting of freckles over a warm nose. Autumn-ginger hair twisted into a half-up knot with strands framing my face just enough to make it look like I’d tried without trying. Normal. Human. Boring.

Exactly how they needed me to look. Exactly how Cassie would sneer if she ever knew—“how quaint, Quinveil, playing human.” I could already hear her voice in my head, sharp enough to cut me without even being in the room.

The glamour made my skin feel one degree cooler, like a fine mist settling on top of me, but underneath, the air carried the warmer notes of summer spice—muted, controlled, but still there. My fingers twitched as I adjusted a coil of hair, a restless little motion I couldn’t quite stop. The fire under my skin hadn’t burned itself out overnight.

And when I thought of last night—of that shard in my palm, thrumming like it knew me, like it had been waiting—I almost dropped the glamour entirely.

So did everyone else.

I pushed the thought down, snagged my bag from the chair, and stepped out into the hallway.

Seara was already waiting by the dining archway, flanked by two courtiers who definitely weren’t here for tea. She didn’t look up from the scroll in her hand, but her voice cut cleanly through the morning air—cool, deliberate, leaving no place to hide.

“You’ll be home by five sharp.”

The summer spice in my scent tightened, sharper now, edged with scorched citrus. “Sorry?”

She looked up then—beautiful, regal, terrifying—and gave me the kind of smile that meant I was already losing.

“The seasonal convergence dinner is tonight. The Autumn delegates arrive before dusk.”

My stomach sank. “You didn’t say anything about—”

“I’m saying it now.”

A courtesan ghosted forward to pour her tea. Seara didn’t break eye contact with me, not even as she lifted the cup with those perfect, painted nails that caught the light like polished amber. “I’ve made arrangements. Your place will be beside Zyrella. You’ll wear the golden dusk-gown. Selene had it pressed.”

The grip I had on the entryway’s carved frame was the only thing keeping me still. “I have a history presentation tomorrow. With Cassie. We were supposed to meet after school. We’re behind.”

“Then finish it before dinner.” Her voice was velvet wrapped around the kind of steel that could cut bone.

“We won’t have time before dinner.”

She took a slow sip of tea. “Then she can come here.”

“Cassie is human.”

“Mm.” Another sip. “Then I hope she knows how to use a fork.”

My jaw ached from how tightly I clenched it. “You know that’s not what I mean.”

“Do I?” She finally stood, tall and gleaming in her morning silks, firelight licking along the gold at her cuffs. “This is your court, Mira. Perhaps one day you’ll rule it. If she can’t handle one evening in our home, how do you expect her to survive the truths you’re so desperate to share?”

That last word—share—was weighted, deliberate. A reminder. She knew about the book. The one I’d taken from her study. The one I’d put in Cassie’s hands anyway. And she had let it happen.

Which meant this wasn’t just about dinner. This was her drawing Cassie into my world like it was a test—and knowing damn well Cassie would watch me choke on it.

I hated that I didn’t have an answer.

I hated that she knew it.

Seara crossed the floor to me and tucked a nonexistent strand of hair behind my ear with a touch too gentle to be real.

“Be home by five.”

And just like that, she was gone—vanishing into the corridor, her silk train whispering across the tiles like a threat that didn’t need to be spoken aloud.

The air shifted in her wake, warmer near the walls where the sunlight pooled, cooler where the shadows stretched long and narrow. Here, inside the Summer Court’s wards, the world always felt more alive—light had weight, color had taste, and the Veil’s hum was a constant, low thrum under my skin.

I stood there for a moment, letting the faint scent of her—smoke layered over citrus blossoms—linger like a perfume I couldn’t scrub off. My own scent sharpened again, summer spice curling tighter, until the nearest sconce flared brighter in answer. The gold in the wall mosaics seemed to glint sharper, too, like the estate itself had picked up my agitation and decided to wear it.

I didn’t give it the satisfaction of more.

My footsteps carried me in the opposite direction, the polished floor warm under bare soles, the distant sound of fountains and birdsong too serene for the mood coiled tight in my chest. The hallways here were a maze of sunlight, carved archways, and half-open doors that let the scent of blooming firelilies spill into the air.

Everywhere I went, the magic was watching. Waiting.

By the time I’d crossed the mosaic-floored entry hall, the estate’s warmth had already started pulling away from me like it knew I was leaving. Cool morning air brushed against my bare toes as the front doors opened. Somewhere in the garden, the last of the firelilies were dropping their petals, replaced by the first burnished leaves of late Baretree. The Veilwind carried a crisp edge now—autumn’s first breath—sharp enough to sting the inside of my nose.

I didn’t bother putting my shoes on until I reached the car. Slammed the door. Slammed the ignition. The hum of the Summer Court’s wards dimmed the instant the estate gates parted, replaced by the low growl of my engine.

I threw it into gear and let the tires chirp against polished cobblestone, leaving a little black smear across perfection. Let the steward report it. Let the courtiers whisper about the Firebrand heir acting out again. They’d be right.

The road toward Ravenrest sliced through the countryside, lined with trees just starting to burn gold and crimson. Baretree sunlight slanted low, glinting off the hood and catching the tiny motes of magic still clinging to my skin. I had everything glamoured—eyes, ears, hair—but the control frayed at the edges, little curls of heat threading through my chest like smoke through cloth.

Five o’clock.

Like I was a servant reporting for duty.

Like my life existed only in the empty spaces she allowed.

I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel without meaning to, a sharp, uneven rhythm that kept time with the pulse in my jaw. My palm itched where I’d held the shard last night, a phantom thrum that almost synced with the thrum of the tires on asphalt. The memory of it made my teeth clench harder.

The light ahead flipped to red, and I hit the brake harder than I needed to. The seatbelt locked tight across my chest. A guy in the lane beside me gave my car a once-over—then a second look at me. I didn’t even give him the satisfaction of a glare. The second green bloomed, I left him choking on exhaust and bad decisions.

My phone felt heavy in my blazer pocket, like it knew the conversation waiting inside it. I’d have to message Cassie before lunch. Find a way to cancel without it sounding like a brush-off. Or worse, an excuse.

Not that she ever bought anything I said without dissecting it.

“That’s the best you’ve got? Family emergency?” I could already hear her voice, crisp as frost, slicing through my excuses.

“Pathetic. At least make the lie interesting, Quinveil.”

Her imaginary commentary rode shotgun, smug and merciless.

And what was I supposed to tell her?

Sorry, can’t study—my mother’s dragging me to a secret diplomatic dinner with otherworldly nobles who’d sooner gut me than compliment my posture?

She’d laugh in my face, or worse, tilt her head with that surgical calm that made me feel like she’d already won.

The school gates appeared, all clean lines and human-world steel, and I felt the drop—magic fading into the background hum of engines and chatter. One world to the next. Masks on. Shoulders straight.

If I could just survive today, maybe I could still salvage the project.

And if I couldn’t—

Well, maybe Cassie would finally drop me for good.

It would hurt. Gods, it would.

But it would be cleaner than what was coming.

Cassie was already leaning against the stone wall outside Ravenrest’s admin wing when I spotted her.

Godsdamn it.

I’d hoped to catch her in the hallway between third and fourth period, slip in a quick excuse, maybe fake a stomach cramp or an emergency call from home. But there she was, arms crossed, expression carved from alabaster and judgment, waiting like she knew I was coming with bullshit.

I adjusted my blazer, added an extra bounce to my step, and plastered on the kind of smile that made teachers think I cared about their lives.

“Hey,” I said casually, as if I hadn’t spent the entire car ride rehearsing every possible version of this lie. “About after school—something came up.”

Cassie didn’t blink. “Canceling already? How very predictable.”

