Eldergate smells like roasted chestnuts, polished stone, and expensive perfume—the kind of old wealth that doesn’t need to prove it exists. The air itself feels curated. Every storefront has its own signature scent, every windowpane buffed until it catches the gray daylight and throws it back like glass armor. Beneath it all, something faint hums—too low for mortal ears—a vibration I can feel against my skin like static from a storm that hasn’t broken.

Ravenrest always feels sharp around the edges—too clean, too proud, every building straining to look important. Eldergate doesn’t bother. Its cobbled streets and sandstone façades wear their age like confidence, ivy climbing wherever it pleases. The rhythm here is slower, softer, the sort of place that looks at crowns and politics and politely decides not to care.

Rori walks beside me, her breath clouding in the chill. Her hair’s caught back in a loose braid that keeps slipping free, strands bright against her dark blazer. We’re still in our Ravenrest uniforms—skirts swishing against wool tights, boots clicking on the stone. It’s almost ordinary, this version of us.

I shift my shopping bags from one hand to the other—three-beat tap against the handles, the motion small, grounding. The wool of my gloves is too scratchy, and the shop windows throw back light too bright for comfort. I can taste burnt sugar and faint ozone in the air; my own magic bleeding lazily under my skin, restless in the cold.

Rori says something about how Eldergate manages to make even winter smell expensive, and I laugh, tucking my chin into my scarf. She’s right. Everything here feels easy in a way nothing ever does anymore.

For once, no one’s staring. No guards, no courtiers, no expectations. Just people shopping, talking, existing.

It’s nice being somewhere that doesn’t know I’m a queen.

Rori shifts her bags to her other hand. “You’ve got enough presents for a diplomatic summit.”

“I have a lot of people worth bribing,” I say, hiding my smile behind my scarf.

“Bribing with affection doesn’t count.”

“Tell that to my mother.”

The corner of her mouth twitches, but she doesn’t answer. We fall into step together, boots clicking against the stone as we pass the next stretch of shops. Light spills from the windows—warm and golden, reflecting off wet pavement.

A jewelry store catches our attention—bright, quiet, the kind of place that smells faintly of polish and soft vanilla. We step inside, the bell over the door chiming once.

Rori drifts toward a case lined with rings, eyes focused. I can tell which one she’s looking at: a platinum band set with a single sapphire. Simple, but strong.

“It’s beautiful,” I say.

“Functional too,” she murmurs. “If it’s bound right, a twist of the band can summon a dagger. Cassie should always have a weapon close.”

A smile pulls at my lips. “Very you. Protective first, sentiment second.”

Rori huffs a laugh but doesn’t deny it.

While the clerk boxes Cassie’s ring, I wander a few steps down the counter, pretending to browse. That’s when I notice her glance toward a small display near the register—pendants shaped like crescent moons, each with a tiny crystal flame suspended inside. She picks one up, running her thumb over the chain.

“Pretty,” I say, still pretending casual.

“Yeah,” she murmurs. “This one’s—never mind.” She clears her throat, motioning the clerk over before I can comment.

I don’t need to ask. I can see it written on the tag before she tucks it away: for Mira.

A delicate moon-and-flame pendant. My colors. My court.

The kind of gift chosen by someone who pays attention.

I look away before she realizes I’ve seen, pretending sudden fascination with a display of pocket watches. One in particular catches my eye—silver, etched with a faint pattern of wings across the lid. Inside the casing, there’s room for an inscription.

Perfect.

When the clerk returns, I hand it over. “Could you engrave the inside?” I ask quietly. For Rori — Always on time to save me.

He nods, promising to have it ready by evening.

When Rori rejoins me, she’s flushed from the shop’s heat and acting like her new bag is empty. “You done shopping for your entire extended bloodline?”

“Almost,” I say, slipping the claim ticket for the watch into my pocket. “Just Cassie left.”

She tilts her head. “You already know what you’re getting her, don’t you?”

