"Have you received any letters from Saelow of late?" I asked Harlin as he stepped out of Kaelen's official chambers. The foyer was quiet, save for the faint crackle of a hearth fire nearby.
Harlin adjusted the scrolls tucked under his arm and offered me a polite, if tired, smile. "I'm sorry, my Queen, but nothing of late. Your brother did send a letter requesting your release shortly after you arrived—but there's been silence since then."
"You're not lying to me, are you?"
He stiffened, not out of offense, but in the way someone does when trying to hide discomfort. "My Queen, the Lord Commander personally approved your correspondence with your brother. Who am I to defy his orders?"
I sighed, the pressure behind my eyes mounting. "I'm sorry, Harlin. It's just…"
"I understand," he said gently. "You miss your brother dearly. You've no need to apologize."
The heavy Manor doors slammed open then, startling both of us.
"Oh, where is the Lord Commander, my dear nephew?" a shrill, affected voice rang out.
A woman swept into the foyer, trailing perfumes and fabric that had once been in fashion—ten years ago. Her gown was an elaborate display of outdated lace and dusty jewels, and behind her followed a much younger girl—barely past sixteen, with flaxen curls, too much rouge, and sharp, beady eyes that took in the room like a hungry fox.
"Lady Darwyn," Harlin said with tight restraint, "what brings you here?"
She clutched her breast with mock sorrow. "It's my nephew's coronation, of course! I would never miss such an event." Then, with abrupt theatricality, she burst into dramatic sobs. "My dear brother… gone too soon!" She dabbed at a perfectly dry cheek with a handkerchief soaked in perfume. "But we must move forward. It's time to celebrate my nephew's rise."
Harlin gave a polite cough. "There are still a few days left before the coronation. You've arrived rather early."
"Nonsense!" Lady Darwyn announced, waving him off. "I intend to personally oversee the decorations, select his attire, and ensure this event is no dreary affair."
"That won't be necessary," Harlin interjected, now visibly sweating despite the cold. "We already have a Queen to oversee those preparations."
Lady Darwyn blinked. "Queen?"
"May I introduce her Majesty, Queen Nyriane Starwyn."
She paused, assessing me with a raised brow. "I heard rumors, but I assumed they were nonsense. One would think my nephew might exercise better judgment."
"I thought it customary to bow when greeting your Queen," I said calmly, turning to Harlin. "Isn't that right?"
Harlin nodded, suppressing a wince. "Yes, that is the custom."
Lady Darwyn's lips thinned. After a brief, awkward pause, she and her young companion dipped into a begrudging curtsy.
"Welcome, my Queen," she said with forced sweetness. "I suppose this makes me your aunt—by law, at least."
"I think Lady Darwyn will suffice. And your companion? We haven't been introduced."
The girl curtsied again, her eyes lingering on Kaelen's empty seat nearby.
"This charming girl is Bidwina," Lady Darwyn said proudly. "I'm sponsoring her for the season. A beauty, isn't she?"
I gave her a polite nod. "Quite."
Before I could ask anything more, Kaelen appeared, voice cutting through the tension.
"What's all this noise? Lady Darwyn, what a surprise."
She turned on the waterworks again. "Oh, my dear nephew! Your poor father—my beloved brother—taken so suddenly." Her sobs echoed against the stone, still absent any actual tears.
"I tried to attend the funeral, truly, but it all happened so quickly."
Then, with a sudden shift in tone, she beamed. "But enough of the past. I'm here now for your coronation. Don't worry, nephew. We'll make a fine show of it."
She turned to Bidwina. "Come, child, meet the new Lord Commander. Bow."
Bidwina curtsied with a syrupy smile. "A pleasure to meet you, Lord Commander," she purred, bending just enough to ensure Kaelen—and everyone else—caught a full view of her cleavage. The sight made my stomach churn. My fists clenched at my sides before I realized it.
"Um… nice to meet you," Kaelen said awkwardly, clearly unsure how to respond.
"Harlin, prepare the guest house for Lady Darwyn."
"The Manor will suit us fine," she cut in smoothly. "We'll take one of the guest suites."
Kaelen frowned. "The Manor will be quite busy over the next few days—"
"Then it's settled!" she declared, already sweeping toward the stairs. "Come, Bidwina. We've traveled far and must rest."
Once she was out of earshot, I turned to Harlin. "Who is that woman again?"
He exhaled slowly. "The late Lord Commander's sister, my Queen. She's… a character, to say the least."
"Hm," I muttered. That was putting it kindly.
"Nyriane."
My name, spoken aloud by Kaelen, caught me completely off guard. We hadn't exchanged more than a glance since our last accidental run-in days ago.
"Yes?" I said, wary.
"A word."
Harlin took the cue and excused himself quickly.
I stepped toward Kaelen, keeping a careful distance.
"Your coronation gown," he said stiffly. "The seamstress in town is asking you to visit her shop."
"She can't come here to the Manor?"
"I suggested that," he said. "But she insists on seeing you in person—wants to get a sense of your style, preferences, fabric choices. It's best you go to her."
"Very well," I said after a moment.
"Then it's settled."
We both stepped forward at the same time, nearly colliding. Then both to the right—then left—awkwardly mirroring each other.
"Wait," Kaelen said, raising a hand. I noticed the tic in his jaw again, the one that surfaced whenever something ruffled him. He stepped aside and gave a sharp flick of his hand, wordlessly telling me to move along.
I narrowed my eyes but said nothing. I walked past him, my spine straight.
As I rounded the corner, I saw Emelia leaning against the wall, arms crossed, her expression positively smug.
"Say a word—I dare you," I warned.
She only laughed, miming zipping her lips shut.