The bite in her tone hit harder than it should have. Predictable. Like she had me pinned to a board.

“I’m not canceling,” I lied with practiced ease. “I’m just saying we’ll need to push back our meeting. Maybe during lunch if you’re desperate. I can’t stay after the bell.”

Her arms tightened, flexing against the white of her blouse. “The presentation is tomorrow morning.”

“I know. It’s just—” I made a vague, pained gesture at my lower stomach. “—woman problems. Today’s a bad day.”

“You’re not due for another two weeks.”

My jaw snapped tight. “Are you seriously tracking my cycle?”

Her brow arched, wickedly elegant. “Any girl with eyes could track yours. You make it obvious.”

Heat crawled up my neck. I shouldn’t care. I shouldn’t notice how close she was standing, how sharp her gaze was. “Yes, but the finishing touches don’t require both of us breathing the same oxygen, do they? I’ll finalize the citations tonight, text you the structure—”

“No.”

That one syllable could’ve frozen lava. Her voice didn’t rise, didn’t waver, but it sliced clean through every charming deflection I’d lined up like dominos.

“I’m serious, Cass. I have this... family thing. Non-negotiable.”

Her jaw twitched. “Then tell your family they can reschedule.”

I laughed—a sharp little exhale more irritation than amusement. “That’s not how my family works.”

“No,” she said, voice cold, “but apparently, bailing is how you work.”

And just like that, the air between us stretched tight and thin, ready to snap.

I opened my mouth, ready to fire something back, but stopped short. Not yet. I had to pace this.

Instead, I tilted my head and offered a shrug that tried for apologetic and landed somewhere closer to defiant. “You’ll survive one evening without me.”

Cassie didn’t answer.

Her silence, like everything about her, was deliberate. Tactical. And gods, it was infuriating how much power it had.

But I could feel it—under the ice, something was cracking.

“You’ll survive one evening without me,” I said again, lighter this time—like I hadn’t just shoved a dagger into the middle of our partnership and called it compromise.

Cassie blinked once. Slowly. Then pushed off the wall like gravity had given her permission to move.

“Oh, I’ll survive,” she said, stepping in close enough for me to smell her perfume—bright frosted citrus at first hit, softening into white camellia and a chilled vanilla musk that lingered like a promise. My pulse betrayed me, stuttering in my throat. She smelled like judgment wrapped in silk, and I hated that I noticed. “But when our grade tanks because you flaked on the final prep, I’ll make sure everyone knows whose fault it is.”

“Wow,” I said, cocking my head, too sharp, too casual. “You really do dream of public executions.”

“Only when the accused wastes my time.”

“That’s rich,” I snapped. “Coming from the girl who’s been treating this project like a throne since day one.”

She folded her arms again, expression glacial. But I saw the faintest twitch of her lip, like she liked the sparring. “And you’ve been acting like it’s beneath you.”

“It isn’t beneath me,” I said, heat sparking at the edges of my voice. “It’s just... not the center of my universe.”

“No, that’s reserved for your ego and whatever weekly drama your family is orchestrating.”

I stepped back like she’d slapped me. My magic shivered under my skin, aching to flare. “You don’t know anything about my family.”

“I know they own half the city and you act like that entitles you to special rules.”

My hands clenched, nails biting into my palm, and I fought the urge to let the temperature rise—literally. My magic always flared when I was angry, and the last thing I needed was a hallway full of mortals noticing the air going strange around the Quinveil girl.

“I’m trying, okay?” I hissed. “I’m balancing a thousand spinning plates while you stand there demanding I juggle flaming swords.”

Cassie’s eyes narrowed, blue so sharp it felt like they could carve into me. “If you can’t handle one damn evening of follow-through, maybe you’re not as special as you think you are.”

I stared at her, chest tight, every nerve on fire. But I didn’t speak. Not yet. Because this wasn’t about grades. Not really. This was about control. Masking. Survival.

And neither of us knew how to lose.

So instead, I smiled. Slowly. Sharply. The kind of smile that could gut someone if they weren’t careful. “You’ll have my notes by midnight,” I said, voice smooth as polished glass. “And when we ace this thing, you’ll thank me for keeping you from wasting your evening.”

Cassie didn’t respond. Just gave me that stare again—the one that made it feel like she could see through me, past me, down into something I didn’t want excavated.

And my pulse betrayed me again, too fast, too loud. Gods, what was wrong with me?

Then she turned on her heel and walked away.

And for a moment, I thought I’d won.

The rest of the day was useless.

Every class was just background noise, the teacher’s voice blending into the steady replay of this morning’s curbside ambush. The way Cassie had looked at me—sharp, assessing, like she was pulling the truth out of me molecule by molecule. The way her voice had sliced through every excuse I’d prepped, leaving me holding nothing but my own irritation.

I told myself it didn’t matter. That her opinion didn’t matter. But the knot in my stomach said otherwise, tightening every time I caught sight of her across the quad or passing in the hall.

She was always in motion—ponytail high, uniform perfect, smiling at people who weren’t me. And every time our eyes met, my pulse kicked like it was trying to warn me about something I refused to name.

It wasn’t attraction. It was… rivalry. Friction. The natural tension of two people who would never, ever get along.

Except sometimes it didn’t feel like hate. Sometimes it felt like a dare I couldn’t back down from.

By last period, I’d given up pretending to take notes, my pen just scratching idle swirls while my brain spun circles around the same question: Why do I care so damn much what she thinks of me?

The final bell rang like a mercy kill.

By the time I hit the parking lot, my brain was already halfway home, reorganizing bullet points and source citations for our project. If I moved fast, I could get everything prepped before the court dinner and maybe—just maybe—Cassie would forgive me for flaking.

Or she wouldn’t. Whatever.

At least I’d have a polished, annotated presentation deck to wave in her face.

My car waited at the far end of the lot, parked like it didn’t care it was surrounded by sensible sedans and hand-me-down compacts. She gleamed in the fading autumn sun—sleek, dark, and undeniably me.

I slid into the driver’s seat, letting the door thunk closed behind me like a seal locking out the world. One twist of the key and the engine purred to life. Smooth. Obedient. So unlike the people in my life.

I barely glanced at the rearview mirror as I reversed. Just a flick of my eyes, a blur of sky and asphalt and other students making their way home. No Cassie in sight. No threat. No reason to hesitate.

And definitely no reason to suspect the silver luxury coupe that pulled out two cars behind me.

I turned left toward the main exit, then took the longer route home—the one that wound past the willow grove near the lake. More time to think. More space to breathe.

Behind me, the silver coupe turned too.

But I didn’t notice. I was too busy rehearsing my argument with Seara—how to keep things civil, how to buy time, how to spin this into something that didn’t ruin everything. Too busy chewing on the fact that Cassie Fairborn’s voice was still echoing in my head hours later.

And I sure as hell wasn’t thinking about Cassie following me across the city, into a world she was never meant to see. Not yet.

The Firebrand estate came into view like it always did—too much, too pristine, too deliberately detached from the rest of Dominveil.

Wrought-iron gates etched in floral flame patterns stood open, flanked by stone pillars crowned in burning lilies. The long drive up to the main doors wound through trees locked in a perpetual shimmer between summer’s illusion and fall’s reality.

I hated how beautiful it was.

I hated that it felt like a trap every time I came home.

My fingers curled around the steering wheel, knuckles pale as I turned in. Gravel crunched beneath the tires as I guided my car toward the front. I’d just eased into my usual space when the air shifted—soft, familiar, and impossibly light.