“Maybe.”

Outside, the cold rushes back in. The city hums under the dusk, car lights sliding over rain-slick streets. Rori holds her new bag a little tighter; I don’t mention it.

“You really didn’t have to buy anything,” she says softly.

“I know.” I bump her shoulder. “That’s why it’s satisfying.”

Her laugh comes light and real, like the sound of something unarmored.

The next shop sits at the far end of the block, all glass and muted light—so ordinary that most people would walk past without noticing. I can feel the hum before we step inside. Quiet. Old. Veil-built but hidden, the kind of place that pretends to be mundane for survival’s sake.

Inside, the air is warm and smells faintly of sandalwood and clean metal. Every surface gleams: pale display cases, delicate chains that glint under recessed lighting, gemstones resting on black velvet like sleeping stars. Beneath it all runs a low vibration—subtle but familiar, the sound magic makes when it remembers me.

Rori glances around, brow furrowed. “This one’s different.”

“It should be,” I say, lowering my voice. “I ordered something here weeks ago.”

The clerk looks up as I approach, recognition flickering in her eyes before she masks it with practiced neutrality. “Miss Quinveil. It’s ready.”

Rori tilts her head at me. “Pre-ordered?”

I nod. “Anniversary gift.”

She blinks. “You planned ahead? That’s new.”

“Even chaos learns,” I say lightly.

The clerk disappears into the back, and the hum in the room sharpens, pressing faintly behind my ribs. I drum my fingertips against the counter—three-beat rhythm, grounding. When the clerk returns, she’s carrying a narrow box wrapped in white silk.

The moment she opens it, my breath catches.

The bracelet glows softly against the dark lining, forged from white gold and starlight alloy. The central stone—oval, translucent—shifts between pale rose and ember-red with every pulse. I can feel Cassie in it, faint but constant, drawn from the ember-cord bracelet she’s worn since Veilwake. Her signature hums along the metal like a heartbeat.

Rori leans in. “That’s—”

“Keyed to her,” I finish. “If she taps it twice, it activates. Creates a barrier, globe-shaped. Armor and shield in one.”

“Protective enchantment?” Rori asks, quietly impressed.

“Something like that.” I trace a finger along the metal. “Cassie never asks for protection, but she deserves to have it anyway.”

Rori’s voice softens. “You’re giving her armor disguised as jewelry.”

I grin faintly. “She’d only wear it if it matched her outfit.”

That earns me a snort, but her smile fades to something gentler. “She’ll love it.”

I hope she’s right.

The clerk closes the box and ties it with a silver ribbon, but the Veil-hum lingers against my fingers even after it’s gone. It vibrates faintly in my palm—an echo of connection, of power recognizing power. A tether I don’t yet understand.

My scent shifts without permission—citrus-spark and rain bloom, the air around me brightening just enough for Rori to notice. She doesn’t comment, only bumps my shoulder once, grounding me back into the moment.

“She’s lucky,” Rori says quietly.

“So am I,” I answer.

When the package is finally tucked into my coat pocket, the hum dies down to a whisper. The city outside feels colder now, sharper somehow, but the weight of the gift warms my hand.

I don’t know why, but I hold onto it tighter.

The jewelry shop’s warmth clings to us as we step back into the cold. Breath clouds curl in the air before fading, and the city hums quietly around us—cars whispering past, the scent of snow and roasted nuts drifting from a nearby cart.

Rori exhales, tucking her hands into her coat pockets. “You’ve officially spoiled half the court. You realize that, right?”

I shrug. “We shop, we sugar-load, we survive. Speaking of—there’s a café on the corner that smells like cinnamon and bad decisions.”

“Lead the way.”

The café’s windows are fogged from the inside, halos of light glowing behind frost. A bell jingles as we walk in, and warmth wraps around us like a blanket. The air smells of cocoa and sugar, spiced with something faintly floral.

