The day of the banquet arrived and
Freya wasn't meant to attend the banquet.
That much was made clear the moment she stepped into the dressing room.
Silk gowns were laid out carefully across the room—deep jewel tones, gold embroidery, delicate lace.
None of them were for her.
"Be careful," Liora said lightly, standing before the mirror as two maids adjusted her dress.
"Some of those are worth more than you."
Freya didn't respond.
She moved toward the smaller table in the corner—
Where a single gown had been set aside.
It was plain.
Soft beige, nearly colorless. No embroidery. No structure. The cut hung loosely, doing nothing to flatter her figure.
It didn't suit her.
It wasn't meant to.
Freya ran her fingers over the fabric anyway.
Of course.
Behind her, one of the maids hesitated before speaking carefully,
"This was… selected for you, my lady."
Freya gave a small nod.
"I assumed."
Liora watched through the mirror, her lips curving faintly.
"I thought it appropriate," she said. "Something that doesn't draw attention."
Freya glanced up slightly.
"And yet," she said calmly,
"you're still worried about me embarrassing you."
The maid went still.
Liora's smile thinned.
"Put it on," she said.
Freya stood before the mirror.
The dress didn't suit her.
It dulled her coloring. Washed out the warmth of her hair. Flattened her presence.
It should have made her disappear.
But it didn't.
Because even in something so deliberately plain—
She was still beautiful and effortlessly so.
And that made it worse and the room fell quiet. Freya noticed it in the way the maids avoided her reflection.
In the way one lingered just a second too long before stepping back.
And most of all—
In Liora.
Her smile had faltered.
Just for a moment.
Her eyes moved slowly over Freya, something tight flickering beneath her composure.
That wasn't supposed to happen.
The door opened.
Every maid straightened instantly.
"Lady Elora," one of them said softly.
Freya didn't turn right away.
She didn't need to.
She could feel the shift.
Measured steps crossed the room.
"Well," Elora said, her voice cool as she took in the scene.
"I trust everything is prepared."
Liora turned immediately, her expression softening.
"Of course, Mother."
Elora's gaze moved past her—
And landed on Freya.
It lingered.
Not with admiration.
With assessment.
Freya held still under it.
Elora stepped closer.
"So this is what we've chosen for you."
"Yes, Mother," Liora answered smoothly. "We thought something more… appropriate."
Elora circled Freya once, her gaze sharp.
"It's fitting," she said.
A pause.
"For someone in your position."
Freya's fingers tightened slightly at her sides.
But her expression didn't change.
Elora stopped in front of her.
"You will keep to the edges tonight," she continued.
"You will not speak unless spoken to."
Freya met her gaze.
"I understand."
Elora studied her for another moment—
Then her eyes narrowed slightly.
Because despite everything—
The dress hadn't done its job.
Freya still stood out.
Still existed too clearly.
A flicker of irritation crossed Elora's face.
"You attract attention too easily," she said, her tone sharpening. "Do not mistake that for importance."
Freya didn't respond.
Because that wasn't new.
Elora turned away first.
"See that she doesn't forget herself," she added to Liora.
"Of course," Liora replied softly.
Silence settled again after Elora moved away.
But it felt different now.
Heavier.
Freya looked at her reflection one last time.
"I'll try not to ruin your evening," she said quietly.
Liora's eyes flicked toward her.
And this time—
There was no mistaking it.
That small, sharp edge of frustration.
"Try harder," Liora replied.
Freya didn't answer.
She simply walked out.
***
The banquet was suffocating.
Gold-lined walls. Crystal chandeliers. Laughter that didn't reach anyone's eyes.
Freya moved through it like a ghost.
Seen—but never truly acknowledged.
Until she felt it again.
That gaze.
Prince Nolan.
She didn't look at him this time.
Instead, she turned quietly and slipped through the tall glass doors leading out onto the balcony.
The night air was cooler.
Quieter.
Freya exhaled, resting her hands lightly against the stone railing. Below, the gardens stretched endlessly, silvered by moonlight.
For a moment—
She could breathe.
"Escaping already?"
Her shoulders stilled.
Of course.
Freya didn't turn right away.