They came from the garden in quick, darting motions—no more than a dozen of them, each no taller than my knee, shapes blurred at the edges like the air itself didn’t want to pin them down. Tiny hands offered up their treasures: a cluster of late-blooming jasmine, a polished river stone, a ribboned sprig of rosemary. One set a sugar-dusted candied violet on the hood, another tucked a folded leaf into my palm like it contained state secrets.

A pulse of warmth ran through me—gratitude, confusion, and the same gnawing question as always: Why me?

The Small Folk always saw something in me no one else did. They lingered, watched, offered pieces of themselves like I mattered. Like I was worth noticing.

And gods help me, it felt uncomfortably similar to the way Cassie Fairborn had stared me down all day—like she, too, saw something I didn’t want revealed.

The same question gnawed from both sides, heavier now: Why me?

Gravel crunched again.

My head snapped up.

Cassie’s silver coupe glided through the gate just before it closed, her expression unreadable as she rolled to a stop a few yards behind me. She cut the engine and stepped out without looking away from the tiny figures scattering back into the hedges.

They shouldn’t even be visible right now. The wards were supposed to keep them hidden from human eyes.

My stomach dropped.

No. She couldn’t have seen them. And yet she was still looking at the place they’d vanished, like she’d tracked them.

Her gaze flicked to the flowers in my hand. “New fan club?”

I stuffed the jasmine into my bag, heart pounding a little too fast. “It’s—nothing. Just… neighbors.”

Her mouth curved, sharp. “Your neighbors are ankle-high and run faster than squirrels.”

My pulse stuttered. She’d definitely seen something.

“Ambitious squirrels,” I said flatly, forcing my voice steady.

Cassie arched a brow but didn’t push. Not yet. “You weren’t supposed to come.”

“And yet,” she said, brushing imaginary dust from her blazer, “here I am.”

The house stirred behind me. Not in sound, but in feeling—like the slow inhale of a beast waking to find an intruder on its grounds.

Cassie didn’t notice.

But I did.

Every inch of me did.

The wards were shifting. Magic curling beneath the estate’s skin, drawing in on itself, blurring its edges. Masking. Selene would have felt it too. So would my mother.

I was running out of time.

“You can’t be here,” I said, striding toward her before the front doors finished sensing my proximity. The wards were already coiling tighter, dampening their glow, hiding the little presences I’d just been speaking to. They shouldn’t even have been visible, and yet Cassie had pulled in right as they scattered. My pulse still hadn’t steadied.

Cassie stepped around the hood of her coupe and tilted her head, all queen-bee posture. And gods, the way she owned the gravel under her heels — like the place belonged to her just because she’d decided it did. “Clearly I can, since the gates let me in.”

“They glitched,” I snapped. “That’s not supposed to happen.”

“Right. Just like you ‘accidentally’ forgot we had work to finish.”

I sucked in a sharp breath. “Cassie, I’m serious. This isn’t some gothic museum with cosplay butlers waiting inside. This is my home. And it’s—”

Dangerous. Cursed. Not for you.

“—not the right night,” I finished weakly.

She folded her arms, blazer tightening across her shoulders. “You mean the night when you told me we’d be working on the final edits for the biggest presentation of our junior year?”

“I told you I’d send notes.”

She blinked slowly, once. That kind of blink that made you feel like prey. “So you could polish them from your throne while I fix all your citations and rewrite your argument so it doesn’t sound like a mildly concussed influencer?”

My jaw tightened. “I was trying to protect you.”

“From what?” Her voice edged higher, sharp enough to scrape my nerves raw. “The horrors of MLA formatting?”

From fire. From bloodlines. From every reason my name opens doors that should never be touched.

I turned my back on her, fists clenched. “Please just go.”

“Not until you explain why I wasn’t supposed to see this place,” she shot back.

My shoulders locked.

She wasn’t supposed to see any of it—the gates, the shimmer in the trees, the cracks in the version of me I’d spent years building for Ravenrest.

“Cassie,” I said, quiet but clipped. “You need to leave. Now. Before someone notices you’re here and makes this worse for both of us.”

For a moment, something flickered across her face—hurt, maybe—but it iced over fast.

“Fine,” she said. “I’ll go.”

My relief was short-lived.

She took one step toward her car, pivoted, and crossed her arms again. “After you explain why you live in a damn cathedral with gates that look like they’re auditioning for a fantasy movie.”

“Because you did just stumble into somewhere you’re not supposed to be!” I exploded. “This is private, Cass. This is the part of my life I don’t share with Ravenrest royalty and AP History partners and girls who think everything’s a chessboard.”

Her eyes narrowed—not in defeat, but with something that looked dangerously like recognition.

“You think I wanted to see this?” she asked, voice tight. “You think I care how gilded your secrets are?”

I opened my mouth. Closed it again.

Cassie turned toward her car.

Panic flared hot in my chest. “Wait,” I said.

She paused, one hand on the door handle, not looking at me.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” I muttered. “About secrets. Or… whatever you think I meant.”

She turned slowly, one eyebrow raised like a blade.

“This place—it’s not easy to explain. And tonight isn’t normal. There’s a… function. Formal. You weren’t supposed to see any of it.”

“Too late.”

“Clearly.”

The wind shifted, catching her blazer and the hem of my cardigan, making them flutter like banners before a siege.

“I have to get ready,” I said, forcing the words out. “If you still want to work on the presentation, you can come inside. We’ll multitask.”

“You’re not kicking me out again?”

“I’m offering you fifteen minutes and plausible deniability if anyone catches you here.”

Her mouth curved faintly. “Sounds wildly illegal.”

“Technically, so is what you’re wearing.”

Cassie gave a small, sharp snort. “Lead the way, Your Highness.”

Heat bloomed behind my ears, across the bridge of my nose. I spun on my heel before she could see it.

The front doors recognized me instantly, groaning open like ancient lungs exhaling centuries of incense and ceremony.

Cassie stepped in behind me, and the magic in the walls froze.

Every light dimmed to mortal levels. Every shimmer in the marble dulled. The sconces along the hallway guttered down to warm, human-safe candlelight. Even the vaulted ceiling—usually alive with the faint shimmer of the seasonal auroras—looked like ordinary plaster now.

The house was hiding itself.

I hadn’t even needed to ask.

Cassie’s heels paused against the polished stone. “Did… the lights just get nervous?”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” I said, heading down the long hallway. “The whole estate’s just allergic to uninvited guests.”

Her eyes roamed over the murals and gilded trim with an appraisal that was neither impressed nor intimidated. “Lucky for you, I’m very hard to get rid of.”

“I’m aware,” I muttered.

We crossed the central hall, our footsteps echoing under the chandelier that now looked like nothing more than crystal and brass, not the enchanted lattice of firelight it truly was. Cassie was still scanning the space like she was cataloguing evidence for a case I didn’t know I was on trial for.

“This place is… a lot,” she said finally, tilting her head toward a set of double doors we passed. “Do you actually live here, or is this just your weekend lair?”

I rolled my eyes and took the stairs two at a time. “If you’re fishing for a tour, it’s not happening. We’re going straight to my room.”

Her voice followed me up, sharp as ever. “Wow. Moving fast.”

I didn’t dignify that with a response.

The second-floor corridor was quieter, the wards drawn in tight, as if they were listening. I could feel them in the floorboards, watching Cassie as we walked.

When I opened the door to my room, the estate’s magic retreated completely, sealing itself behind the threshold. My sanctuary—clean lines, soft gold light, books stacked in organized chaos—looked perfectly normal.

Cassie wandered in like she owned the place, tossing her blazer over the back of my desk chair and flopping into it before I could protest. She pulled out her laptop and textbook, the pages already bristling with sticky notes.

“You actually prepared?” I asked, pulling my own chair around.

She arched a brow. “You thought I’d follow you into your creepy estate just to stare at you for an hour?”

