The dinner continued like an ancient dance.
Lígia remained silent, watching and learning.
To her right, the man with golden hair sat as still as a living statue. His dark green eyes — cold as the marble of imperial cathedrals — analyzed everyone at the table without ever seeming hostile. Just... far too aware.
'This is the kind of man who breathes strategy' Lígia thought.
He was handsome, but with the kind of beauty that didn't try to please — it commanded. He wore black and white, but it was the gold royal brooch on his chest that said it all.
Caelion Sun
Prince of the Solarys Empire
Firstborn
And heir to the throne
He picked up a small crystalline grape and brought it to his lips with mechanical precision. When he spoke, his voice was low, yet sharp.
"The activity of the clans has increased. More than usual"
He looked at no one in particular, but everyone knew he was speaking to all.
"Three imperial caravans intercepted in the last moons. One of the routes was protected by agreements with House Ferrosin"
A light silence passed over the table.
Across from him, the young man with chestnut hair, whose relaxed posture hid the tension in his fingers, raised his glass slowly. His black eyes didn't turn to Caelion.
"I must remind you that the west is vast. And certain agreements were made before the last frontier reorganization" he said, in a voice soft as velvet over a blade.
Neran Ferrosin
Second heir of House Ferrosin, from the west
Son of the Duke of the Forges
He didn't seem interested in arguing — but he wasn't letting himself be cornered either.
Lígia looked at the two men.
One speaks like a decree. The other like every word is a bet.
Both dangerous. But in different shades.
Then, another voice joined in.
"Borders are like promises between nobles" said the third man, smiling broadly "Beautiful when they appear, ignored when they get in the way"
Lígia turned toward the voice.
It was him — false, green-gray hair and eternal smile. As charming as forbidden wine.
And now she knew his name.
Eliron Verdanel
Firstborn of House Verdanel
"Caelion" Eliron said, leaning slightly toward the prince "If I may be bold, this talk about routes and deserts is getting a bit... dry for a reception dinner"
"Dry" Neran repeated, unsmiling "But necessary"
Eliron pretended not to hear.
"Lady Lígia" he said, turning to her with eyes as alive as mist during an eclipse "Have you ever visited the mountains of Varyn? The moon seems to touch the hot waters there. They say it's where emotions are born"
Lígia only raised an eyebrow.
'You speak like a drunk poem' she thought. But answered with a faint smile.
"No. I haven't had the pleasure"
Eliron sighed, dramatic
"Then you must go. When a heart is new, it should choose its mirrors wisely"
"Or the reflections devour you" Neran added, with calculated coldness
Caelion took another sip of wine and spoke without emotion
"What devours the Empire is distraction"
Silence returned.
Then the smooth — artificially sweet — voice of the golden-haired woman filled the space between invisible cuts in the conversation.
"Lady Lígia..."
The smile was flawless. But the eyes were cold mirrors.
Elira Sun
Daughter of the Emperor
Sister to Caelion
The golden rose
"How are you finding the atmosphere of the imperial court? Very... different from your previous routine?"
The question was offered gently, but carried an uncomfortable edge.
'Was that a compliment or a jab?'
Lígia smiled faintly
"Peaceful. Like the surface of a lake before the first stone"
Elira raised her glass in approval
"Poetic metaphors. I like that"
"I've learned it's safer than saying exactly what you think"
Elira's eyes sparkled — almost amused
"Oh, but in court... the most dangerous is when someone says exactly what they want. With sweetness"
"Then we're safe. After all, everyone here is sweet"
Lígia brought the glass to her lips, her gaze fixed on the princess's eyes
The system purred in the back of her mind
'You were bored, but now you're having fun. Admit it'
Lígia didn't reply. But the corner of her mouth rose by a millimeter.
The delicate clinking of enchanted cutlery and glasses filled the hall for a few moments. The kind of silence that, in court, meant someone was sharpening a knife with words.
It was Caelion Sun who first shattered the ceremonial calm.
He sliced a piece of meat with surgical precision, brought it to his mouth with restrained movements, and only after chewing and swallowing — like a miniature king performing a rite — did he say
"House Verdanel has increased the price of their Archivists"
The prince's eyes were on his plate, but no one at the table doubted the sentence was anything but neutral
"The cost for magical restoration rituals has gone up twenty-three percent since the last Bronze Moon cycle. Curious"
Eliron Verdanel smiled even before lifting his eyes
"Curious indeed, Your Highness. But not as curious as the fiscal hole of the Empire itself. Some say even the golden fortress vaults are... breathing through tubes"
The smile was light, charming — but each word was a dagger wrapped in velvet
Caelion raised one eyebrow, unhurried. Finished another sip of wine before speaking
"What breathes through tubes... still breathes, Lord Verdanel. And House Ferrosin is struggling to keep its forge production stable. The Imperial Family is covering emergency funds. As always"
Lígia watched with narrowed eyes, absorbing the names, the data, the tone
Three attacks in one round and no one raised their voice
This was imperial politics: war in white gloves
Neran Ferrosin didn't even look away from the edge of his glass.
"Perhaps the forges are cold, Your Highness" he said calmly "But there's still enough metal to remind the court why no one crosses the west unpunished"
Eliron sighed shortly, theatrically
"Unfortunately, iron doesn't heal inner wounds. And my House, though generous, can't supply Archivists at holy water prices while the Empire hands out coins like it's still the Century of Gold"
Caelion placed his knife and fork down with a soft tap
"Then you're saying House Verdanel can't help"
"I'm saying House Verdanel... has no obligation to save those who got used to bleeding out of vanity"
That was when Elira Sun looked up.