"If I was trying to escape," she said calmly, "I wouldn't have chosen somewhere so easy to follow."
A soft huff of amusement came from behind her.
"Fair enough."
She turned then.
Prince Nolan stood a few steps away, no court smile this time. Just curiosity.
"I was hoping to speak with you," he said.
Freya tilted her head slightly.
"You already did."
"That wasn't a conversation."
"It was enough of one."
That… caught him off guard.
"I think you're underestimating how unusual you are," Nolan said.
Freya's expression didn't change.
"I think you're overestimating how much I care."
Silence.
But it wasn't awkward.
Nolan studied her more carefully now.
"You don't want anything?" he asked.
"No."
"No interest in me?"
Freya met his eyes fully this time.
And that was his mistake.
Because there was no softness in her gaze.
"No."
And instead of offense—
Something shifted in him.
Interest.
Before he could speak again—
"Your Highness."
Liora's voice cut through the moment like silk over steel.
Freya didn't even glance at her.
Of course she followed.
"I was wondering where you'd gone," Liora continued, stepping gracefully onto the balcony. Her eyes flicked to Freya—before softening instantly for Nolan.
Freya straightened.
Perfect timing.
"As charming as this has been," Freya said calmly, already stepping past them,
"I'll leave you to more important company."
"Freya—" Nolan started.
But she was already gone.
The ballroom buzzed with quiet admiration as Prince Nolan moved through the crowd.
But he wasn't paying attention.
Not to the nobles.
Not to the music.
Not even to Liora, who walked beside him like she already wore a crown.
"She shouldn't be alone with you," Liora said suddenly, her tone light—but edged.
Nolan glanced at her.
"Who?"
"Freya."
Of course.
Liora smiled faintly, as if the conversation meant nothing.
"There are already whispers," she continued.
"You know how the court is."
Nolan didn't respond.
So she continued.
"And with our engagement being announced tonight…" she added gently,
"it would be inappropriate."
Nolan exhaled slowly.
"I spoke to her for less than a minute."
"And yet people noticed," Liora said.
He looked at her then—really looked.
Carefully polished. Perfectly composed.
"She didn't seem interested in being noticed," he said.
Liora laughed softly.
"That's part of the problem."
Nolan's gaze sharpened slightly.
"She's unpredictable," Liora continued.
"And she doesn't understand her place. It leads to… misunderstandings."
A pause.
Then, quieter:
"I wouldn't want that to reflect poorly on you."
Nolan said nothing.
But something in his expression shifted.
Because the more Liora spoke—
The less her version of Freya matched the girl he had actually met.
And that made him more curious.
Inside, the air felt heavier.
***
Outside the palace a carriage moved smoothly through the capital streets, its wheels muffled against stone and velvet silence.
Inside, Soren sat like he owned even the air around him.
One arm rested against the window frame, gaze fixed outside at the passing glow of lanterns and palace lights.
He looked disinterested.
But Eugene Drosser knew better.
Opposite him, Eugene sat straight-backed, hands folded with practiced control. Every detail of him was composed—dark coat neatly fastened, expression calm, voice measured.
"Try to look at least mildly alive when we arrive," Eugene said.
Soren didn't turn his head.
"I am alive."
"That's not what I meant."
A faint pause.
Then Soren spoke, flatly.
"Then don't waste your breath explaining it."
Eugene exhaled slowly, as if he had expected exactly that answer.
The carriage rolled over uneven stone. Light flickered through the window in passing bursts.
"This isn't optional," Eugene said after a moment.
"You know that."
Soren finally shifted his gaze—just slightly.
"I'm aware."
"That doesn't mean you have to make it worse for everyone involved."
A faint smirk tugged at Soren's lips.
"I never make things worse," he said. "People just notice them more when I'm present."
Eugene's eyes narrowed slightly.
"That is not reassuring."
"It wasn't meant to be."
Eugene studied him for a moment longer.
"You could have refused the invitation," he said carefully.
"I could have."
"But you didn't."
Soren leaned back against the seat, gaze returning to the window.
"No," he said quietly. "I didn't."
Another pause.
Eugene's voice softened slightly—not weaker, just more cautious.
"The crown is watching you more closely lately."
"I know."
