Three weeks.

  Twenty-one days had passed since Mira Ashart set foot in Veinara Academy. In those twenty-one days, Mira learned that a silk corset from the North could be deadlier than a python's coil, and that the smile of a Duchess could be sharper than a glass dagger.

  Today was the culmination of all those torturous lessons.

  Mira stood in front of the large mirror in her room. She was not wearing the academy uniform. She was wearing the Ashart family formal gown for a state event. The dress was Midnight Blue—the color of the night sky—with intricate silver thread embroidery forming constellations across its flared skirt. The shoulders were bare, off shoulder, revealing a slender neck and pale collarbones. It was different from her lightweight Southern silk gowns. This dress felt very heavy and restricted movement.

  There was no place to hide a knife. No pockets to store an extra bracelet. There was only her, Rhea, and her noble mask.

  "Breathe," Henesa instructed, standing behind her as she tightened Mira's corset strings. "You're holding your breath as if you're about to dive in."

  "It's tight, Mother," Mira complained softly. "My ribs are protesting."

  "This is social armor, darling," Henesa tied the final knot with an efficient tug. "Today, we are not going to fight monsters. We are going to the Royal Tea Banquet. Your enemies there will not attack with claws, but with polite questions about your origins."

  Henesa turned Mira to face her. Lady Ashart herself looked stunning in an aged purple gown and a small diamond pearl.

  "Remember your position," Henesa said seriously, tidying Mira's hairline. "There are Nine High Noble Families in this kingdom. We, Ashart, are Number Two. Right below the Royal Family. That means..."

  "...I bow to no one except the King, Queen, and Crown Prince," Mira continued, repeating the memorization that had been forced into her brain over the past three nights.

  "Exactly," Henesa smiled with satisfaction. She fastened a Sapphire necklace around Mira's neck. The blue gemstone felt cold against her skin. "Lift your chin. Make them feel honored just because you’re willing to breathe in the same room as them."

  The bedroom door opened. Lord Dalt entered. He wore a formal black suit with a silver brocade vest. He looked very handsome, if only he weren’t busy hiding a small device that clicked like typing into his suit pocket.

  "Ready, my ladies?" Dalt asked cheerfully. "The carriage is waiting. And I've installed new shock-absorbing suspension so your hairstyles won't get ruined."

  Mira took a deep breath—as deep as her corset would allow. She touched her Igniter bracelets, which had now been disguised as an elegant piece of jewelry with an illusion spell.

  "Let's go," Mira said. "Let's have some tea."

  ***

  The Asnaven Royal Palace, also known as the Everiven Palace, is not just a building. It is a statement of power carved from white marble and gold.

  The Palace’s Hanging Gardens, where banquets are held, literally float ten meters above the ground, supported by magical fountain pillars that defy gravity. Hundreds of nobles in their finest attire already fill the gardens. The colors of silk and the sparkle of jewels compete with the eternally blooming exotic flowers.

  As the Ashart family carriage landed on the arrival plaza, the atmosphere changed. The crowd parted. Conversations fell silent.

  Dalt stepped down first, then helped Henesa, and finally Mira. When Mira’s feet touched the marble floor, she felt the weight of hundreds of eyes on her.

  There she was. The lost princess. The heir of Ashart.

  Henesa took Mira's arm on the left, Dalt on the right. They walked through the crowd toward the round table closest to the empty throne at the end of the garden.

  The table's position determined rank. And Ashart's table was at the front line.

  "Don't look down," Henesa whispered without moving her lips, while politely waving at a Marquess who bowed deeply.

  They reached their table. The palace attendants in white-and-gold uniforms immediately pulled out chairs for them.

  Mira sat with perfect upright posture. She scanned the room. Her sharp eyes quickly mapped out the positions of the other "players."

  At the table to their right sat the Askagarg Family (Rank 3). A military family. Lukas' father, a great General with a scar on his cheek, sat stiffly as if swallowing an iron rod. His mother looked cold and sharp. And Lukas... He sat there with an almost rude, relaxed posture, twirling his slender glass. He was wearing a dark gray formal military uniform with a silver dragon badge.

