The double doors opened a second time. It was the same man who had earlier escorted Queen Maravelle into the hall. At his side walked Lady Selene. She wore a crimson gown cut so tight it seemed poured onto her. It clung like molten silk, slit high up one thigh and dipping low across her chest.
Behind her came a woman dressed plainly in forest green and black, her steps too quiet, too precise. The torchlight flickered uneasily as she passed, shadows bending at odd angles.
But her face...
Her face was Maravelle's.
Identical in every line and shadow. The same regal cheekbones, the same cold, sharp eyes, the same honey-gold hair, though this woman wore it loose down her back, not swept up like the queen.
Maravelle, the real one, rose from her seat. Her voice cracked like a whip. "What sorcery is this?"
Selene froze. Her gaze flicked wildly between the two Maravelles, confusion and horror bleeding across her face. She stumbled sideways, heart pounding.
Then came the hiss.
Black smoke surged around the woman behind her. The air turned sharp, acrid. The illusion melted like candle wax, revealing the cloaked sorcerer beneath, his eyes gleaming with cruel delight, his presence like a blight on the very air.
Selene gasped and recoiled. Without thinking, she ran to the other Maravelle, who caught her in a firm, protective embrace.
"You're safe now," the queen whispered gently. "It's alright."
Selene clung to her, trembling. "But… I don't understand. I thought you brought me here. Then you weren't you. Then who... what..." Her voice cracked. "I don't even know what's going on."
Queen Maravelle held her tighter, her voice low and steady. "You will. I promise, Selene. Just breathe."
"Selene, how gracious of you to join us."
The man at the head of the table gestured smoothly to the chair opposite him. "Please, sit."
Still trembling, Selene looked at him. Then at the woman seated beside him, elegant, severe, unknown. Slowly, she lowered herself into the chair.
"Who are you?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
"I am Prince Valemir," he replied with a ghost of a smile. "Of the Moonguard royal line. And your host, for this evening."
Her fingers curled around the edge of the table.
Then it hit her like a thunderclap to the chest.
She was seated before the exiled Moonguard prince. And beside him stood the sorcerer, the very one whispered about in fear across the realm.
Her breath caught. The chamber seemed to dim, as if the candlelight itself were afraid.
She turned sharply to Maravelle, panic breaking free in her voice.
"What is going on? You're with him? You brought me into this? Maravelle, this is madness... I don't want any part of it!"
Maravelle raised her hands quickly, her expression earnest and intense.
"Selene, listen to me. I didn't choose this either. I was taken, just like you."
Selene backed away, confusion and fury colliding in her chest. "But you brought me here... or no, it was him, pretending to be you... I don't understand. I'm no one! Why am I even here?"
"I know how it seems," Maravelle said gently, stepping closer. "But I swear to you, I'll get us out of this. Whatever this is, we'll face it together."
She turned to Prince Valemir, her eyes hard and unflinching.
"Now, enough of this farce. Tell us what this is really about."
Prince Valemir rose from his chair with quiet command, movements graceful, predatory. He held his goblet loosely in one hand, pacing with slow, deliberate steps. His eyes, cold, gleaming things like winter stars, never left Queen Maravelle.
He stopped beside her, wine catching the candlelight like blood.
"We have unfinished business," he said at last, voice smooth, but edged like a dagger. "I want to renew our alliance."
Maravelle arched a brow. "We had an alliance?"
He smiled faintly. "After you handed Lara to me, I knew you could be trusted."
Then his eyes turned colder. "And you let her go."
"She escaped." His smile vanished. "But it won't happen again."
Maravelle straightened in her chair, chin tilting high. "I'm not interested."
Valemir stepped closer, his voice like frost cracking glass. "You will be. Once you understand what I'm willing to give you."
She met his gaze, unblinking. "You have nothing that I want."
He laughed, a low, cruel sound that didn't reach his eyes. "Don't be so sure. I know what you really want, Maravelle."
Her jaw tightened. "What do I really want?" she asked mockingly.
