CHAPTER 207: HOUSE VIRELYA

The gates of Nevareth’s Imperial Palace stood like ancient sentinels carved from glacial ice, their surfaces etched with frost-runes that pulsed faintly with protective magic. They had stood for centuries, witnessing coronations and coups, weddings and wars, the slow turn of dynastic power beneath the eternal winter sky.

Today, they opened to admit a viper wrapped in silk.

The carriage that rolled through bore the crest of House Virelya, a silver wolf rampant against a field of midnight blue, crowned with stars that represented the Border Territories’ strategic position between empire and wilderness.

It was a declaration, that crest, a reminder that the Virelyas commanded lands where civilization met savagery, where military strength was not merely ornamental but essential.

The carriage itself was a masterwork of craftsmanship, lacquered black wood reinforced with steel banding, windows of genuine glass rather than horn or ice, curtains of velvet that cost more than most citizens earned in a year.

Behind it came a procession that would have done a minor royal proud: two supply wagons loaded with trunks and cases, a dozen household guards in House colors, servants in matching livery, even a separate carriage for personal attendants.

The palace staff, caught mid-preparation for the upcoming Star-Shard ritual, scrambled into position with the practiced efficiency of those accustomed to accommodating the powerful on short notice.

Grooms appeared to handle the horses. Servants materialized to manage luggage. The palace chamberlain himself descended the entrance steps, his formal robes hastily straightened, his expression carefully neutral.

This was not entirely unexpected. The Duke of the Border Territories had sent word of his arrival three days prior, citing important matters of state that required the Emperor’s immediate attention.

But the timing, arriving during wedding preparations, during the delicate transition as the future Empress settled into her role... was pointed enough to be intentional.

Nobles who’d been touring the palace or attending to various wedding-related duties found excuses to drift toward the entrance.

Curiosity was a currency in court, and the Duke’s sudden appearance, combined with rumors of his daughter’s legendary beauty and ambitions, created a spectacle too interesting to miss.

The carriage door opened.

A gloved hand emerged first, pale against black leather, fingers gracefully accepting the footman’s assistance. Then came the dress, green silk that caught the afternoon light and seemed to glow from within, its color chosen to complement Nevareth’s aesthetic while subtly asserting that the wearer belonged to these frozen halls. The fabric was cut to show just enough to be alluring while maintaining perfect propriety, the kind of dress that whispered wealth and taste rather than shouting it.

Bianca Virelya descended with the practiced grace of someone who’d been trained since childhood to make entrances. Her midnight-blue hair, so dark it appeared almost black in shadow, cascaded down her back in artfully arranged waves that must have taken her attendants an hour to perfect.

It was unusual, that hair color, not quite natural, the result of magic woven into the bloodline generations ago, a gift from an ancestor who was lucky to still bear the blessings of Aneithra, long after the dragons disappeared. It marked her as special, as different, as memorable.

Her eyes, when she lifted them to survey the palace, were the color of spring leaves... vibrant green that seemed impossible in the winter landscape, another gift of that magical ancestor. They were beautiful eyes, the kind that drew attention, that invited confidences, that seemed open and warm and trustworthy.

They were also calculating every detail with the precision of a general surveying a battlefield.

The gathered nobles saw only the smile... sweet, demure, absolutely perfect. The kind of smile that suggested humility despite obvious privilege, that promised friendliness without presumption, that made everyone who saw it feel charmed.

"Your Grace," the palace chamberlain bowed formally. "Welcome to the Imperial Palace. His Majesty has been informed of your arrival."

"Thank you, Master Chamberlain," Bianca replied, her voice musical, cultured, with just a hint of breathiness that made men lean closer to hear. "You’re too kind to accommodate us on such short notice. I do hope we’re not causing terrible inconvenience during such an important time."

The chamberlain made appropriate demurring noises. No inconvenience at all, honored to host the Duke, quarters prepared, anything they needed, et cetera, et cetera.

Behind Bianca, Duke Viktor Virelya emerged from the carriage with considerably less grace. He was a broad man gone to fat in middle age, his military bearing still visible beneath layers of comfortable living.

His face bore the weathered look of someone who’d spent years on cold frontiers before politics and prosperity relocated him to warmer estates. Unlike his daughter, he made no attempt to charm. His expression was all business, his movements purposeful and impatient.

"Enough pleasantries," Viktor cut through the chamberlain’s welcoming speech. "I need to speak with His Majesty immediately. The matters I’ve come to discuss are not of the social variety, I am afraid."

The chamberlain bowed, unruffled by the Duke’s brusqueness. "Of course, Your Grace. If you’ll follow me, I’ll escort you to the Emperor’s wing."

"See that my daughter is properly situated," Viktor ordered without looking at Bianca, already striding toward the palace entrance. "Guest quarters befitting our station. And ensure her attendants have everything required."

"Father," Bianca called after him, her voice warm with daughterly affection that never quite reached her calculating eyes, "do give His Majesty my respectful regards. I hope to pay my respects to him and the future Empress when it’s convenient."

Viktor waved acknowledgment without turning, already deep in conversation with the chamberlain about security protocols and private audience chambers and the various tedious logistics of state business.

Which left Bianca standing in the courtyard, surrounded by her attendants and luggage, the picture of a well-bred lady patiently awaiting instruction.

