Light flooded the great hall, spilling from chandeliers that dangled in clusters from the soaring ceiling. The crystals, sharp-edged and flawless, bounced candlelight from every direction, so the whole place was washed in warm gold. Tapestries lined the stone walls, stitched with battles and victories, their colours shifting and bold in the moving light. The air was tangled with the heavy smells of roast meat, spiced wine, and loaves fresh from the oven—enough to tempt even a jaded noble. Down the centre, long oak tables stretched end to end, their glossy tops sagging under heaps of food: honey-slick boar, steaming pots of stew, and bowls crammed with fruit that shone as if someone had polished them.

  Voices buzzed through the room—low conversation interrupted by laughter and goblets clinking together in cheers. Musicians huddled near the far wall kept up a cheerful tune on lutes, flutes, and a harp so bright and quick that it pulled a few couples onto the open floor for a turn or two. Nobles drifted through it all in their best finery, silks and velvets catching stray beams of light as they moved past. The women wore glittering stones at throat and wrist; the men had brooches and heavy chains for everyone to notice.

  Gai held his place by one of the thick stone pillars at the edge of it all. He stood straight-backed, his spear’s metal point dull but clear in his hand. His armour creaked quietly as he shifted his stance—a reminder to himself that while others enjoyed themselves, he was there for duty alone. His eyes swept over faces without rest: a servant hurrying too fast to refill wine, a nobleman laughing too loudly at an off-hand joke, a lord whose jaw clenched just so when speaking to his peer. It was a practiced check—nothing seemed wrong—but Gai kept his guard up.

  Tonight was all for Esbuenesia’s delegation—a kingdom not easily ignored or trusted. Their group stood out: sharp-boned, pointed ears and deep, flowing robes brighter than anything else in sight. Gai watched as one of them laughed at a courtier’s whispered comment, too smooth by half for his liking. Something about these Esbuenesians left him uneasy—their charm rehearsed, their gestures careful like everything meant more than it seemed. To Gai’s eyes, every word between them looked like part of some private contest only they understood.

  Gai’s focus snapped to a figure lingering by the entrance. A young woman stood there, almost swallowed by shadow even though light spilled everywhere else. Her cloak, a deep blue edged with gold, shifted just enough to catch the gleam overhead. Strands of blonde hair slipped from beneath her hood, the rest of her face mostly hidden but still impossible to ignore. She looked out of place among all these overdressed nobles, but carried herself like she’d navigated rooms like this plenty of times.

  Recognition hit Gai hard and fast. No mistaking her—cloak fancier now, maybe, but he’d know that walk anywhere: smooth and careful, almost too quiet for her own good. He remembered seeing her just a few nights past, vanishing into one of the castle’s hidden corridors before he could get close. That memory still nagged at him—how did she know about those passages? What business did she have slipping around in the dark?

  He watched as she paused for a heartbeat before moving into the crowd, her gaze cutting over the room with a sharpness that made Gai uneasy. She wasn’t here to be entertained or impressed—her eyes weighed everything and everyone, cool and deliberate. If she was searching for something, Gai doubted it was anything harmless.

  Old Town flashed in his mind—a memory he’d rather leave buried. That ambush could have ended him, if luck hadn’t decided otherwise. The details came back in sharp shards: lamplight bending in ways it shouldn’t, the sudden snarl of something not quite human, blades clashing, blood spreading across the stones while shouts bounced off the alley walls. His grip tightened on his spear until his fingers ached. Two men had come close to dying that night, and though he’d walked away with just a few sore ribs and a bruised ego, the guilt was still there, refusing to let go.

  She was slipping further into the throng now, moving like she owned the place even as Gai’s nerves screamed at him to stop her. His heartbeat thudded harder—he wasn’t letting this one out of sight again.

  “Gai.” The word landed sharp and clear, dragging him back to the present.

  He spun around to find Elle making her way toward him, the silver threads in her crimson robes glinting with every step. Her steady, gold-flecked gaze met his—calm, sharp, and impossible to read.

  “Elle.” His voice was even, but a reluctant smile betrayed the tension he felt. Having her here made everything seem a touch less dire.

  “You look ready to bite someone’s head off,” she remarked, eyeing him sidelong as if the right angle might crack his expression open.

