The von Einsbern procession cut through the roaring crowd like a ship through storm waves, William at its center. Leofric walked a half-step ahead, his nod to his son as terse as a blade’s edge. “You did not shame us,” he said, the closest to praise William had ever heard. Lyrielle’s hands trembled as she cupped his face, her healing magic stitching his split lip closed. “You’re bleeding,” she whispered, though her tears had nothing to do with wounds.

  Aurelia lingered at the periphery, her ice-blue gown untouched by the jostling masses. “Efficient,” she said coolly, but the thaw in her gaze betrayed her. “For once.”

  Rowena hovered behind her siblings, clutching her sketchbook like a shield. “Y-you… your lightning…” Her familiars coiled tighter around her neck, hissing. “It changed,” she finished lamely, but William asked her to keep it a secret.

  House Duskborn descended next. Arutoria’s moonweaver crown glowed as she inclined her head. “A Warlord at twenty-two. Even Leofric didn’t manage that.” Beside her, Silvind stepped forward, her storm-gray diplomat’s robes rippling like liquid steel. She offered Aurelia a knowing glance, their shared history of midnight strategy sessions and whispered rebellions lingering in the tilt of her smile. “A performance worthy of legends,” she said, her voice cool but edged with pride.

  Arthur followed, stone roses spilling from his palms—a tribute carved with the Duskborn emblem. He met William’s gaze evenly, the faintest nod passing between them. “For the victor,” he said, his tone steady. The roses’ thorns curled subtly into the shape of a mountain peak crowned by lightning—a nod to their shared scheme, visible only to those who knew to look.

  When Aurelia arched an eyebrow at the offering, Arthur’s composure fractured. His cheeks flushed, and he quickly turned away, busying himself with adjusting his gauntlets.

  Luke slung an arm around Theron, flames and wind magic crackling between them. “Bet you’re jealous, eh? Big bro’s the empire’s star now!”

  Emperor Robert’s applause silenced the crowd. “A remarkable display,” he said, each syllable dripping honeyed venom. “How… humble Celestria’s greatest house must feel, to have such a prodigy.” His golden gaze lingered on William.

  Across the arena, Garios Lonalion spat into the sand, earth magic rumbling beneath his boots. James cracked his knuckles. Ira’s poison-green eyes narrowed, her lips curling. “Prodigies burn brightest before they explode,” she purred, vanishing into the shadows.

  William bowed, the cheers crashing over him like a tide.

  The von Einsbern banquet hall hummed with clinking goblets and murmured alliances. Aurelia and Silvind stood near the frost-etched windows, their heads bent close. “Robert’s eyes lingered too long on William,” Silvind murmured, swirling her wine. “He’ll demand a concession—a marriage, a title, something to leash him.” Aurelia’s smile was glacial. “Let him try. My brother has a habit of melting chains.”

  Across the room, Luke and Theron leaned against a pillar, recounting past escapades. “Remember when we set Jacob’s cloak on fire?” Luke grinned, wind magic flickering at his fingertips. Theron snorted. “He still blames the servants. That’s what you get for skipping diplomacy lessons.”

  Stolen novel; please report.

  Rowena perched on the edge of a velvet settee, Svana standing beside her. “Y-you really think this will help?” Rowena whispered, clutching the leather-bound tome Spirit Contracts and Arcane Bargains. Svana sat down next to her. “Theories suggest spirits respond to emotional resonance. If you… um… negotiate instead of fear them…” A wisp of silver smoke coiled from the book’s pages, and Rowena’s familiars hissed in unison.

  William slipped into the castle’s undercroft, the banquet’s laughter fading behind him. The assassins awaited him in a vaulted chamber slick with mildew, their Lonalion-red cloaks discarded for plain leathers. The leader—a woman with a scar splitting her brow—stepped forward. “The count dines at midnight,” she hissed. “Edmund’s feast is a farce. The old man suspects nothing… yet.”

  William tossed a scroll onto the table—a map of Blackmoor Manor. “Guards?”

  “Bribed,” the assassin said. “Except the captain. He’s Garios’ man.” William raised an eyebrow "Do not kill him" he said sternly "Someone needs to take the blame."

  Arthur materialized in the doorway, stone dust clinging to his boots. “The letter’s ready. My mother’s diplomats enter Verdantreach at dawn. My contact will plant it in Garios’ study during their audience.”

  William nodded. “Do it. And ensure Robert’s knights ‘stumble’ upon the body after the deed.”

  The assassin tilted her head. “Why involve the emperor?”

  “Because,” William said, lightning glinting in his eyes, “Robert needs to believe he exposed Lonalion’s treachery. Arrogance blinds better than any poison.”

  As the assassins melted into the night, Arthur lingered. “Aurelia… she doesn’t know, does she?”

  “Would you tell her?” William asked. Arthur’s jaw tightened. “No. But when this ends, I’ll carve her a rose that won’t wilt.”

  Dawn bled across Astralis, the rising sun painting the marble streets in hues of rose and gold. Mist clung to the von Einsbern carriages as they assembled outside the arena, their wolf-and-storm banners snapping in the crisp morning air.

  Aurelia stood apart from the retinue, Silvind at her side. “Stay sharp,” Silvind murmured, adjusting her diplomatic veil. “Robert won’t let this victory stand unchallenged.” Aurelia’s gloved hand brushed hers, fleeting but deliberate. “Send word through the usual channels. And Silvind? Burn the letters after.”

  Nearby, Theron and Luke leaned against a carriage, trading jabs. “Next time, I get to light Jacob’s ceremonial armor,” Theron said, flames flickering in his palm. Luke grinned, a gust of wind scattering embers into the morning mist. “Only if you don’t singe your own eyebrows off again.”

  Rowena hovered by the Duskborn carriage, clutching Svana’s spirit contract tome to her chest. “Th-thank you,” she whispered. “I’ll… try.” Svana adjusted Rowena’s cloak, her light magic softening the shadows beneath the girl’s eyes. “They’re not enemies,” she said gently. “Just lost. The book will help you listen.”

  Arutoria and Leofric stood apart, their words lost to the wind, but the tension in their postures spoke of borders and betrayals. Lyrielle lingered by the von Einsbern carriage, her gaze distant.

  William mounted his black stallion, Nyx he called it. “Ride ahead,” Leofric ordered, though it wasn’t an order William needed. The road stretched north, empty and accusing.As the carriages rumbled into motion, William spurred his horse forward, leaving the clatter of wheels and whispered alliances behind.