  Lukas's gray eyes met Amber Mira's eyes. He raised his glass slightly. A silent toast. A thin, crooked smile played on his lips, as if to say: Welcome to this boring hell.

  At a table somewhat far behind, the Eriallve Family (Rank 4). The atmosphere was heated—literally. Lysandra's father had blazing red hair and looked like he was holding back his anger at a servant who had poured the tea incorrectly. Lysandra sat beside him. Her blood-red dress was striking. She looked at Mira. No flames in her hands today, but her gaze still carried the ember of competition. However, due to hierarchy, Lysandra lowered her head slightly as Mira looked at her. Mira returned it with a small, graceful nod.

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  And far in the back, at a somewhat secluded table near the orchestra, was the Nrewyn Family (Rank 8). A family of scholars. They looked uncomfortable with this luxury. Mira saw Ulric. The young man looked miserable in a suit that hung loosely on his shoulders. He was busy studying the arrangement of forks on his table as if they were ancient artifacts he had to decode. His thick glasses slid down his nose.

  Mira smiled faintly. At least there was one normal person here.

  "Royal Trumpets!" shouted the host.

  The entire garden stood up at once. The rustling sound of silk dresses was like waves.

  The palace’s double doors opened. The Asnaven Royal Family entered the garden.

  First, King Maren. A middle-aged man with a neatly trimmed silver beard and a crown of the sun. His Aura of Intian was so strong and stable, it felt like gravity pressing gently. Beside him, Queen Mathra, a beautiful woman with calm yet calculating eyes.

  Behind them, Crown Prince Alren walked. Mira held her breath slightly. The prince... was radiant. Literally. His skin seemed to emit a soft glow. His golden hair was slicked back. He was tall, upright, and had a smile trained to win over an entire kingdom. He wore a purple royal sash over his white coat.

  Behind him, Princess Arith walked gracefully, though her eyes glanced around with boredom. And the youngest, Princess Anne, held her sister's hand while staring at the cakes on the table with sparkling eyes.

  "Honor to the Asnaven Sun!"

  Everyone bowed (curtsey for women, bow for men). Mira lowered her head, mimicking Henesa’s movements with the precise grace of nobility.

  "Please, sit, my people," King Maren’s voice echoed without a microphone.

  The orchestral music gently resumed. The servants began pouring tea from golden teapots.

  "That’s Prince Alren," Dalt whispered softly to Mira. "The strongest Lightning Element mage of his generation. Be careful, he has a... manipulative charm."

  Mira gazed at the royal main table. Prince Alren was talking with his father, but his eyes... His sky-blue eyes were scanning the crowd. And the gaze stopped. Right at Ashart’s table. Right on Mira.

  The prince smiled. Not a polite smile for the public. But a smile that said, 'I see you.'

  Mira felt her hair stand on end. It wasn't the gaze of a predator looking to kill. It was the gaze of a collector spotting a new, intriguing antique.

  ***

  An hour passed. The banquet was a beautiful torment. Mira had to answer questions from three Baronesses who 'coincidentally' stopped by their table, praising her skin while subtly asking about her biological parents. Henesa deflected them all with god-level diplomacy, making the women leave pleased, even though they didn’t get any information.

  Suddenly, silence spread from the main table. Prince Alren stood up. He held his glass, then walked down from the royal podium.

  He didn’t walk toward General Askagarg’s table. He didn’t walk toward Duke Eriallve’s table. He walked straight toward Ashart’s table.

  Mira’s heart raced. Don’t panic. Don’t make a glass knife.

  "Lord Dalt. Lady Henesa," greeted Prince Alren. His voice was smooth, like velvet.

  Dalt and Henesa immediately stood and bowed respectfully. Mira also stood, performing a perfect curtsey.

  "Your Highness," said Dalt. "It is an honor."

  "The honor is mine," Prince Alren smiled, then turned his gaze to Mira. They were only a meter apart. Mira could smell his scent—a mix of expensive citrus and fresh paper. There was no trace of iron or blood.

  "And this must be... Rhea," the Prince said. "A flower freshly bloomed in the Ashart garden. Rumors of your beauty have clearly underestimated reality."

