Lady Sera returned exactly two hours later. She looked like she had spent those two hours practicing her breathing exercises, but the moment she laid eyes on the Sun Chamber’s door, her composure began to fray.
Kofery was standing guard outside. He had his glare on, or at least, the version of it Lusha had taught him.
“Her Majesty is ready for tea,” Lady Sera announced, her voice pitched high. “The Archmage and the Princess are expected.”
Kofery didn’t move, didn’t even blink. “The Master is asleep.”
Lady Sera paused. “Then… wake him.”
Kofery let out a hysterical-sounding laugh. “Wake him? My Lady, I value my continued existence. The last time someone woke the Archmage prematurely, he accidentally deleted the gravity in the West Wing for three days. If you wish to try, the door is unlocked. But I suggest you write your will first.”
The servants behind Lady Sera turned pale. They stood frozen, the clatter of the tea trolleys falling silent. No one dared to breathe. Time stretched. Ten minutes passed. Twenty. The court officials vibrated with anxiety.
Then came the sound of heels clicking against the marble. “If the mountain will not come to the Queen,” a melodic, ageless voice rang out, “then the Queen shall simply walk into the mountain’s cave.”
The servants scrambled to the floor in deep bows. Hania peered through the crack in the door, her baby eyes widening.
She looked no older than twenty—or maybe twenty-five at the most. She had hair the color of crushed lavender and eyes like polished gray flint. She was so beautiful it made you feel as though you were staring at a diamond that could slice your soul open.
This was the woman who had lived through the Dragon War? She looked like she belonged at a debutante ball, not ruling a kingdom for two centuries.
Queen Thalindra Solara didn’t wait for Lady Sera to open the door. She pushed it open herself and stepped into the suite.
Lusha was already there, blocking the path to the inner chamber. She didn’t bow. Instead, she gave a long, elaborate greeting that felt like a veiled insult.
“Your Majesty,” Lusha purred, her eyes shimmering. “It has been so long. You haven’t changed a bit. Though, I suppose when one is shackled to a throne, time tends to… stagnate.”
The servants gasped. The subtext was no longer subtext.
Lusha tilted her head, her smile widening. “But oh dear, where are my manners? Or rather, where are yours? To enter a guest’s private chambers without a formal announcement… I suppose when the brain reaches two hundred years of age, the finer points of etiquette are the first things to go. It’s a tragic symptom of decay, really.”
The Queen’s gray eyes flared. She looked at the terrified servants. “Out. All of you.”
The room cleared in three seconds flat.
Once the door clicked shut, the Queen’s regal mask slipped away. She stepped toward Lusha, her lavender mana sparking in the air.
“Lushaberialalilithiana,” the Queen hissed, “if you imply I am senile one more time, I will have your innocent nanny skin turned into a rug for my great-granddaughter’s nursery.”
“You could try, Thali,” Lusha chirped, her voice dropping the formal act. “But your knights are still afraid of shadows, and your Emperor-husband—oh wait, late ex-husband—stripped this palace of anything that actually bites. You’re all bark and gold leaf these days.”
The Queen’s gaze shifted to Hania. She was sitting on the rug, clutching her rock, taking mental notes.
Note 1: The Queen is a savage.
Note 2: She and Lusha definitely have “mean girl” history from the year xxxx.
Note 3: Do not let these two combine forces.
Thalindra crouched down and looked at her like she was a high-level magical artifact that might explode. “So,” the Queen whispered. “The daughter of Dravin. You have his eyes and his arrogance. I can see you judging my wallpaper already.”
I am, Hania thought firmly. It’s too much gold. We need to talk about minimalism.
“She’s remarkable,” the Queen said, turning back to Lusha. “She’s not even crying. Most infants lose their minds in my presence.”
“She’s been raised by a man who treats emotions like a mana leak,” Lusha replied. “She’s sturdier than she looks.”
The inner door opened. Dravin stood there, looking perfectly rumpled and twice as lethal as usual. He didn’t look at the Queen. He looked at the tea service that had been left by the door.
“The tea is cold,” Dravin said flatly.
“The Archmage is awake,” the Queen countered, standing up and smoothing her lavender skirts. “And just as charming as the day you killed a dragon and told me to ‘handle the paperwork.’”