He stepped in, close enough for the air to shift between them. "Alaric," he said, voice suddenly low, almost reverent.
The name landed like a blade.
Maravelle froze. Her breath caught, just for a moment, but it was enough. Her composure slipped, eyes flashing with something unspoken and painfully human. Then, just as swiftly, the mask returned.
"You presume too much," she said tightly, but her voice had lost its edge.
Valemir turned away, slow and smooth, as if they had all the time in the world. "Think carefully, Your Highness. It would be such a shame to waste this moment and find yourself on the wrong end of history."
"Alaric is dead." She said flatly.
Valemir paused, just long enough to let the silence breathe.
"Is he?"
Her fingers curled around the arm of her chair. Across the room, Nyalei tilted her head, watching like a sea serpent tracking blood in the water. Selene looked from one face to another. Selene, caught between them all, looked from face to face wide-eyed, brittle, breaking.
Maravelle's voice sliced through the air like glass through silk.
"What does she have to do with this charade?" She gestured towards Selene.
With her?" Valemir said, reverent as if the word were sacred.
"I saw you once." He said to Selene. "On the mountain pass, traveling with your mother. A single glimpse and I was captivated. I've razed cities for less. I could not forget you. You became a riddle I had to solve. And when I finally found you… I knew."
He turned, eyes hollow with conviction. "I had fallen in love."
Selene froze. "What?"
Maravelle scoffed, her voice laced with venom. "You are utterly out of your mind."
Selene recoiled, eyes blazing. "Love? Is that what this is all about? You're vile. Horrible. Twisted. You want me so you can drag into your dark little world. You don't know love, I think you just wanted something pretty to mask how ugly you truly are."
Selene stared at him in horror, then laughed, a short, bitter sound.
"Love? Is that what you call this nightmare? You're not in love with me. You're in love with your own madness. You wanted something beautiful to distract from how monstrous you've become." Her voice turned cutting, her gaze cold as frost. "But no silk or stolen girl will make you less hideous. Inside or out."
From the corner of the room, the air curdled. The sorcerer stepped forward from the shadows, where he'd been lurking like rot behind silk. His voice was low, gravel rasping over coals.
"You allow her to speak to you like that?" he asked, eyes glowing faintly beneath his hood. "To insult you, Prince Valemir?"
Selene flinched, instinctively shrinking away from the raw malice in his tone.
Valemir lifted one hand in a subtle gesture, not taking his eyes off her. "Do not frighten her."
The sorcerer hissed softly, discontent thick in his voice. "You grow soft."
"No," Valemir replied, cold but firm. "I grow human. If you ever fall in love, old friend, perhaps you'll understand."
The silence that followed stretched long and strange. Nyalei watched it all with a bitter smile, fingers drumming on the table. Maravelle, regal and scornful, said nothing for once.
And Selene, staring at the prince as though seeing him for the first time, wasn't sure whether to run or scream.
Maravelle turned to Valemir, lip curling. "But I thought this one was your wife."
Nyalei barked a laugh. "Wife? Oh, goddess no. Don't insult me."
She rose, liquid and lethal, and crossed to Selene's side. "I'm the storm beneath his ships. The shadow in his water. The weapon he uses when diplomacy fails. Let him wed who he likes, it changes nothing."
Selene flinched as Nyalei passed her shoulder. Maravelle looked between them all with dawning disgust.
"So," she said coldly, "you want an alliance with me and now you declare love?" Her voice turned blade-sharp. "Is this your grand plan, Valemir? Courtship and politics? Or is there something fouler behind your silver tongue?"
Valemir stepped forward, and the air itself seemed to retreat from him.
"I do not court, Maravelle," he said. "I conquer."
Then Maravelle laughed, low, rich, dangerous. "You arrogant, desperate relic. You think I'll bless this insanity? You've overplayed your hand."
Valemir's smile didn't reach his eyes. "I haven't even begun to play."
The room thickened with tension.