Scene – Velaris Royal Gardens, Early Morning (Post-Masquerade)
The moon had long dipped beneath the silver hills, but Lyra couldn't sleep.
She wandered the velvet-lined corridors of House Norwyn barefoot, her silk nightdress brushing over marble floors like whispered secrets. Thoughts of Kaelrin tugged at her mind — the way his hand had found hers for a fleeting moment in the masked dance, how his voice had trembled ever so slightly when he'd whispered her name.
> "You are not like the others, Lyra."
Why did he say that? Why did he look at her like he meant it?
She stepped into the royal gardens alone, dawn still hidden behind a veil of night, and let the cool mist cling to her skin. The roses here were strange — bred magically by House Vale centuries ago, their petals shimmered faintly in the dark like frost-kissed rubies.
She sat on the stone bench under the "Promise Tree" — a twisted relic said to bloom only for true vows.
> "Couldn't sleep either?"
That voice. Familiar now.
Lyra turned sharply.
Kaelrin stood there in a midnight cloak, hands behind his back, eyes calmer than she'd ever seen them. He stepped forward, as if pulled by gravity, and sat beside her — not too close, not too far.
> Lyra (softly): "Did you follow me?"
Kaelrin (dryly): "You flatter yourself. I came for air."
A pause. The garden held its breath.
> Lyra: "You hate parties… yet you stayed till the end."
Kaelrin: "I had… a reason."
She tilted her head. "Oh?"
> Kaelrin: "I thought you might come here."
His voice cracked slightly, and that broke something in her. She saw it — the shield slipping.
> Lyra: "You're not very good at this."
Kaelrin (smiling faintly): "At what?"
Lyra: "Apologies. Confessions. Or… whatever this is."
A soft breeze passed between them.
> Kaelrin: "I was trained for war and diplomacy. Not love."
The word hung in the air — unspoken for too long. Lyra turned away, afraid to face the weight in his gaze.
> Lyra: "You think this is love?"
Kaelrin hesitated, then placed something on the bench between them. A silver pendant — shaped like a rose in bloom.
> Kaelrin: "My mother wore this before she died. She said… if I ever gave it to someone, it should mean something."
Lyra stared at it. Trembled.
> Lyra (whispering): "Why are you giving this to me?"
Kaelrin finally looked at her — fully, completely.
> Kaelrin: "Because I think you're the one person in this world who wouldn't be afraid to crush it if I became like them."
Silence. Thunder rolled distantly over the Velaris cliffs.
> Lyra: "That's not a confession, Kaelrin. That's a challenge."
> Kaelrin (with a soft smirk): "Maybe I like being challenged."
She didn't know whether to kiss him or slap him.
And perhaps… that was how it all began.
---
Scene – Back Inside House Norwyn
Alina watched from the upstairs window, lips tight. Her hand gripped the balcony rail until her knuckles turned pale.
> Alina (to herself): "He was supposed to look at me that way."
Behind her, Lady Elareth entered.
> Elareth: "You saw them."
> Alina: "He's falling for her."
> Elareth (coldly): "Then we must ensure she does not fall back."
Alina said nothing — but her silence was a vow.
---
Scene – Duke Kaelrin's Manor, Westmere
Darien burst into Kaelrin's study with a scroll in hand and a grin that spelled trouble.
> Darien: "You're already in the morning papers. 'The Stoic Duke and Lady Lyra — Seen Beneath the Promise Tree!' You'll be married by sunset if the city had its way."
> Kaelrin (deadpan): "Remind me to have the press burned."
Darien chuckled, lounging in the chair opposite him.
> Darien: "So it's true, then?"
> Kaelrin: "I gave her the pendant."
Darien blinked. "You never even let me touch that pendant."
> Kaelrin: "Because she's not you, Darien."
> Darien (grinning): "Romantic. Idiotic. Entirely unlike you. I'm proud."
But beneath the teasing was real concern. Darien had seen Kaelrin fall once — and it nearly destroyed him.
---
Scene – A Thorn in the Roses
Back in the Norwyn estate, rumors had already begun to twist.
A forged letter arrived under Lyra's name — sent to a rival house, hinting at her intention to seduce nobles for political gain. It was subtle. Calculated. Enough to ignite scandal.
Alina, watching silently from the doorway, said nothing as the messenger rode off.
Lyra opened the letter that afternoon. Her hands trembled.
> Lyra: "I never wrote this…"
> Elareth (with feigned shock): "It's already spreading, darling."
> Lyra: "Who would do this?"
No answer. Just the sound of noble knives slipping through velvet sleeves.
---
To Be Continued…