“Wouldn’t be the weirdest thing you’ve done.”

She smirked, but didn’t argue.

For the next fifteen minutes, we worked—her tightening the phrasing in our opening slides, me combing through citations for errors. The air between us felt taut, like every unspoken thing from the parking lot and the gates was still sitting between us, heavy and warm.

I was halfway through editing the last paragraph of my section when the chime rang low and clear through the estate. The sound rippled across my skin like cool water.

Cassie looked up. “What was that?”

“Dinner bell,” I lied, saving my work and closing my laptop. “I have to start getting ready. Formal court thing.”

Her gaze lingered on me, sharp as ever, like she knew I wasn’t telling her everything. But she just leaned back in my chair, crossing her legs. “Guess I’ll hold down the fort while you play princess.”

“Just don’t snoop,” I said, already heading for my closet.

“No promises.”

I stood in front of my closet, arms folded, pretending to consider fabrics instead of the fact that Cassie Fairborn was perched in my desk chair like she’d been invited.

The Ravenrest uniform clung just enough to remind me I’d been wearing it all day—navy blazer, pleated skirt, crisp white blouse. It felt too structured, too small, especially with her eyes on me.

She didn’t say anything at first, just clicked her pen against her notebook in a slow, deliberate rhythm. Watching. Waiting.

“You know,” she finally said, “most people would just… change clothes and then go to dinner. Not stage a full production.”

“This isn’t dinner,” I replied, running my fingers along the line of gowns. “It’s a formal court function.”

“You mean like a gala?”

“Something like that.” I pulled a deep emerald silk dress from the rack, held it against myself, decided it was too much, and put it back.

Cassie tilted her head. “Do you have a whole department store in there? Do you actually know how insane this looks?”

I ignored her, fingers slipping past hangers until they closed on the gown I knew I’d wear. Midnight blue. Not the golden dusk-gown Seara had commanded. Not her choice. Mine. The kind of defiance that would sting if she saw it—and with Cassie here as witness, she couldn’t correct me without making herself look like a High Lady who couldn’t even control her own daughter.

The midnight silk caught light like water, bodice beaded in silver, skirt flowing in layered chiffon. It looked alive, fluid, untouchable. Exactly what I needed to be.

My fingers traced the zipper absently.

Behind me, Cassie snorted. “You do realize we still have to finish our presentation, right? Or are you planning to seduce the judges with sparkle?”

I shot her a look over my shoulder. “If I were, you’d be the one taking notes.”

Her smile was all sharp edges. “You wish.”

The banter came easy—too easy. I turned back to the closet before she could see how it tugged at the corners of my own mouth.

I slipped out of my blazer first, hanging it with precise care. The blouse came next, buttons undone one by one while I kept my chin high, refusing to acknowledge that I could feel her watching. My skirt followed, replaced by the slinky lining of the gown, cool satin gliding over bare skin.

Cassie’s chair creaked faintly as she shifted. “Do you do this every week? Or is this just for special occasions where you have to outshine the actual royalty?”

“You talk a lot for someone in my room uninvited,” I said, smoothing the gown’s skirt down my hips.

“And you’re avoiding my question.”

“I’m answering it exactly as much as I want to.”

She leaned forward on her elbows, chin propped on her hand. “You’re very good at that, Your Highness.”

Inside, my pulse was ridiculous. She was in my space. Seeing too much. The wardrobe, the view from my balcony, the shelves lined with books and trophies that weren’t supposed to be part of the Mira Quinveil I showed at school.

I should have been terrified. This was my rival, the girl who would weaponize anything she could find against me. But there was a spark under my ribs, an ember I couldn’t name, and I hated how much I liked the heat.

The gown was nearly on when I realized the zipper was too far for me to reach comfortably. I tugged twice, awkwardly, fabric pulling across my shoulder blades.

Cassie noticed.

Her pen stopped tapping. “Need a hand, Your Highness?”

“I’m fine,” I said, trying to contort my shoulder like a damn acrobat.

The zipper caught halfway. The fabric tugged. My hair stuck to the back of my neck with frustration-sweat and residual shame.

Cassie stood up. Moved behind me.

I froze.

Her fingers brushed mine, then slid them away from the zipper without a word. She pulled it down an inch to free the snag, then zipped it smoothly back up.

“There,” she said. “See? Not everything has to be a solo mission.”

I was still holding my breath.

I turned, sharply—too sharply—and found myself face to face with her.

Close enough to catch the pale frost of her ice-blue eyes, sharp as cut glass and just as hard to look away from. Close enough to smell faint chilled vanilla on her skin. Close enough that I hated how much I noticed.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” I murmured.

She tilted her head, gaze catching mine like a snare. “Then why haven’t you kicked me out, Princess?”

Because I couldn’t.

Because she hadn’t run.

Because some part of me liked having her in my space, touching things that weren’t meant for her—touching me—and not flinching.

Instead of answering, I turned toward the vanity and sat down with unnecessary force. “If you’re going to loiter, make yourself useful. I need the top-tier necklace from that case.”

Cassie arched an eyebrow but obeyed, stepping over to the mirrored jewelry cabinet. It shimmered like a caged secret, all gold and blood-red gemstones meant to complement Firebrand eyes.

“You actually wear this stuff?”

“Not by choice.”

She opened the drawer and whistled softly. “Is this... dragonbone?”

“Don't ask questions you don’t want the answers to.”

She handed me the necklace, but her gaze lingered on the collection. “You know,” she said lightly, “if you wanted to tell me you’re a princess or something, I wouldn’t faint.”

My hand froze, clasp half-secured.

“Not a princess,” I said quietly. “Just a very well-dressed prisoner.”

Cassie didn’t respond right away. Her expression didn’t change.

But she stepped closer. Lifted the rest of my hair out of the way and fastened the necklace for me, her fingers grazing the nape of my neck like she knew exactly what she was doing.

The brush seared hotter than it should have. I couldn’t look at her reflection. Not directly.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” I said, the words thinner than I wanted. “You’re leaving before dinner.”

“Not if I can help it,” she said, so soft I almost didn’t catch it.

I turned to face her—really face her.

Her breath caught the faintest rise and fall against mine, close enough that if either of us leaned a fraction—

The door opened.

Silent. Precise. And the air itself flinched.

Cassie startled. I didn’t.

High Lady Seara Firebrand didn’t enter rooms. She claimed them.

Her crimson gown swept the floor as though it had been stitched from blood and authority. Her eyes cut across the room once, and I knew in the marrow of my bones that she’d seen everything: the closeness, the unfinished space between us, the way my pulse betrayed me.

She didn’t react. Not with shock. Not with outrage. Just that faint curl of a smile—the one that said she’d found another weapon for her arsenal.

She’d clocked it.

And she’d keep it.

My stomach dropped hard enough to bruise. Heat burned under my skin, mortification and fury tangled so tight I couldn’t tell them apart. I wanted to snarl at Cassie for being here, shove her out of my room, undo the last five minutes. I wanted to stand straighter, to prove to Seara that I wasn’t unraveling. I wanted—gods, I didn’t even know what I wanted.

All I knew was that my mother had seen me off-balance. And Seara Firebrand never forgot a weakness once she’d tasted it.

My scent betrayed me, sharp citrus curling into scorched rind, and I had to force it back down before Cassie noticed.

I straightened in my chair, nails biting into my palms. Pretend it hadn’t happened. Pretend Cassie’s nearness hadn’t undone me. Pretend Seara hadn’t just added my own confusion to her growing arsenal of leashes.

But when my mother’s gaze brushed over me again, steady and unreadable, I felt it: the leash already tugging, invisible and unshakable.