  “It’s nothing,” Gai replied too quickly. Under her scrutiny, he couldn’t keep it up and let out a quiet sigh. “Actually—someone’s here who shouldn’t be.”

  Elle’s eyebrow lifted just so as she followed his stare to where the cloaked woman slipped between guests. “Let me guess. The one pretending not to be watched?”

  Gai paused, fingers tightening on his spear as his eyes landed on the hooded woman at the edge of the hall. The crowd moved around her, hardly noticing her, and she stood there—still and oddly alert, head angled like she was catching something no one else noticed. Something about it made his skin crawl. He swallowed and gave a faint nod in her direction.

  “That one,” he muttered, just loud enough for Elle to hear. “Pretty sure she’s the one I chased into the library before I met you. And—” He hesitated, jaw tightening. “She’s also the one who ambushed me and two others in Old Town.”

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  Elle's eyes narrowed as she followed where he was looking. The woman didn't acknowledge them, but Elle shifted her weight anyway, her hand instinctively reaching for a weapon at her hip that wasn't there—muscle memory born from consistent training."

  “You’re sure?” Elle asked quietly, her tone steady but sharper now, making Gai glance sideways at her.

  “Not completely,” he admitted after a moment, his shoulders sagging slightly under the weight of uncertainty. “But I have a gut feeling.” He tapped his chest lightly with two fingers, as if to emphasize where that instinct lived—a place deeper than logic or proof.

  Elle’s lips pressed into a thin line, her expression unreadable for a moment before softening just enough to reveal concern lurking beneath her usual composure. “Be careful, Gai,” she said quietly, her tone firm but not unkind. “Trust your instincts, but don’t act rashly. There’s more at play here than you might realize.”

  A weighted pause settled between them, each of them quietly turning over what wasn’t said. Gai let out a long breath, shoulders loosening as he pushed a strained smile onto his face—more for Elle’s benefit than his own.

  “Actually,” he said, shifting his stance like he still hadn’t found a spot that felt quite right, “there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.”

  Elle turned her attention back to him fully, one eyebrow arching ever so slightly in curiosity. “Oh? What is it?”

  Gai glanced around instinctively, scanning the hall for anyone paying undue attention to their conversation. The great hall was noisy enough to drown out their voices, but old habits died hard. Satisfied that no one was listening too closely—not even the hooded woman—he leaned in slightly and lowered his voice.

  “Captain Maric chewed me out pretty badly,” he confessed, his tone tinged with both irritation and resignation.

  Elle’s brow furrowed in concern as she tilted her head to study him more closely. “Why? What happened?”

  Gai shifted his grip on his spear, letting it rest against the floor almost casually. “Remember when I showed up at the library with you?” His tone was careful, as if he’d rather be anywhere else than admitting this. “Maric had no idea I’d gone. I may have skipped out on telling him.”

  Elle stared at him for a moment before connecting the dots, her eyes narrowing. “You ditched your post,” she said flatly.

  Gai shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck with a lopsided frown. “Yeah. Maric caught on, and let’s just say he gave me an earful. I think he might’ve set a new record for lectures—didn’t even pause to breathe.”

  Elle studied him, the corners of her mouth threatening to curl up. The mental image of Captain Maric shaking his head at Gai’s mischief was almost too fitting.

  “You didn’t actually explain why you vanished, did you?” she said at last, crossing her arms and giving him the look she reserved for troublemakers.

  Gai gave a single, firm shake of his head. “Didn’t say a word about the library or anything else,” he replied quietly. “Figured Maric is better off in the dark for now. He’s good—one of the best around—but I doubt he’s ready to deal with talks of hidden artifacts and ancient cults.” His voice dropped to a near whisper at the end, careful as ever.

  Elle exhaled slowly, shoulders easing as she finally allowed herself to relax. “Smart call,” she said softly. “Last thing Maric needs right now is one more crisis to juggle.”

  She hesitated then, her expression shifting into something gentler—almost apologetic—as she added, “But I’m sorry you had to take the heat for it.”

  Gai rolled one shoulder, something like a smirk tugging at his lips but not quite making it there. “Comes with the territory, doesn’t it?” His voice was easy enough, though Elle caught the irritation simmering under the surface.

