Chapter 3 The Dressing Room

The dress clung like expectation. "Hold still, my lady. You're wrinkling the sleeves." Elaria didn't move. Didn't need to. She already felt caged. Elaria didn't respond. She stood tall as the maid tugged at the dress's clasps. The fabric was soft and expensive-rose pink with silver-threaded fire lilies-but it didn't feel like hers. The girl behind her couldn't have been older than fifteen. Her braid was too tight, and her hands kept shaking. "I'm not a doll," Elaria said quietly. The girl flinched. "Sorry, my lady." Elaria stared at the mirror. Hair curled and clipped with pearls.

Skin powdered, flawless. The girl in the reflection looked like someone meant to be adored. She didn't feel like her either. "You can leave," Elaria said. "But I haven't-" "I'll finish it myself." The maid gave a quick curtsy and left. Once the door clicked shut, Elaria pulled the pearl clips free and shook out her curls. A little less perfect. A little more her. The embroidery itched. She ignored it. The room was silent now, except for her breath-too similar to the quiet she'd gotten used to in that cell. She crossed to the table and picked up the parchment lying there. Court appearance in one hour. Gifts from Lord Kael have arrived. Her lip twitched. Gifts. Right. She took one last glance at the mirror and left. - The Great Hall buzzed with low voices when she arrived. Nobles packed the marble floor, their silks rustling like vultures preening. Heads turned as she entered. Some eyes curious, others jealous. Some just remembering what she used to be. Whispers bloomed the way they always did. "She's changed." "She's glowing." "She wasn't this pretty before." "Maybe he likes quiet girls." Elaria held her posture. Let them talk. Lady Amira spotted her first, waving her over with that polished, public smile she wore like armor. "Elaria, darling. Sit by me. You look radiant." Elaria took the seat beside her. "Thank you." "You didn't smile." "I didn't feel like smiling." Amira's voice didn't waver. "Kael's messenger is here. Smile for him at least." Elaria looked toward the doors. A herald stepped forward and slammed his staff to the floor. "Messenger of the Northern Crown approaches!" The court shifted. Even the nobles pretending to be bored sat straighter. The man who entered wore dark robes trimmed with wolf fur. Pale. Stone-faced. He carried a velvet-covered chest and bowed low before her. "My lady," he said. "Lord Kael sends his regards. And his offering." He placed the chest at her feet and lifted the velvet. Gold coins. Ruby bangles. And a dagger the color of smoke. Elaria reached for the blade. The hilt was wrapped in black leather, laced with silver veins. Elegant. Light. The edge, though, was real. She glanced up. "Is this a threat or a gift?" The messenger didn't blink. "It's a sign of respect. Lord Kael believes you're someone who knows how to defend herself." Amira leaned in, too bright. "How romantic. A lady with her own weapon-how progressive." Elaria slid the blade into her sleeve. "Tell him I understand." "The wedding will be held on the new moon," the messenger said. "Preparations are underway. You're expected at the Northern Palace soon after." He bowed again and left. Whispers surged like wind through dry leaves. Elaria ignored them. Her hand stayed on the dagger's hilt. Then the doors opened again. No announcement. No warning. Just Seren, arriving like a storm. She moved across the court like she was born to cut through it-green silk trailing, golden curls piled high, eyes dark with kohl. Everything about her screamed hunger. "Oh," she said, voice lilting with fake surprise. "You started without me." No one answered. That didn't stop her. She stopped beside Elaria. "How charming. Trinkets and blades-so Kael thinks you're worth something now." Elaria didn't flinch. "You're late." "And still more interesting than everyone who showed up on time." The insult hit the floor and died. Seren's venom didn't bite like it used to. "Seren," came a sharp voice from across the room. Heads turned. Lady Mircea stood tall, calm, and ice-cold in emeralds. Her voice was velvet over steel. "You will watch your tongue." Seren blinked. So did half the court. "Mother-" "This is court," Lady Mircea said. "Not a nursery. If you can't control your mouth, I'll control it for you." Silence stretched. Seren laughed, too loud. "I was joking. We all enjoy a bit of flair, don't we?" Mircea's eyes narrowed. "This isn't a stage. Sit down." Seren did. The court didn't breathe for a moment. Then Ango leaned toward Elaria and muttered, "Well, well. The she-wolf just bit her own pup. Miracles do happen." Elaria didn't look at her, but the corner of her mouth twitched. She had always thought power looked like Kael or Mircea. But now, sitting straighter, listening to the whispers shifting like sand, she realized it didn't always shout. Sometimes, power just endured.