My stomach was still in freefall long after Seara swept out—her smile a knife tucked neatly away, ready to be drawn the next time she wanted to remind me she owned me.

“You didn’t have to let her do that,” Cassie muttered, arms crossed tight, the kind of defensive stance that still managed to look in control. Her voice was clipped, but there was a fine crack under the ice—one I wanted to press my fingers into just to see what broke.

“I didn’t,” I snapped, fingers sliding through the gowns on the rack in the corner of my suite. The hangers rattled like chimes under my irritation. “That’s the part you’re missing.”

Blue—too regal.

Black—too obvious.

Silver—gods, absolutely not.

My hands closed on deep garnet. I yanked it free with more force than necessary, fabric catching lamplight like wine poured over fire. Seara had ordered gold for me; she would find me in midnight. And now Cassie, dragged into the crosshairs, would wear red. My choices, not hers.

Cassie sat on the edge of my chaise like it was a throne she’d been forced onto under armed guard, spine straight, chin high. I thrust the gown at her.

“You’re seriously going to make me wear a medieval ballgown?”

“They’re formally inspired contemporary couture,” I corrected. “And yes. Welcome to hell.”

She held the gown up against her body, still in her Ravenrest uniform. And even then—even before she’d put it on—I hated how right it looked. How the color deepened her ice-blue eyes. How the fabric curved where her body curved.

“This is your idea of torture?” she asked, half-smiling like she knew exactly how much she was getting under my skin. “Because I’ve survived worse than expensive dresses.”

I turned my back before she could see the heat climbing the back of my neck. I busied myself at the vanity, because with Cassie inside these walls, I couldn’t risk shifting glamours. Not with her sharp eyes on me. Every change had to be done the old way: liner, highlighter, shimmer—all by hand. My hands shouldn’t have been shaking.

She stepped behind the folding screen, the rustle of fabric sliding over skin far too loud in my ears. I told myself I wasn’t picturing her undressing. I told myself I wasn’t imagining bare skin under my hands. And then I told myself I was a liar.

“You always have something to prove,” she said from the other side, her voice carrying that razor-edge she used when she wanted to draw blood but not kill.

I dabbed shimmer along my collarbones, refusing to turn toward her shadow. “So do you.”

Silence stretched—thin, tight, and waiting to snap.

Then: “You don’t really want me here.”

“I never said I did.” The words came too fast, too sharp. They tasted like a lie.

The screen shifted. She stepped out before I could brace myself.

And gods.

The deep garnet gown was sculpted to her, draped in all the right places, baring her shoulders like she’d been painted for this room, for this moment. My mouth went dry, my pulse stumbling.

She smirked like she’d heard the stutter in my breathing. “You’re staring.”

“I’m horrified,” I lied.

“Liar.”

She turned her back to me, sweeping her hair over one shoulder so the long pale line of her spine was exposed. “Help me with the zipper?”

My feet moved before my brain caught up. The air between us was heavy, the way a thunderstorm feels before it breaks. I touched the zipper, my knuckles grazing skin warmer than I’d prepared for, and dragged it slowly up her back. The soft hiss of silk closing felt indecent somehow.

The clasp at her neck clicked into place, and her scent unfurled around me—frosted citrus sharp as a blade, white camellia’s clean, icy bloom, softened by chilled vanilla musk that lingered like a trap you wanted to step into anyway. Cool and curated, a perfect weapon wrapped in sweetness.

“Thanks,” she murmured, quiet enough that it almost didn’t sound like her.

“You’ll owe me forever for this,” I said, my voice dropping lower than I meant it to.

We didn’t step away.

Didn’t speak.

We just stayed there—her back to me, my hands still too close, both of us pretending we weren’t aware of every inch of space we weren’t putting between us.

It was ridiculous. She was my rival. My problem. The person most likely to gut me with words in front of half the school. And yet—her scent pressed cool citrus and icy floral against the burn of my own warmth, and the contrast only made it worse. Made me aware of her. Made me aware of myself.

And gods, I hated how much I noticed.

I pulled back too fast, like distance could burn out the current running between us.

“Come on,” I said, shoving my feet into my heels without looking at her. “We’re already late.”

Cassie: Her laugh was low, wicked. “By all means—lead the way, Princess.” The word slid off her tongue like a blade dressed in silk, sharp enough to cut and sweet enough to sting.

I didn’t look back.

But I felt her smile—dagger-edged, dangerous, smug in a way that made my pulse pick up.

Like she’d won something.

And maybe… maybe she had.

The Palace of Eternal Summer had a way of making me feel like even my best wasn’t enough. Every gilded edge, every carved arch seemed to whisper you’ll never outshine me. Not that I’d ever admit that to Seara.

We stepped into the grand dining hall, and the space hit me all at once—like stepping into the heart of a furnace that had decided to be beautiful just to spite you. Floating crystal orbs drifted above, pulsing in a warm, golden rhythm like the heartbeat of the season itself. Velvet banners in obsidian and amber framed towering windows, their folds heavy enough to crush. Marble floors glowed the color of molten dusk.

The air was thick with the scent of overripe peaches, lightning before a storm, and the faintest curl of burning cedar.

The court shimmered everywhere I looked—Unseelie Summer nobles in gowns cut to reveal power, gold-dipped smiles sharp enough to draw blood. Bare shoulders, winged sleeves, jewelry so delicate it felt like it had been spun from breath. Not armor. Not exactly. But it might as well have been.

And right now, all of it—all of them—were looking at me.

“Her Highness, Princess Mira Firebrand of the Firebrand Lineage,” the herald announced, each word striking like flint.

Not Lady. Not heir. Princess.

Seara’s silk-and-thorns leash, pulled tight in public view.

Cassie’s head snapped toward me, ice-blue eyes locking on mine.

Princess?

“Miss Cassandra Fairborn, esteemed guest,” the herald added, belated and almost apologetic.

A beat of silence stretched razor-thin. The court’s smiles didn’t slip, but their eyes did the talking—polite nods, shallow acknowledgments, just long enough to be seen. Enough to remind Cassie she wasn’t one of them.

She, of course, didn’t shrink from it. If anything, she straightened, chin high, as if daring them to keep looking. Then—because she’s Cassie—she leaned just close enough for the nearby nobles to hear.

“Princess, huh?” she said, her tone carrying an edge of mockery wrapped in silk. “Guessing that’s not just a homecoming court thing.”

The ripple was instant.

Two nobles at the nearest table exchanged a look sharp enough to cut crystal. A whisper—too low to catch—passed between them. The kind of reaction that said remember this for later.

Heat crept up my neck. I forced a polite smile.

“It’s… an honorary title,” I said, hating how thin it sounded. “Old family tradition. Mostly ceremonial.”

Cassie didn’t blink. “Ceremonial? So they roll out banners and bow for ceremonial?”

I caught the faintest smirk on Zyrella’s face across the room. Gods. She was listening.

“I’m related to… well, let’s just say the equivalent of political royalty,” I said quickly. “Nothing that changes my life in any real way.”

Cassie hummed like she didn’t believe me for a second. “Uh-huh. Sure looks like it changes the way they look at you.”

The words landed heavier than they should have. Because she was right.

They did look at me differently.

And I hated that Cassie noticed.

Behind us, the air shifted.

“Lady Selene Firebrand,” the herald intoned, and my sister entered like the room had been waiting for her. Heads turned. Backs straightened. Even Zyrella inclined her head the barest fraction—her version of kneeling.

And then—

“High Lady Seara of the Firebrand House, Warden of the Endless Flame.”

The room rose.

Cassie jolted as every noble in sight stood in perfect, rehearsed unison, bowing with centuries of habit. I stayed standing—I didn’t need to bow. That was enough of a statement.