  "You flatter me too much, Your Highness," Mira replied, lowering her gaze politely. "I am merely a wild bud fortunate enough to be tended by a skilled gardener."

  The Prince's eyebrows rose. That was a metaphor. Clever. And a little wild.

  "Wildbud," the Prince repeated, seemingly amused. "I heard you caused a little ruckus at the academy. Something about... glass gloves and defeating the heir of Eriallve in 30 seconds?"

  Mira felt Lysandra's gaze from the back table pierce her spine.

  "Just friendly practice, Your Highness," Mira replied calmly. "Sometimes our youthful enthusiasm gets a bit out of hand."

  "That enthusiasm is good," Prince Alren stepped closer. "This kingdom needs a new spark."

  Suddenly, the Prince extended his hand. "Would you accompany me for a walk in the garden, Lady Rhea? There's a Night Moon flower that just bloomed in the eastern sector, and I thought you might appreciate its beauty."

  A direct invitation from the Crown Prince. In front of the 9 Great Houses. It was a political statement. If Mira refused, it would be an insult. If Mira accepted, she would become the target of jealousy for every woman in Asnaven—and a political target for the royal family's enemies.

  Mira glanced at Henesa briefly. Her foster mother gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. Play your part.

  Mira placed her hand over Prince Alren’s hand. “With pleasure, Your Highness.”

  ***

  They walked away from the crowd, along a marble path lined with glowing flowers. Two royal guards followed at a distance of ten meters behind, providing a semblance of privacy.

  "You're tense," Prince Alren said suddenly, breaking the silence. His diplomatic smile vanished, replaced by a more relaxed and keen expression.

  "Walking with a future King tends to have that effect on ordinary people," Mira replied.

  "But you're not ordinary, are you? You're Ashart." Alren plucked a small flower, twirling it between his fingers. "And your eyes... Amber. Very rare. My father says it’s a sign that someone is blessed by fate. Or cursed."

  "I’d rather think it’s just genetics, Your Highness," Mira dodged.

  Alren chuckled softly. "Practical. Like Dalt."

  They stopped at the edge of the hanging garden balcony. Below, the city of Everiven spread out, its lights twinkling.

  "Rhea," Alren's voice turned serious. "I know about your family's reputation. The Asharts are always... eccentric. But they are loyal. I hope you are too."

  The prince turned, looking Mira straight in the eye. Behind her beautiful blue eyes, Mira saw something familiar. It was the gaze of someone accustomed to assessing threats. This prince was no display puppet. He was a chess player.

  "My loyalty lies with my family, Your Highness," Mira replied diplomatically. "And since my family is loyal to the throne, so am I."

  "A safe answer," Alren smiled mysteriously. "But I will hold you to your word."

  The prince approached, then pinned the small flower into Mira's hair, right above her ear.

  "Win the Second Domain Tournament, Rhea," Alren whispered. "Prove that you're not just a pretty ornament at Dalt's table. I need strong people by my side. The shadows in this kingdom have been growing longer lately."

  Mira froze. Shadows? Did the prince know about an External threat? Or was this another internal political issue?

  "I will try, Your Highness."

  "Good."

  They returned to the party area. As Mira walked back to her table, escorted by the Prince, she could feel that the atmosphere of the room had changed. She was no longer the 'lucky adopted child.' She was now the 'Prince's favorite.' Her status had risen, but the target on her back had also doubled.

  As Mira sat back down, Lukas from the next table raised his eyebrows high, his mouth forming silent words: Be careful.

  Lysandra broke her silver spoon in half under the table.

  And Ulric, who saw everything from a distance, could only stare in disbelief until his glasses fogged up.

  Henesa poured warm tea into Mira's cup. Her hands were steady. "You did well," Henesa whispered. "Very well.”

  Mira stared at her tea. She saw the reflection of her own face—a beautiful face with flowers in her hair, and eyes that held the secrets of the stars. This tea gathering was indeed bloodless. But it felt far more dangerous than any forest she had ever explored.

  In the distance, Prince Alren returned to his throne, his gaze occasionally drifting toward Mira with a meaningful smile.