  He looked away, then added, quieter, “What was I supposed to tell him? ‘Sorry, Captain, couldn’t guard the door—I was too busy unravelling conspiracies and poking around for lost relics’? He’d have my head.”

  Elle studied him for a moment before speaking, her words calm but certain. “Maybe so. Still doesn’t mean we’re in the wrong.”

  Elle reached out and let her hand rest on Gai’s arm, her fingers landing lightly on his sleeve. The touch was steady, just enough to anchor him in the noise of the hall. Her gaze found his—steady, gold-flecked, and giving away nothing but a quiet confidence.

  “You’re stuck between a rock and about five sharp places, you know,” she said, her voice just above a whisper. “But you have good instincts. Don’t start doubting them now. We’re sorting out messes that need it, even if it means making our own rules as we go.”

  Gai looked at her for a long moment, letting the words settle. There was something about Elle—how she never rushed, how her honesty somehow made everything feel less impossible. Against his better judgment, he felt some of the tension slide from his shoulders.

  He let out a slow breath, and some of the tension left his shoulders. A faint smile crept in. “Honestly, I just needed to say it out loud,” he said, voice softer than usual. “Appreciate you letting me ramble.”

  Elle’s face warmed with a small, genuine smile. “That’s what I’m here for,” she replied quietly. Her mouth twitched with something like amusement as she added, “We’re both stuck in this mess together. Just—try not to get yourself stabbed tonight, alright?”

  Gai huffed a laugh, the last bit of stiffness dropping from his expression. “No promises,” he said, but his voice was lighter now, and he meant it. They both knew neither of them played things safe.

  She squeezed his arm once—firm, reassuring—and then slipped back into the crowd without another word, leaving him steadier than before.

  Gai watched Elle slip away until she was lost among the swirl of gowns and gleaming armour. He felt a flicker of thanks—she had this uncanny knack for talking him down when everything inside wanted to jump out of his skin. But the relief didn’t last long; something colder pressed in under it, a stubborn sense that something was wrong tonight. The whole hall seemed weighted, every movement and hushed word charged with tension he couldn’t quite name.

  He forced himself to scan the room again, picking out faces beneath the light, but nothing eased the prickling at the back of his neck. No matter how many times he checked, that uneasy feeling clung tight, impossible to shake.

  Then, without warning, trumpets blared—loud enough to cut through every scrap of conversation. The noise in the hall snapped off in an instant as everyone turned toward the dais. Gai straightened up automatically, setting his nerves aside because duty didn’t give him much choice.

  And above the hush, the herald’s voice carried clear: “My lords and ladies, honoured guests, may I present Her Highness, Princess Elle of Esbuenesia!”

  Gai just about forgot how to breathe as those words sank in. For a split second, he thought maybe his ears were playing tricks on him. But then Elle stepped out from behind the curtain at the dais—no mistake now, not with the whole hall watching—and any lingering doubt vanished instantly.

  Her hood was nowhere in sight, and her hair—almost white, really—caught the light and made everyone else look dim by comparison. It fell over her shoulders in easy waves, softening sharp features that looked anything but fragile. Her eyes, the same unmistakable gold as always, swept the room with a steady calm that had nothing to do with nerves.

  People broke into applause—not polite clapping, but the kind that meant they were paying attention for once—as Elle glided toward her seat next to King Reynard at the main table. She didn’t just walk; she owned every step, somehow managing to look comfortable even with every set of eyes on her. She looked like she belonged here, or anywhere else she decided to stand.

  Seated beside the king, Elle surveyed the tables with an easy, steady glance—composed as ever. She traded a few polite words with the dignitaries to her left and right, but kept cutting her eyes back to Gai. Each glance landed quick and precise, more curious than commanding, as if she was checking just how much his nerves had betrayed him. He pulled himself up straight and tried—and failed—to look unaffected; they both knew he was rattled.

  Gai’s brain scrambled to reconcile this composed princess with the Elle who’d just talked him down from a panic in the corner like it was nothing. Princess Elle? It almost made sense, except for when it didn’t. Looking back, maybe he should’ve pieced it together sooner; now, all he could do was stand here and decide whether to sigh or laugh at himself for missing the obvious.