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"Princess!" Emelia gasps, pressing a hand to her chest. "You look like something out of a fairytale."
"She's right, my Queen," Friya adds with a proud little smile. "All eyes will be on you tonight."
I tilt my head, studying my reflection in the tall looking glass. Do I really look that different?
Madame Alexandra's creation hugs my frame like it was stitched from starlight and intention—deep crimson silk embroidered with gold thread, each star meticulously shaped in garnet red. The sleeves taper at the wrists, where gold cuffs glint under the candlelight.
"They'll have to look twice to catch every detail," Madame Alexandra had said with a delighted cackle while adjusting the hem.
I wear Kaelen's colors—red and gold—but I've claimed them in my own way. My mother's tiara rests atop my head, its silver arch crowned with blood-red rubies. She wore it to almost every celebration. A small rebellion, perhaps, to remind the court that I am still a Starwyn.
"I'm still me, Emelia," I murmur as she touches up the rouge on my lips.
"Yes," she says gently, stepping back to admire her work, "but with more resolve in your eyes. More fire."
The front of my hair has been braided close to the scalp; the back tumbles in soft curls that frame my face. I almost don't recognize the woman staring back at me.
Then—a knock at the door.
"The Lord Commander is in for a surprise," Friya squeals, rushing to open it.
Kaelen steps in, freshly shaven, his dark hair finally tamed from the chaos of the campaign. He wears a maroon velvet doublet, the Thorne crest stitched in gold over his chest. His expression is unreadable at first—but then his eyes find me, and something flickers there.
He looks me over slowly, deliberately. Heat blooms in my cheeks.
"You finally cleaned up," I say, smirking to break the silence.
Kaelen chuckles, stepping closer. "I was worried my wife wouldn't recognize me under all that hair."
He leans in, his voice a low murmur meant only for me. "You look beautiful tonight."
"Red suits you."
My blush deepens. I remember the last time I wore red—and how he'd looked at me then.
"You're only saying that because it's your banner color," I reply lightly, steering the conversation away from that memory.
He grins. "Well, being under my banner suits you."
I lift my chin. "I'm still a Starwyn," I say, gesturing toward the tiara. "This belonged to my mother."
His gaze softens. "Then she had impeccable taste."
We're interrupted by Harlin knocking on the already open door.
"Lord Commander," he announces, "the guests have arrived. They await you in the ballroom."
Kaelen offers me his hand. I hesitate for only a breath before placing mine in his.
We walk together down the gilded corridor. The sound of strings drifts toward us. At the top of the ballroom staircase, the herald clears his throat.
"Presenting His Grace, Lord Commander Kaelen Thorne, and Her Royal Highness, Queen Nyriane Starwyn."
The doors open. A hush falls.
Hundreds of eyes turn to us as we descend into a sea of candlelight and silk, perfume and politics.
Madame Alexandra bursts from the crowd, arms outstretched in theatrical glee.
"Oh, my beautiful creations!" she exclaims, dropping into an elaborate curtsy. "My King and Queen!"
She rises, eyes gleaming. "It was an honor to dress you both for such an auspicious occasion."
"Thank you, Alex," I say sincerely. "Your vision never fails to impress."
"And your poise elevates my work beyond cloth and thread," she says, hand pressed to her heart. "Tonight, Your Majesty, you are not merely dressed—you are declared."
Behind her, I spot Lady Darwyn already surrounded by listeners, her feathered headpiece bobbing as she launches into some exaggerated tale. Bidwina hovers behind her, glancing about like a nervous sparrow.
Lady Darwyn spots us and swoops over.
"My wonderful nephew!" she exclaims, admiring Kaelen before turning her sharp eyes on me. Her expression sours. "And our current queen… you look better than I hoped."
"Ha! She looks absolutely gorgeous and you know it!" Madame Alexandra barks. "Though your judgment might be skewed, considering your fashion sense is two decades out of date."
"Oh! I never—!" Lady Darwyn clutches her pearls, aghast.
"Yes, that's exactly what I meant. You've never been fashionably astute," Alexandra shrugs like she's discussing the weather.
"I think we have dignitaries to meet," Kaelen interjects, pulling me away.
"Your aunt is something," I say with a laugh as he steers me through the crowd.
"Craven wouldn't even let her step foot in Aureliath. He couldn't tolerate her," Kaelen mutters, handing me a goblet of wine.
"I wonder why," I murmur, taking a sip.
"Your Highness," someone says behind us.
"General Tharek Vane," Kaelen greets him. "Nyriane, this is my father's general. He retired after an injury."
Tharek has a patch over one eye and walks with a cane. The scar that runs across his face is deep and cruel.
"A pleasure to meet you," Tharek says stiffly. "Congratulations on the marriage... though I was surprised. Your father swore he'd never allow you to marry—least of all Baylor's daughter."
"This is neither the time nor place, Tharek," Kaelen says, his voice ice.
"Forgive me, Lord Commander. I spoke out of turn." But Tharek doesn't look at me once before he limps away.
"He's clearly not a fan," I mutter.
"Ignore him. I think it's time we danced."
"Does this ruthless warlord even know how to dance?"
"Only one way to find out."
Kaelen leads me to the center of the dance floor. The musicians shift tempo. The crowd parts.
All eyes fall on us.
He bows. I curtsy. Our hands meet.
He's a surprisingly graceful dancer. Each step flows naturally, his hand steady on my back, guiding me through a waltz that's somehow both measured and intimate. He twirls me, and I let out a quiet laugh as I spin back into his arms.
The room fades. I forget the court, the politics, the war. There is only the music. Only us.
When he dips me, I cling instinctively to his shoulder, heart hammering. Our gazes remain locked as he draws me upright again, and for a fleeting moment, I feel like I'm falling—without ever leaving the ground.
Too soon, the music ends. The applause pulls us back into the present.
"Lord Commander," Harlin appears at Kaelen's side. "Might I steal you for a moment?"
Kaelen nods and follows him.
I barely have a moment to gather my breath before a woman taps my shoulder.
"The People's Queen," she says with a crooked grin. "Never thought I'd see the day."
She tries to bow, but I stop her.
"That's alright. And you are?"
"Meadra Orlaithe. I was a washerwoman during your grandfather's time. Became a nurse during the revolution. I live well now—thanks to my pension." She laughs.
"It's a pleasure to meet you."
"You've got your mother's kind eyes. Nothing like that cold-hearted tyrant Elarion. Forgive me, child, but he was an awful man."
"You knew my mother?"
"Aye. She used to hand out blankets in the winter. I had young children then, and she always gave me more so they wouldn't freeze."
Her eyes shine. Then her expression turns sour.
"Now my sons live in mansions and act like ungrateful brats. All in high ranking posts all because of me"
I laugh.
"Well, I hope to meet them."
"You will. They love to suck up—bloody spineless!"
Before I can reply, Friya arrives and whispers in my ear.
Kaelen wishes to see me—in his official chambers.
My stomach drops something doesn't seem to be right.