My assumption was right. Ares arrived just in time.
He stepped in with the poise of a stage actor entering his spotlight—his ensemble more refined than ever: a sleek, deep plum vest lined with gold embroidery, sleeves rolled just enough to reveal jeweled cuffs, and his face adorned with a tasteful shimmer of rose and highlighter. His dark slacks hugged his long legs, and he wore heeled boots that clicked with every confident step. Despite his broad and muscular build, he curtsied like a practiced noblewoman, the gesture almost poetic.
"Thank you for summoning me, Her Ladyship Rowela," he purred, bowing dramatically with one hand on his waist and the other sweeping out to the side.
I narrowed my eyes and crossed my arms, pretending to scold. "Oh, please. Don't use that name. I'm Lady Swan now. If you received the letter I sent, then you should know exactly what to call me."
He gasped playfully, placing a manicured hand on his chest. "Apologies! I wasn't updated on your sudden transformation, your slitheriness. Honestly, darling, you're like a snake these days—so smooth, so elusive. No trail, no gossip. I couldn't get a whisper from even the nosiest maids."
I rolled my eyes with a smirk. "Well, I have too much on my plate to worry about being traced. And I don't want to add anything else to my mental mess. So if you'd kindly stop talking, I need you at the vanity. I want to maintain this look—you know, confident yet mysterious, regal but untouchable."
Ares giggled, already gliding toward the table with a little twirl. "What a pleasure, my Lady Swan. Let's get to work then. Mystery and beauty—my two favorite tools. Just sit back, relax, and let this artist perform a miracle."
He clapped twice, and Fiora brought over his kit. Ares opened it like a treasure chest, his eyes gleaming. "Now, tell me… are we painting for seduction, for power, or for deception today? Or—" he leaned in close with a whisper, "—all three?"
"Power," I answered softly, but clearly. "And enough elegance to leave the King wondering who I really am."
"Oh, darling," he said with a wink as he pulled out a brush, "then tonight, you won't just be Lady Swan. You'll be the swan queen in the middle of a lake full of fish."
We both laughed. For a moment, I felt light. But beneath that laughter, I knew every stroke of Ares' brush was part of the performance I couldn't afford to mess up.
The rustle of fabric whispered like a breeze across ancient marble as I stepped in front of the mirror, stunned by the reflection staring back at me.
I wore a gown of icy blue brocade, its fabric glistening like frost kissed by sunlight. Pale gold threads shimmered in the weave—an illusion of breath upon snow. The bodice clung with aristocratic precision, framed by soft ruffles that danced along my off-shoulder neckline, revealing just enough of my collarbones to suggest grace, never immodesty. Voluminous skirts flowed around me, each fold crowned by delicate blue bows with ivory roses nestled at their center. Pearl chains—fine as dew on morning petals—trailed between them, soft and fluid as my breath.
But it was the crown that stilled me.
A circlet of gold filigree, shaped into blooming vines, rested lightly upon my brow. From it, strands of pearls draped across my forehead and cascaded into my newly coloured ivory hair, framing my face not as a girl—but as something half-remembered from a dream. Not quite real. Not quite mortal.
Ares, perched beside me with a brush in one hand and an exaggeratedly judgmental expression on his painted face, finally let out a dramatic sigh.
"Oh, darling," he breathed, clapping once with theatrical flair. "You've never looked more dangerous."
I smirked at him in the mirror. "It's your dress, isn't it? From your homeland?"
He arched a brow and gave me a mock bow. "Indeed. One of my fancier ones—Aerithian craftsmanship, love. Do you know what that means?"
"I'm sure you'll tell me."
He leaned in, dabbing a final highlight at the tip of my nose. "It means you don't walk into a room wearing this. You descend. You float. You haunt men's thoughts for the rest of their lives."
"Perfect," I murmured, smoothing the skirts as I stood. "Because I need the King thinking about anything but the truth."
Ares winked. "Then remember what I told you. If the conversation turns toward your origins, your alliances, your history—don't answer. Distract him. Make him marvel instead."
"Marvel at what?"
"At you, obviously."
---
Later, under the golden glow of the palace chandeliers, I took my place across from the King. A hush had fallen over the dining hall the moment I arrived, the train of my gown trailing behind me like a soft wave. His eyes followed me with curiosity, tinged with something more dangerous.
He didn't ask immediately—he watched. Waited. Then, after the second course, he leaned in just slightly and said:
"I must ask… this ensemble of yours. It does not resemble anything I've seen within the noble circles of Zenon."
Perfect.
I offered a delicate smile, lifting my wine glass with careful grace. "That would be because it hails from the Kingdom of Aerithia, Your Majesty. A secluded realm across the far eastern sea, built on cliffs that rise above the clouds. It's known for its celestial fashion—each piece a work of symbolism and tradition."
He looked intrigued. "And what does this gown symbolize?"
I tilted my head slightly, allowing a strand of pearls to catch the light. "Clarity of purpose… noble lineage. In Aerithia, brocade in sky tones like this"—I gestured gently to the blue silk—"represents serenity and wisdom. The golden threads signify divine favor."
"And your crown?" he asked, voice softening.
"This?" I touched the pearl-strewn diadem gently. "It's called the Lunacrest. Worn by noblewomen during courtship rituals or coronation rites. Each strand of pearl mimics the alignment of Aerithia's twin moons—believed to bless the wearer with grace… both in word and destiny."
He seemed amused, almost enchanted. "Are you telling me this is a coronation gown?"
I gave him a smile that didn't quite reach my eyes. "Or a sign from the gods that the wearer is meant for something greater."
There was a flicker of interest behind his gaze—whether political or personal, I couldn't say. But the more he looked, the less he seemed to ask. And that was exactly the point.
The rest of the meal passed in easy conversation—discussions of architecture, music, the construction of the new salons. Nothing that risked unmasking me. Because with every shimmering thread, every whisper of movement, the gown spoke louder than any of his questions could.
Exactly as Ares had intended.
As the final silver dish was cleared from the long velvet-covered table, and the King rose with a gentle nod of farewell, I remained seated a moment longer. My smile held firm, my posture poised—but my eyes wandered. Observing. Measuring.
And that's when I saw her.
A server, half-shadowed by one of the ivory pillars near the edge of the hall, her eyes too sharp, her stance too still. She was young—no older than seventeen perhaps—but her hands held no tremble. Only the tray tilted slightly in her grasp, forgotten as she leaned forward ever so subtly, her gaze trained on me… or rather, on us. On the King and I.
She wasn't just clearing dishes.
She had been listening.
My stomach tightened, but I kept my expression smooth. Of course. That's how it happens in this place. Not through bold accusations or open court debates. No—here, gossip bleeds through the walls, carried on silver trays and folded linens. A glance too long. A word misheard. A servant's tale passed to another over scraps in the kitchen.
That's how rumors are born.
I rose slowly, deliberately brushing the folds of my Aerithian gown as I did. The pearls at my temple shimmered in protest at the movement, the weight of the crown a reminder to remain regal—measured. I let my gaze slide toward her, just long enough for our eyes to meet.
She froze.
Good.
Let her know she was seen.
I made no scene. No scolding. I simply turned and walked away, my heels clicking softly on marble like punctuation marks to an unfinished sentence. But inside, the wheels had already begun to turn.
I would have to be more careful from now on. Not just with what I said—but who heard it.
Because in a palace like this, the greatest threats don't wear crowns.
They carry trays.