“It was a lizard,” Dravin corrected, picking Hania up by the back of her dress like a kitten. “And the paperwork was tedious. Why are you in my room, Thalindra?”
“To see if the rumors were true,” she said, her eyes softening as she looked at Hania. “To see if there was actually something in this world that could make you return to the light.”
She reached out and tapped Hania’s stone. “A storage crystal? You gave your daughter a battery for a birthday present? You really are a hopeless man.”
She turned toward the door, her regal mask snapping back into place. “Dress her well for the celebration this evening, Lusha. The children of the realm will be there. It’s time they saw what a Noctis looks like.”
As she walked out, she paused at the door. “And Dravin? If you wear those same robes tonight, I will have you barred from the refreshment tables.”
Dravin looked at his robes, then at Hania. “I like these robes.”
We’re wearing the silver and black, Dad. Don’t fight it, she thought, patting his cheek.
The evening celebration was held in the Grand Ballroom, which turned out to be an even more aggressive monument to white marble and gold leaf than the rest of the palace. Chandeliers the size of small carriages hung from a ceiling painted with scenes Hania couldn’t quite make out—something about a woman handing a crown to a kneeling figure, surrounded by faces that looked down with expressions that were either reverent or terrified. She couldn’t tell which.
At the center of it all, a long table had been set for the children—small chairs, small plates, small cups painted with golden suns. Streamers in pale blue and silver draped from the columns. Banners bearing the Royal House of Celestara’s crest hung between the windows. It was a child’s birthday party, scaled up to palace proportions and polished until it gleamed.
Ah yes. Future politicians in their larval stage.
Hania stood with Lusha in the antechamber just outside the ballroom doors, waiting. Kofery had been sent ahead to find their seats. Dravin was somewhere behind them, doing whatever Dravin did before public appearances—probably contemplating whether the event was worth the effort of attending at all.
Lusha knelt in front of her, blocking the view of the doors.
“Remember,” Lusha whispered, adjusting her silver-and-purple spider-silk collar one last time. Her fingers were gentle, tucking a stray strand of silver hair back into place. “Don’t look impressed. Look like you’re bored by the very concept of light.”
Hania met her eyes. Bored by light. Got it.
“These people have spent generations learning to look at power and pretend it doesn’t move them. You’re going to walk in there and show them what real power looks like when it doesn’t have to pretend.” Lusha smoothed the front of her dress. “You’re a Noctis. It’s a palace full of nobles who’ve never done anything harder than sit in a chair correctly. That is beneath you.”
She patted Hania’s cheek once, then stood. Her transformation was complete. She looked like a nanny again—a well-dressed, slightly mysterious nanny, but a nanny nonetheless. How does she do that? Hania marveled. She can turn the spider off like a light.
From behind them, footsteps approached. Dravin’s. She didn’t have to turn around to know. He stopped beside her. She looked up.
Silver and black. The coat Lusha had produced from that garment bag fit him like it had been made for him—which it probably had been, because Lusha did not leave things to chance. His hair was loose tonight, falling past his shoulders, and his face was set in that same expression of mild annoyance that passed for his neutral state.
“You look acceptable,” Lusha pronounced, circling him once. “The collar is slightly crooked.”
“It’s fine.”
“It’s crooked. Hold still.”
She reached up and tried to adjust it before he could stop her, but failed. Dravin scooped Hania up in his arms. But Hania reached out and fixed the crooked collar with a simple, quick touch.
Lusha laughed. “There,” she said, stepping back. “Now you look like the Archmage of the North, not a man who sleeps in his workroom. Good job Hania.”
“I don’t sleep in my workroom.”
“You haven’t slept in your bed in six years. I checked.”
Dravin did not respond to this. Instead, he settled Hania against his chest. “Ready?” he asked.
She nodded. Okay. Look powerful. Do not drool. We aim for intimidating, not teething.
The doors opened. The ballroom fell silent, like someone had pressed a mute button on the entire world.
“Announcing…” the herald squeaked, his voice cracking under the weight of the titles he was about to deliver. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Announcing the Archmage of the North, Warden of the Silent Frost, Slayer of the Crimson Brood… Dravin Kuro Noctis! Accompanied by the Princess Hania Luxe Noctis!”