"And tonight isn't just a banquet."
"I know that too."
Eugene hesitated.
"You understand what they're looking for?"
Soren's expression darkened slightly.
"A reason," he said. "Or a mistake."
Eugene didn't respond immediately.
Because that was correct.
A brief silence followed.
The carriage rocked gently as it turned.
Eugene studied him for a moment.
"You are a king," he said carefully. "Whether you feel like one tonight or not."
That finally earned a faint shift in Soren's expression—barely noticeable.
"I am always a king," he said.
"And yet," Eugene replied, "tonight you are a guest."
That seemed to amuse him slightly.
"A guest," Soren repeated.
"Yes."
A pause.
Eugene continued, tone steady.
"The empire is gathering its key houses tonight. This banquet is less celebration and more… alignment."
Soren finally glanced toward him.
"Alignment?"
Eugene nodded once.
"Power is being arranged in real time."
The carriage slowed slightly as distant palace lights came into view through the window.
"Prince Nolan."
Soren's gaze returned to the window.
"Mm."
Eugene continued.
"Heir to the empire. Politically favored. Socially well-liked. Not particularly dangerous on his own—but valuable in the way symbols often are."
Soren said nothing.
Eugene's voice remained even.
"He is also expected to be formally engaged tonight."
That made Soren glance back slightly.
"Expected?"
Eugene nodded.
"To Lady Liora of House Viremont."
A pause.
"The match was negotiated over years. The families have invested heavily in it. Tonight is the official announcement."
Soren leaned back again.
"So the banquet is a confirmation," he said.
"Among other things."
Eugene's tone lowered slightly.
"It stabilizes several alliances within the empire. Secures loyalty among key noble houses. And reinforces the prince's future claim."
Soren looked mildly uninterested again.
"Political theatre."
Eugene didn't deny it.
"Yes."
Silence settled again, though it was no longer idle.
The carriage slowed further as the palace gates loomed ahead—gold-lit, guarded, waiting.
Eugene adjusted his cuffs slightly.
"You are not obligated to engage more than necessary," he said. "But the court will be watching you closely."
Soren let out a faint breath.
"They always are."
"Yes," Eugene replied. "But not always this openly."
The carriage came to a stop.
A servant stepped forward to open the door.
Light spilled inside—bright, warm, suffocating.
Eugene turned his head slightly toward Soren.
"One more thing," he said.
Soren didn't move yet.
"What."
Eugene's expression remained composed.
"Try not to make enemies you don't need."
A faint pause.
Then Soren stood.
"You worry too much," he said.
Eugene's eyes followed him.
"I have known you since we were kids," he replied quietly.
"That is not something I do lightly."
For a brief moment, something unreadable passed through Soren's expression.
Then it was gone.
He stepped out into the light.
***
Back at the banquet
Freya moved quickly, weaving through nobles and laughter—
And then—
The doors at the far end of the hall opened.
And the room shifted.
He stepped inside like he belonged nowhere—and everywhere at once.
Tall enough that even among nobles, he stood above most without trying. His presence alone carved space through the crowd, attention bending toward him whether it was welcome or not.
His hair was dark—black, untouched by the careful styling of court life, falling just enough to soften what it couldn't quite tame.
And his eyes—
Red.
Not bright. Not unnatural.
But deep enough to unsettle, like something sharp hidden just beneath the surface.
They didn't wander.
They assessed.
And nothing about them felt kind.
The room shifted before anyone even spoke.
A hush rippled outward.
"Announcing—" the guard's voice rang out, louder than necessary,
"Lord Soren—"
A pause.
Even the guard seemed to hesitate.
Then—
"—of House Beaumont."
And just like that—
The atmosphere broke.
Not into noise.
Into tension.
Freya slowed.
Just slightly.
Because she felt it.
That same instinct everyone else did.
Danger.
His gaze moved across the room once.
Nobles. Alliances. Power.
Nothing new.
It passed over faces without interest—
Until, briefly—
It paused.
A girl near the edge of the room with
golden hair with light catching where it shouldn't.
Stillness where there should have been performance.
Different.
His gaze lingered for half a second.
Then moved on.
And just like that—
She was gone from his thoughts.