Seara swept past, her gown whispering against the marble, sparing me a single glance. Measured. Unreadable. Perfect. She took her place at the head of the crescent-shaped table, the court bending around her like gravity. Her gaze found Daevan Nightvine near the Autumn delegation, and she gave a faint nod. Approval. Gods. Of course he was here.

Cassie leaned toward me, her voice pitched just above a breath. “So… are we pretending this is normal? Or is this some Eyes Wide Shut rich-people ritual?”

I kept my eyes forward. “Both.”

“Uh-huh,” she murmured, letting the pause sharpen before adding, “Can’t wait for the full story, Your Highness.”

The worst part?

I almost wanted to give it to her.

Daevan Nightvine had been watching me since the moment I walked in.

Not idly. Not politely.

Deliberately—like a man measuring the worth of something he’d already decided belonged to him.

Even across the candlelit sprawl of the Grand Hall, his gaze settled heavy as a hand. The air was rich with game and honeyed spice; gold-dusted purée left a metallic sweetness humming at the back of my tongue. Too rich, too sweet—like every polite threat in this room.

Beneath it all, my scent started in its usual place: a low, steady warmth like toasted marshmallow; the hush of ocean breeze and first-rain threaded through; Stargazer Bloom soft and bright at the edges. Neutral. Contained.

We were halfway through the second course when he finally spoke. Until then: silver to porcelain, goblets kissing crystal, conversations tuned to a velvet hum.

“You wear House Firebrand well,” Daevan said at last, voice pitched low enough to slip beneath the tablecloth. “Even with the modern touches.”

The sweetness singed. That ember of marshmallow warmed toward char, Stargazer Bloom catching spice, a prickle of ozone like distant lightning skimming the inside of my ribs.

I didn’t look up. “Thanks. It’s from the burn everything down and start over collection.”

Beside me, Cassie gave a not-laugh behind her water glass—quick, real—then set it down with surgical precision. I caught the edge of her smile in the goblet’s reflection, sharp as cut glass.

Daevan’s mouth curved. “Fiery and witty. I see the rumors weren’t exaggerated.”

“I’d love to say the same for you,” I said, meeting his eyes, “but I don’t believe everything I hear.”

His chuckle was smooth, unbothered—men like him were born with smoke in their lungs and titles for armor.

“To be clear,” he said, leaning in that fraction that made everybody else lean back, “I’m not here for gossip. I’m here for possibility. Alliance. Legacy.”

There it was. Court-speak for you’re a womb with a name tag.

More sweetness burned off. Wildfire crept in, Stargazer turned from bright to brazen; that faint electric snap—like a storm testing the air—licked the tip of my tongue.

“Oh good,” I said, smiling without heat. “I was hoping someone would bring up legacy before dessert.”

“You don’t believe in securing your future?” he asked.

“I believe in choosing it.”

“I believe,” he countered, velvet-thin, “that your mother has positioned you for something far greater than a schoolhouse rivalry or mortal distractions.”

The fork in my hand twitched.

Cassie went still beside me, attention narrowing like a blade being honed. I could feel the shift—her spine stiffening, her perfume cutting through the cloying air.

“I believe,” Daevan continued, “the courts need strength. And that a union between Fire and Autumn—”

I cut him off with a slow sip of wine. “—would be unbearable. For me, specifically.”

His laugh was a shade too loud. Heads tilted. My cheeks warmed, not with embarrassment but with control, with the effort not to let the wildfire jump. The marshmallow note crisped at the edges; Stargazer Bloom pressed hotter, defiant.

“I admire your independence,” he said. “But even wildfires need direction.”

“And some men,” I said sweetly, “mistake kindling for consent.”

Silence—three beats long enough to count casualties.

Then, measured as a verdict: “If you ever tire of pretending to belong in two worlds that hate each other—you’ll find I’m very good at building bridges.”

“I’d rather burn them.”

Cassie’s napkin tightened in her fist, a small, perfect violence. Her perfume cut through the sweetness of the hall—frosted citrus sharp enough to sting, camellia’s icy bloom layered cleanly on top, the lingering vanilla musk curling like judgment. Crisp. Controlled. Protective in its own way.

At the head of the table, Seara lifted her glass in a toast to nothing. Or to this. Approval wrapped in silk, like the moment had performed precisely on cue.

And maybe it had.

A quieter note returned in me—ocean air trying to cool the heat, rain trying to tamp the sparks. It didn’t hold. Not fully.

Pick your future or they’ll pick it for you.

I set my fork down with deliberate care and made myself breathe—one long inhale of storm-laced air, one steady exhale—until the wildfire held its line behind my teeth. My autonomy wasn’t up for polite auction. Not tonight. Not ever.

I didn’t realize Zyrella had moved until she was suddenly beside me, like a shadow solidifying out of thin air. She hadn’t made a sound—of course she hadn’t. Predators didn’t need footsteps when court watched their smile.

“Princess,” she said, her voice warm and sweet as cider left out too long, just sour enough to make your teeth ache. “I couldn’t help but overhear your—conversation.”

She dipped into a curtsy that dripped with mockery, every gesture a parody of the formality she claimed to uphold. Her satin sleeves shimmered like rotted petals in the candlelight, her golden circlet resting just slightly askew—as if grace had been sharpened to claws.

“Zyrella,” I said, my nod as neutral as a drawn sword. “What a surprise. You usually prefer to whisper your barbs from across the room.”

“Oh, but then I’d miss the pleasure of seeing your face.” Her eyes slid to Cassie—lingering deliberately on the exact frost-blue of her gaze—then back to me. “And it’s not every day the Firebrand estate opens its gates to… guests of such humble blood.”

Cassie stiffened beside me. The shift in her posture was small but sharp, like a string pulled too tight. I felt her knee bump the side of mine under the table—a subtle step forward, her body angling toward Zyrella as if to place herself between us. She didn’t speak yet, but the air around her sharpened, her perfume cutting cool through the hall: citrus bright enough to sting, camellia clean and edged, vanilla musk curling slow and stubborn.

I kept my smile tight, pressed thin enough to hold back the heat rising under my skin. “We like to encourage cultural exchange.”

“How generous,” Zyrella purred. “Though I imagine it’s difficult for someone raised among mortals to fully grasp what that means.”

That word—mortals—hit Cassie like a dropped glass.

Her brow furrowed, lips parting as she turned her head slightly toward me, confusion sharpening the edge of her expression.

“Excuse me—?” she said, her tone low, careful.

“She means my father’s human,” I cut in quickly, voice even, the lie rolling off my tongue like I’d practiced it. “You’ll have to forgive Zyrella. She gets insecure around anyone born with actual relevance.”

Cassie’s gaze stayed on me a heartbeat too long, like she was trying to decide if that was really an answer.

I didn’t give her time to push.

Zyrella tilted her head, all venom and velvet. “Oh, but Mira. It isn’t your father’s humanity that raises eyebrows. It’s your mother’s decision to keep you at all.”

The words didn’t just hit—they lodged deep, barbed.

The air around us seemed to tighten, the hall cooling as if someone had drawn a blade through it. Even Daevan’s goblet paused mid-air.

My scent spiked, the warm sunlit citrus souring into scorched rind—sharp, volatile. Cassie noticed. I saw the way her eyes flicked toward me, catching the change even if she didn’t understand it, and I knew she’d file that away right alongside “mortals.”

“She saw potential,” I said slowly, my voice measured and deliberate, each syllable a blade balanced on my tongue.

“Or obligation,” Zyrella countered, her tone lilting like a songbird with blood on its beak. “Either way, it’s… charming how hard you try to wear a crown forged for someone whole.”