I order two mugs of hot chocolate and a plate of pastries dusted in powdered sugar. When we sit, the cushions sigh under our weight, releasing little puffs of warmth that make me want to stay forever.

Rori stirs her cocoa too long, spoon clinking softly against the mug.

After a while, I ask, “When I’m out of school… do you want to change back?”

She blinks, caught off guard. “I don’t know,” she says finally. “Roran fit the armor, but it never fit me. This does, even if bras don’t.”

I snort into my drink. “Bras are a collective punishment from the gods.”

That earns me a laugh—quiet but real, and it eases the space between us.

“You don’t have to know yet,” I say, resting my chin on my hand. “You’ll figure it out. I just— I see how you breathe now. You didn’t before.”

Rori’s cheeks flush pink. “Some of being a girl is really nice,” she says. “Except hormones, and cramps, and the fact that I cry at kitten commercials now.”

“Welcome to womanhood.” I grin. “We cry, we bleed, we conquer.”

She shakes her head, smiling. “You make it sound like a campaign.”

“It kind of is,” I admit, tearing off a corner of pastry. “You fight for space. For comfort. For the right to exist in a body that finally feels like yours.”

Rori hums softly, thoughtful. “You make it sound worth it.”

“It is,” I say. Then, after a beat, quieter: “At least you don’t have to figure it out while being a princess.”

That makes her snort, then laugh outright. “Yeah, that does sound worse.”

I shrug, smiling into my cup. “You get used to pretending the world isn’t watching. Eventually you stop pretending and just live anyway.”

Her expression softens. “Thanks… for not making it weird.”

“Weird’s my specialty,” I say lightly, then add, “and I’ve been where you are. You’ll find your way.”

She smiles down at her mug, and her shoulders truly relax.

The world outside the frosted windows fades into blur—only the warmth of the table remains, the steam rising from our cups, and the quiet rhythm of two people allowed to be themselves.

My scent shifts, soft rain-tide and bloom. She doesn’t mention it, but she doesn’t have to.

The café door jingles behind us, spilling warmth onto the street. Evening’s settled thick over Eldergate, the sky washed in slate gray and the faint shimmer of streetlights reflected on wet pavement. Our breath ghosts in front of us, white against the dim.

Rori’s still laughing at something I said about powdered sugar diplomacy when the air shifts.

It’s so subtle at first I almost miss it—just a vibration under my skin, too precise to be wind. Then the hum sharpens, threading straight through my ribs.

My laughter catches mid-breath.

The world tilts, sound sliding out of sync. The taste of ozone rises sharp on my tongue.

Rori notices instantly. “Mira?”

I touch the Consort Ring before I can stop myself. The metal is hot.

A pulse. Another. Rhythmic—wrong. My vision doubles: Eldergate’s shopfronts flicker, replaced for half a heartbeat by something else.

Snow.

Movement.

Pain.

Cassie’s voice, thin as smoke, half echo, half thought.

Help.

Then nothing.

The silence that follows isn’t silence at all—it’s pressure, roaring and empty, crushing against my ears until I can’t tell if I’m breathing. The tether between us collapses like a snapped string.

Heat floods my hand. The ring burns white. My knees give out.

Rori’s there before I hit the ground, catching me hard enough that the air rushes out of my lungs. “Mira! Hey—look at me. What happened?”

I can’t answer. My throat’s locked, every nerve sparking. The air smells of ozone and wildfire, my scent flaring uncontrolled. Light ripples off my skin, too bright, too fast—enough to make the nearby lamps flicker.

Somewhere beneath the panic, the Veil murmurs—a sound like glass cracking underwater.

Rori grips my shoulders, her voice steady but tight. “Mira, breathe. What do you need?”

I choke out a whisper. “She’s gone.”

“What?”

“Cassie.” The word fractures in my mouth. “The tether—she called for help, and then—”

Another flare. The world swims. The last thing I feel is Rori’s hands holding me upright before everything folds inward and darkness overtakes me....