A secondary palace official, a woman in her middle years with the efficient bearing of someone who’d spent decades managing nobles and their endless needs, stepped forward with a practiced smile. "Lady Virelya, if you’ll come with me, I’ll show you to your quarters. They’ve been prepared in the North Wing, with views of the gardens and—"

"How wonderful," Bianca interrupted gently, as though the thought had just occurred to her rather than being planned during the entire journey. "I’ve heard such magnificent things about the palace gardens. The ice roses are supposed to be extraordinary this season."

"They are quite beautiful, my lady. Her Majesty the future Empress has taken particular interest in their cultivation. She spends her afternoons there frequently."

Bianca’s expression brightened with apparently genuine delight. "Oh! Her Majesty is in the gardens now? What perfect timing!"

The official hesitated, trained instincts warring with courtly propriety. On one hand, the future Empress had requested privacy during her garden hours, time away from the constant demands of court.

On the other hand, refusing a noble guest’s simple request to pay respects would be a diplomatic slight, potentially interpreted as hostility from the palace toward House Virelya.

"I... believe Her Majesty may be receiving visitors," the official said carefully, which was not technically a lie since Eris occasionally received people in the gardens, just not right now, and not without appointment. "However, perhaps after you’ve settled into your quarters—"

"Oh, I wouldn’t dream of imposing on Her Majesty’s time," Bianca assured her, taking a delicate step forward, her attendants falling into formation behind her like pieces on a game board.

"I simply wish to pay my respects briefly. A moment, no more. It would be terribly rude of me to settle into the palace without acknowledging the future Empress, don’t you think?"

The logic was sound, the request reasonable, the manner perfectly gracious. The official found herself nodding before she’d fully decided to agree.

"Of course, Lady Virelya. If you’ll follow me."

"You’re too kind," Bianca smiled, and there was something sharp beneath the sweetness now, visible only for a heartbeat before vanishing behind another layer of perfect courtesy.

The walk through the palace should have been disorienting, corridors of ice and stone, walls carved with murals depicting the empire’s history, floors inlaid with geometric patterns that seemed to shift in peripheral vision.

But Bianca navigated it with the confidence of someone who’d studied maps and floor plans, who’d memorized layouts in preparation for this exact moment.

Her attendants followed silently, trained to invisibility until needed. The palace official kept up a stream of information about the various wings and chambers, most of which Bianca already knew but pretended to find fascinating.

"The eastern gardens," the official explained as they approached an ornate set of doors, "were originally designed by Emperor Cassius the Third as a wedding gift to his empress. Each subsequent ruler has added to them. His current Majesty commissioned the ice rose section specifically, and the future Empress has been... quite active in their development."

Translation: Eris had somehow influenced the notoriously cold Emperor to indulge in romantic gestures involving flowers, which was the kind of information that could be weaponized in a dozen different ways.

Bianca filed it away, her smile never wavering. "How romantic. His Majesty must be quite taken with his bride."

The official’s expression flickered... surprise, perhaps, that this outsider would state so baldly what the court whispered behind hands. "His Majesty and Her Majesty share... a unique understanding."

"I’m sure they do," Bianca replied, her tone suggesting she found this charming rather than concerning, though her mind had already begun cataloging the implications. A love match, then, or at least the appearance of one. Which meant emotional vulnerability, leverage, potential fracture points.

Perfect.

They reached the garden entrance, great doors of glass and silver filigree that could be pushed open in summer but currently stood closed against the cold.

Through them, the gardens sprawled like something from a fairy tale, paths of crushed diamond-dust that glittered like snow, trees whose branches had been trained into elegant arches, and everywhere, everywhere, the impossible beauty of ice roses.

They bloomed in defiance of nature, these flowers, their petals crystalline and eternal, grown through a combination of magic and cultivation that took years to perfect.

Blues and whites and pale purples, catching light and splitting it into rainbow fractals, beautiful and cold and utterly unlike the warm, living flowers that grew in southern kingdoms.

And there, in the center of this frozen Eden, standing before a particularly impressive bed of midnight-blue roses that matched her hair almost exactly, stood the woman who’d stolen the Emperor’s heart and derailed Bianca’s carefully laid plans.

Eris Igniva.

The future Empress of Nevareth.

The Fire Queen.

The Villainess.

Bianca’s smile sharpened into something that would have alarmed anyone paying close attention. But the palace official was already pushing open the doors, already announcing in the practiced tones of someone making hundreds of introductions daily:

"Your Majesty, Lady Bianca Virelya of the Border Territories requests the honor of paying her respects."

And Eris, who’d been examining a rose with the kind of intense focus she brought to everything, straightened and turned, her crimson eyes meeting Bianca’s green with an impact like flint striking steel.

For just a moment, neither woman moved.

Bianca saw: a beauty that transcended mere prettiness, features sharp enough to cut, hair like spilled blood, eyes that literally glowed with inner fire, presence that commanded attention without effort, power barely leashed beneath a veneer of courtly grace.

Everything the rumors promised and worse.

Everything Bianca had been raised to become and feared she might not match.

Everything that stood between her and the future she’d been promised since childhood.

Then the moment passed, and both women smiled, and the game began in earnest.