The golden princess didn't speak immediately. Her fingers tapped once on the glass before raising her head.
Her smile was still there, drawn with ancestral precision, but her eyes… had shifted.
"You both seem very calm discussing blood and obligations in a room full of heirs"
The tone was soft. But tension hid in the edges of her voice.
Eliron faced her with serenity
"And what about you, princess? What do you say about saving the Empire?"
"I say..." She swirled her glass slowly between her fingers "Saving the Empire is the duty of those who represent it"
That was when Lígia, until then a quiet observer, lifted her gaze to Eliron.
She said nothing. Just watched.
And the heir of Verdanel, feeling the weight of her eyes, turned too, as if sensing the sun breaking through an unexpected cloud.
"Lady Lígia" he said gently, almost playfully "tell us. As a newcomer to the political stage... what do you think about all this?"
Lígia remained silent for a moment. Her fingers softly traced the edge of the napkin on her lap.
Now they want to pull me to the center of the board
But she just smiled. Discreet. Polished.
"I'm observing. And learning. Some roses have thorns, others... poisonous perfume. It's good to know which is which before touching"
Smiles lit up around the table.
Caelion didn't smile. But nodded.
Elira raised one eyebrow slightly.
Eliron, of course, smiled like someone who'd just been handed a rose — one he knew had a needle hidden in it.
"Poetic and sharp" he murmured "Dangerous combination"
Lígia tilted her head slightly
"I'm a d'Argêntea. We were never given the option of being just one thing"
Elira lifted her glass again, gently swirling the amber liquid inside.
"Lady Lígia" she said, her voice smooth as lacquer over glass "as a recently awakened heir… what are your thoughts on the current magical governance of the Empire? I heard you've studied the principles of arcane affinity and social influence"
The table grew quiet. All eyes turned toward Lígia.
In the back of her mind, the system purred playfully.
"You didn't want the spotlight, huh? Now it's burning right on that silver head of yours"
Lígia took a slow breath. Crossed her arms gently over the table. Sipped her wine. Then smiled — calm and just sharp enough.
"What I think…" she began, letting her voice carry like velvet through a corridor of swords "is that perhaps the Empire is relying too much on models of control that are... outdated. It's like building castles on thin ice, then blaming the sun when they crack"
That froze the table.
Caelion raised a brow.
Eliron stopped twirling the silver ring on his finger.
Neran tilted his head, visibly intrigued.
Elira's smile didn't falter — but something in her posture went still.
"Outdated in what sense, Lady d'Argêntea?" asked Caelion, his voice as cold as royal seal wax.
"In many senses" Lígia replied, placing her glass down. Her eyes traced the rim of her plate, then returned to them. "But if I had to name one… I'd say the centralization of arcane power in a handful of noble Houses is what's making the system slow, inefficient, and ultimately dangerous"
"Dangerous?" repeated Neran
Lígia tucked a platinum strand behind her ear, her voice still poised.
"Think about it. If only five Houses control knowledge, rituals, access, and Archivists… what happens when one of them collapses, isolates itself, or decides that the rest of the Empire no longer deserves access?"
A silence fell again.
Even the enchanted cutlery seemed to hesitate.
Elira raised her glass, peering into it like a crystal orb.
"You speak like someone who studied in... alternative schools"
Lígia smiled slightly.
"Let's say I come from a place where decentralization created digital empires more powerful than many armies"
Eliron let out a soft laugh, not mocking — just surprised.
"And how would this model work, Lady Lígia? Should we offer unrestricted access to magic so that any peasant can set fire to their neighbor's field?"
"Not quite" Lígia replied, leaning forward and resting her chin on her hand. "But access based on intention, not on bloodline. Public training. Open academies. Evaluation by merit, not by surname. Local magical development programs in rural areas. A distributed arcane system. Independent learning cells connected by networks"
Caelion's brow furrowed slightly.
"That sounds... dangerously anarchic"
Lígia's laugh was soft, unbothered.
"In my world, we called it the democratization of knowledge"
Neran was watching her now — intently. His dark eyes didn't waver.
Elira finally spoke again. Her tone velveted, but tight.
"And how do you stop that system from becoming chaos? How do you ensure that people won't abuse what they don't understand?"
Lígia shrugged gently.
"Absolute control isn't a guarantee of order. Only of stagnation. Chaos is already here. Just read the spy reports, the magical surges at the border, the black market of forbidden enchantments that circulates beneath the same glasses clinking around this table"
Eliron chuckled again.
"You speak of this as if it's... inevitable"
"No" Lígia replied, calm but firm. "As if it's already happening"
That earned a crisp clink as Elira placed her glass back on the table — a little louder than necessary.
Lígia, meanwhile, leaned back in her chair. Her expression stayed poised, but her fingers were now interlaced on her lap — as if holding a hidden blade.
The system whispered with unrestrained glee in her mind.
"I don't know whether I want to smack you or give you a standing ovation, but that table is colder than a blizzard of bureaucratic ice. Glorious."
Lígia didn't respond.
She simply lifted her glass again.
And drank — as if she hadn't just dropped sparks into centuries-old barrels of imperial gunpowder.