Cassie’s chair scraped faintly against the floor, her body angling toward Zyrella more openly now, like she was ready to step in. The confusion from before was still in her eyes, but it was buried under something sharper. Protective. Dangerous.

I lifted a hand before she could speak. Not here. Not like this.

“And yet,” I said, locking eyes with Zyrella, “I’m still the one seated at this table. Not clinging to it like a stray pet hoping to impress the guests.”

Her smile cracked—just a hairline fracture, but enough to mark the hit.

From the head of the table, Seara watched without so much as a flicker of intervention. No reprimand. No rescue. Just the kind of calm that made me think this was all part of the evening’s choreography.

Maybe it was.

Maybe the whole thing was a test.

Cassie leaned closer, her voice pitched low, but her body still angled protectively toward me. “You don’t have to take this.”

But I did. I always did. Because unlike Zyrella, I didn’t have the luxury of cruelty for sport. Survival was my only currency, and I couldn’t afford to spend it in a public scene.

The silence that followed could have shattered glass. And maybe it did—somewhere behind my ribs, in the part of me that still remembered how to feel without flinching.

Zyrella slid back into her seat as if nothing had happened, adjusting the sleeve of her autumn-gold gown with idle precision.

I didn’t look at her.

I looked at Seara.

At the High Lady of the Summer Court.

At my mother.

She didn’t speak. Didn’t move. She simply sipped her summer-peach wine and set the glass down with clinical precision.

Her eyes met mine across the length of carved mahogany and polished silver. That smile—the one that could curdle cream and still be technically called pleasant—barely lifted the corners of her mouth.

Approval? Disappointment? Calculation?

I couldn’t tell. That was the game, wasn’t it?

“You held your composure,” she said finally, her voice soft enough to be for me alone.

“Was I supposed to let her gut me with metaphors?” My voice was dry, brittle.

“She didn’t gut you,” Seara replied. “She tested the welds in your armor.”

“And you let her.”

Her head tilted slightly. “I needed to see where the cracks are.”

I stared at her. “I’m not one of your war machines.”

“No,” Seara said. “You’re far more valuable than that.”

The table noise resumed like an orchestra returning from intermission—forks clinking, low murmurs slipping back into motion, as though the wound in the air hadn’t just been carved open for everyone to see. Someone laughed two seats down. Daevan was already leaning toward a Dusk Court delegate, whispering as though he’d been bored the moment the spectacle passed.

Cassie still hadn’t touched her plate.

I didn’t blame her.

My own appetite was gone, every bite in reach now tasting like it had been soaked in blood.

I’m far more valuable than that.

The words burned behind my teeth, acrid as scorched orange peel. My scent still hadn’t softened; I could feel the faint tension in Cassie beside me every time the citrus edge sharpened. She didn’t understand it, but she noticed.

Selene set her goblet down with a deliberate, audible clink—not loud enough to be disrespectful, but precise enough that the sound cut cleanly through the hum of conversation. Her chair scraped as she rose—not in drama, but in that signature grace that made people look before realizing why they’d turned their heads.

“Lady Zyrella,” she said, her tone cool and clean as steel dipped in snowmelt. “A word of advice from one woman of station to another: if your intent is to make yourself look more noble, I suggest you stop trying to do it by punching down.”

The table froze.

Even Seara’s head shifted slightly, a flicker of interest in the fine lines of her expression.

Zyrella blinked, feigning confusion. “I beg your pardon?”

Selene smiled. And gods, it was beautiful—the kind of smile carved from moonlight and veiled threats. “You can beg if you like. But you won’t get it.”

A strangled sound came from Cassie’s side of the table.

When I turned toward her—expecting secondhand embarrassment, or at least awkward restraint—she was already meeting Zyrella’s gaze head-on.

“If your point was to humiliate her,” Cassie said, her voice low and sharp as a whip crack, “you failed. Because all I saw was someone clawing at a girl who’s already ten times more composed than anyone at this table.”

The ripple was instant. Gasps circled the hall. Forks hovered midair. One Autumn Court lord actually choked on his wine.

Zyrella’s face went pale, then flushed in a slow, blotched bloom of rage.

“You will address me with—”

“She’s not bound by your titles,” I cut in before I could stop myself. “And I’m not bound by your opinions.”

My heart was a drumline in my chest, every beat too loud in my own ears.

Cassie didn’t flinch. If anything, she angled closer, shoulders squared toward Zyrella like she’d happily make herself the next target. Her scent cut through the heavy sweetness of the hall—bright citrus sharpened to a blade, camellia’s icy bloom taut against the warmth of my own fire, vanilla musk lingering like a line drawn between us.

Selene’s exhale behind me was barely audible—approval? Pride?

Seara remained seated, her stillness absolute. But her hand tightened around her glass, just for a heartbeat, before relaxing again. And her gaze—sharp, measuring—slid to Cassie. Not long. Not loud. Just enough to clock the stance, the protectiveness, the defiance. A mortal girl tilting her chin at the Summer Court.

Then came that smile—subtle, serene, sharpened on the inside.

The last course arrived in a swirl of cinnamon steam and sugar-dusted gold—spiced peach tart laced with amber honey, a seasonal specialty I was certain the kitchens had charmed for “diplomatic enhancement.”

I didn’t touch it.

Cassie barely glanced at hers, her posture still wound like a loaded crossbow, as if she wasn’t sure whether the war was over or simply paused.

Across the table, Zyrella had gone quiet, her gaze fixed somewhere far from me. Daevan tried to erase the moment with an overly loud joke to Lord Witherbane about river taxes in the southern groves.

Seara? Serene as stone. Which only made the silence taste worse—ash and burnt sugar coating my tongue.

Finally, I dabbed my lips with the embroidered napkin, set it down with exact precision, and rose from my seat.

“If I may,” I said to the table. No raised voice. No heat. Just clipped, deliberate courtesy.

Seara’s gaze met mine. That smile again. That predator’s stillness. “Of course, darling. The floor is yours.”

My spine straightened. Every flicker of candlelight seemed to sharpen against the facets of crystal above us, the weight of the entire court pressing down like a humid storm front.

“Miss Fairborn and I have a midterm project due in the morning,” I said, hands clasped neatly behind my back. My tone was steady, deliberate, as though I were reading from a prepared statement. “A group presentation, as assigned by Mr. Halloway. If we’re to achieve full credit, we’ll need at least two more hours of coordination, revision, and practice.”

A pause—just long enough to let the murmur of surprise build in the hall.

I glanced toward Cassie, catching the faint flicker in her eyes, like she’d been bracing for a trap that never came.

Then I turned back to the table. “Unless Miss Fairborn is staying the night—which she is not—she’ll need to be safely returned to her family home, and I will need to escort her there in time for curfew.”

The air thickened, perfumed with overripe fruit and politics. I could feel the scent coming off myself—copper-bright citrus edged with heat, not quite flame, but warning enough for anyone who could smell it.

“I also remind the court,” I added, voice soft but edged, “that I am not the heir to House Firebrand. I am a minor. And while I understand the court’s… enthusiasm in discussing my future womb-related viability, I would greatly prefer such topics be discussed behind closed doors, preferably when I’m not present to be assessed like livestock.”

Selene closed her eyes for a fraction of a second—a slow inhale, a small, approving nod.

Cassie’s jaw tightened, her gaze locked on Zyrella with quiet precision.

Zyrella scoffed, the sound brittle as spun glass.

Seara? She swirled the last of her wine, the amber liquid catching the light, and took a leisurely sip. “Dismissed,” she said lightly, like it had been her idea all along.

I didn’t wait for a second dismissal.

