The room I entered was long and angular, shaped more like a corridor than a salon, with tall, narrow walls of dark stone that swallowed sound as easily as they swallowed warmth. A single arched window dominated the far wall, set high behind the desk where Duchess Elara Faelan waited. Sunlight cut across the chamber sharply, catching on the polished blackwood desk and painting the air with drifting dust motes. The desk was orderly, bare except for a sheaf of parchment, a sealed ledger, and a metal stylus laid precisely beside them. The only other furnishings were a tall-backed chair facing the desk and a small cabinet along the right wall. A cold brazier rested in the corner, unused. Elara rose when I entered. She stood with the bearing of someone used to command, but her head dipped in acknowledgment as I crossed the threshold—not deeply, but enough. Her face was serene, unreadable. Her dark hair was braided into a tight coronet, shot through with threads of silver. There was no jewelry. No unnecessary embellishment. Only slate-gray silk and the sharp presence of a woman who had spent a lifetime sharpening others. "Your Highness," she said. "Thank you for coming." Her voice was low and composed. No invitation. No warmth. Just the edge of expectation. She gestured to the tall-backed chair across from her. "If you would be seated, we'll begin." I crossed the room with measured steps, my gown whispering against the runner as I took my place. I did not fidget. I did not speak. Elara followed suit, lowering herself quietly to her chair behind the desk. We faced each other across the expanse of blackwood, sunlight stretching between us like a drawn line. "You were not the bride we expected," she said. "But you are the one Drevak now presents to the world. That makes you ours to prepare."
" Of course," I said. "I assume that is why I'm here." Elara studied me. Not for emotion—but for cracks. She found none. "This kingdom does not offer forgiveness for mistakes made in the open. Appearances are not pleasantries here. They are armor. You will not be trained like a debutante. That is beneath you and unnecessary. You were raised to wear a crown. But you must understand what it means to wear Drevak's."" That is what I came to learn," I said. Elara gave a quiet hum. Not approval. Not yet. But not displeasure. She passed me a slim leather-bound folder. "Study these. Faces. Allegiances. What they want. What they fear. You'll be seated beside half of them by tomorrow's meal. This is the beginning of what your sister was taught before the wedding. You must learn it faster." Before I could respond, a firm knock interrupted the silence. Elara's sigh was soft but unmistakable. "Enter." The door opened—and in walked a man I didn't recognize, though he moved through the space as if he owned it. He didn't glide like a courtier—he sauntered in with an easy, careless energy, dressed in weathered riding leathers, his shirt sleeves rolled to the elbows. His hair was slightly windblown, and his sword belt hung at a slight angle like it had been thrown on in a hurry. Or like he didn't care. "Mother," he said, setting the rolled parchment on the desk, but his tone lacked the usual ease. "I need to speak with you about Father. He's pushing too hard again—he's barely sleeping, and the officers are starting to notice. I tried to bring it up, but he dismissed me." He didn't notice me initially; his focus was entirely on the duchess. It wasn't until Elara's silence stretched between them that he turned, brow furrowing slightly as his gaze caught on mine. His stance shifted, not with embarrassment, but with the awareness of realizing you'd spoken freely in front of someone who mattered. "Well," he said, with a crooked smile, "I wasn't aware you had company." Elara did not blink. "Cassian, this is Crown Princess Vireya," she said smoothly, her tone sharper than before. "I trust your interruption is important enough to justify speaking so freely in front of our future queen?" "Crown Princess," he said with a shallow bow and a spark in his eye. "Cassian Faelan, heir to this particular dungeon of politics."" Your Highness," Elara corrected him with a tone sharp enough to draw blood. He grinned. "That too." I hadn't formed any expectations about him, but they wouldn't have included windblown hair and a crooked smile if I had. "Cassian," Elara said, voice low and clipped. He lifted both hands in mock surrender, grinning. "Best of luck with her, Princess. She's terrifying when she's polite." Before I could reply, the door creaked open again. Kael stepped inside, expression storm-dark and jaw tight. He didn't glance at anyone else in the room. His eyes locked immediately on Cassian with the look that could make most men rethink their existence." You're late," Kael said flatly, his tone clipped as boots struck the stone floor. Cassian leaned back on his heels, utterly unfazed. "And here I thought I had until the second bell. Time must move differently in training drills. Or maybe it just runs faster when I'm not there."" You had until the first," Kael replied, stepping closer. His arms crossed, voice dropping to something quieter—less public, more personal. "You skipped weapons rotation. Again." Cassian gave a shrug that was half-apology, half-indifference. "Because there's only so many ways to swing a blade before it becomes performance art. Besides, I was doing something more important." Kael didn't blink. "Talking to your mother about Father doesn't excuse you from your duties." Cassian raised a brow. "It wasn't an excuse. It was a warning." Kael's frown deepened. "He's the General of Drevak's armies. He can handle himself."" I can't afford to watch him burn himself into a shadow," Cassian said, tone dipping serious for the first time. "He's not sleeping. He's barely eating. He's driving the men harder than ever. You've seen it, too." Kael's jaw tightened, but he didn't argue. "This isn't the place." Cassian's smirk returned, though softer. "It never is. That's the problem." Cassian glanced toward me, then back at Kael. "You're not going to say hello to your wife?" Kael's gaze flicked to me like he'd only realized I was there. His expression shifted—just slightly—jaw tightening, breath pausing. Whatever he'd been about to say next to Cassian vanished, unfinished. "Vireya," he said, voice lower than before. There was no coldness in it. No ceremony. Just a hint of surprise and something else I couldn't quite name.Then his eyes snapped back to Cassian, his tone cooling. "Let's go." Cassian offered me an exaggerated bow this time. "Forgive us. I'm being dragged back to honor and discipline." Kael turned without another word. Cassian followed with a lazy grin as if he were walking into a tavern instead of a training yard. The door shut behind them, and silence settled like dust. Elara folded her hands once more. "My son is not what this kingdom expects. But he has his uses. As does every player on the board." Her eyes returned to mine, steady and piercing. "Now. Shall we begin your education?"