I rose—head high, blood burning beneath my skin—and gestured for Cassie to follow.

She did. Quietly. Wordlessly. But there was the faintest glint of awe in her eyes as she passed Zyrella’s still-bristling posture and Daevan’s half-hearted farewell. The court watched our exit in unison, subtle shifts of their heads like a field of flowers tracking the sun—every motion a silent judgment or calculation.

The great doors shut behind us with a muffled thud, their gold-veined marble giving way to velvet-wrapped walls and the cooler air of the inner corridors. The wards along the archway resettled in a faint shimmer, cutting off the press of gazes and the hum of political theater.

Only our footsteps remained—hers a steady rhythm beside mine, mine just a shade too quick.

The silence here wasn’t empty. It was the absence of teeth. No venomous smiles, no careful traps laid between courses. Just the flicker of enchanted sconces and the faint, humming heartbeat of Summer magic running through the stone.

Cassie didn’t speak. I didn’t offer anything either. My glamour was still perfect—every strand of hair pinned into place, every muscle relaxed in the way my mother had taught me to hold myself under fire. But the citrus-spice edge of my scent lingered, betraying the cracks beneath.

We passed the last bend to my wing, the carpet swallowing our steps. The wards along my suite’s threshold recognized me with a pulse of warm gold.

I flicked my hand to open the doors—too fast, too hard. The hinges gave a faint metallic groan, and the door shut behind us with more force than I intended, the sound reverberating through the stillness like the echo of a slammed gauntlet.

Inside, everything was too neat. Too quiet. Too fake.

The low fire in the sitting hearth painted the room in amber, its scent of cedarwood and summer peach steeped into the stillness. My heels clicked once on the marble before I kicked them off, relief flooding up my calves.

Cassie stood in the middle of the room, arms crossed, surveying the space like she was searching for seams in a backdrop. Her expression was unreadable—equal parts intrigue, disbelief, and the faintest smirk, like she was still deciding which piece of me to pull at first.

I reached behind me, fingers finding the zipper of my midnight-blue gown—the one beaded in silver across the bodice, chiffon skirts swaying like deep water. The fabric was cool under my palms, but my pulse had already shifted my scent toward sharp, scorched citrus.

Cassie’s gaze tracked the movement. “You just… strip in front of people?”

“I’m not people, remember?” I said, tugging the zipper down and stepping out of the gown in one smooth motion. “I’m a princess. A pawn. A half-blood, if tonight’s entertainment set the tone.”

Her brows lifted, ice-blue eyes sharpening. “Back there… someone called you mortal.”

“Court humor,” I said quickly, draping the gown over a chair.

Her lips curved—predatory, amused. “Should I be calling you Your Highness? Or Princess?”

“You should be calling me Mira,” I said, a touch sharper than intended.

She hummed like she’d filed that away for later. “Princess it is, then.”

I ignored her and stepped toward the vanity. “Turn around.”

She hesitated just long enough to let me know she was in control of her own pace, then moved closer. The garnet of her gown caught the firelight like wine poured over flame, deepening the ice in her eyes.

“Can you undo this?” she asked, voice low, the zipper hidden in the back of the dress.

“I thought you didn’t need help.”

“I don’t.” She angled her head away, but her mouth twitched. “I just can’t reach it, Your Highness.”

A beat. Then I stepped behind her.

The heat of her back radiated against my fingers as I found the zipper and eased it down. Her shoulder blades shifted, a slow exhale catching in her throat. My mind snagged on the elegant line of her spine, the way her hair brushed over my knuckles.

“You were quiet,” I murmured.

“You needed the floor,” she said. “And I was deciding whether to throw fruit or light the tablecloth on fire.”

“You’ve never lit anything on fire in your life.”

“I’m adaptable.”

The garnet silk slid off her shoulders and pooled at her feet. Neither of us flushed, though my heartbeat stuttered like it wanted to.

We moved without speaking, orbiting each other in the lamplight. She dabbed gold shimmer from her cheeks at my vanity; I pressed a hot towel to my skin, scrubbing at Zyrella’s words as if I could erase them. My fingers tapped an uneven rhythm against the counter until I realized she was watching.

Her scent lingered sharp and cool in the quiet—frosted citrus bright and biting, camellia’s clean bloom curling like armor, vanilla musk softening at the edges until it clashed and twined with my own scorched-spice heat. A push and pull, frost against flame.

I tossed her a pair of Ravenrest sweats from the drawer; she slipped into them with unhurried ease. I pulled on a ribbed black crop tank and matching shorts, my hair falling loose in waves that no amount of pins could ever truly tame.

When she looked at me again, she didn’t look away.

“I’m sorry,” she said finally, voice softer now.

“For what?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. All of it. That dinner. That… mortal thing. Whatever that meant, Princess.”

I leaned back against the dresser, crossing my arms. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“I know.”

“You’re in over your head.”

“I figured.”

“You should leave.”

“I won’t.”

The silence between us thickened, humming with something neither of us wanted to name yet. The fire snapped once in the hearth, and she smiled faintly—like she’d just won something.

The map of Dominveil’s early border disputes sprawled across my comforter, its edges curled slightly from age and the heat of the lamplight. Notes marked the margins in two distinct styles—Cassie’s tight, surgical print; my own angled, impatient scrawl looping when I lost restraint.

At some point, we’d migrated from the desk to the bed. Neither of us acknowledged it. The desk was buried under open textbooks, half-empty cups of spiced tea, and a toppled quill jar. The glamoured clock on my nightstand had long since stopped drawing our attention—its silver hands ticking past midnight in slow, steady clicks.

Cassie yawned, rolling onto her side, propping her head in her hand. “So… the southern wards were annexed during the second expansion, but the city claims it was a peaceful treaty?”

I smirked. “Peaceful like a fireball to the face.”

Her smile was tired and real. A faint smudge of shimmer still clung to her cheekbones, and the braid I’d helped her re-do hours ago was loosening, stray strands softening the edges of her ice-blue gaze.

“We’re not gonna finish at this rate,” I murmured, rubbing my temples. My scent—once scorched citrus from the dining hall—had cooled, easing into warm vanilla and sea breeze without me realizing it.

“We’re close,” she said around another yawn. “Just have to—” Her words blurred, edges slurring. “—connect the annexation to the new governance model…”

I nodded. Or maybe I didn’t. My limbs felt heavy, my body sinking into the mattress as the warmth of the room and the slow tick of the clock smoothed the sharp edges of the night.

Cassie set her notes aside, letting her head drop to the other side of the bed. Not under the covers—just sprawled across the comforter, like the bed had claimed her by proximity. I stayed where I was, leaning back against the pillows, telling myself I was only closing my eyes for a moment.

Somewhere between that thought and the next heartbeat, the room faded to quiet. Pages fluttered softly where a draft caught them. My pen slipped from my fingers, rolling to a stop against the spine of an open book.

At some point in the drift of sleep, I turned. Or maybe she did. Our knees bumped, then legs shifted. Her arm brushed my waist. Neither of us woke, neither of us thought about it.

By the time the Veil’s minor curfew chimed through the warded streets, the lamps of Ravenrest dimming one by one, we’d found each other unconsciously—Cassie curved protectively behind me, her arm slung around my middle in a loose, unthinking hold. I was curled toward her without realizing it, my forehead resting just below her collarbone.

Her scent lingered faintly even in sleep—frosted citrus and camellia’s clean bite, softened by vanilla musk—and it threaded itself through the warm vanilla and stargazer still humming in mine. Frost and fire, tangled together.

We didn’t notice the hour.

We didn’t notice the closeness.

Not yet.

For now, there was only the quiet.

The fragile calm before the storm.

And then we slept. I slept better than I had in years.