The Tea Party:
Two days later.
The gown they'd prepared was pale blue—soft, elegant, deliberately understated. Nothing that would draw attention. Nothing that would invite comment.
I stood before the mirror while the head maid, Hana, adjusted the lace at my shoulders. She was older than the others, her movements efficient, her silence comfortable. She'd served my mother, Eleanor, and had stayed through everything after.
"You look lovely, my lady," she said quietly.
I didn't feel lovely. I felt armored.
"Will it do?" I asked.
"More than do." She stepped back, examining me with a critical eye. "You look like your mother."
The words hung in the air. I didn't know how to respond to them.
She smoothed a final wrinkle. "Lady Eleanor attended many such gatherings. She never enjoyed them." Her voice softened. "But she was never defeated by them either."
I met her eyes in the mirror. "What did she do?"
"She smiled. She listened. And she remembered everything." Hana's expression didn't change. "The ones who underestimated her always regretted it later."
I turned that over in my mind.
"Thank you, Hana."
She inclined her head. "The carriage is ready when you are."
---
The carriage rocked gently as it rolled over the cobblestones, the steady rhythm of hooves filling the narrow space. The velvet seat beneath me was soft, but I sat stiffly, hands folded in my lap, feeling every sway.
Outside, the manor gates slipped past. Too easily.
I watched the scenery through the small window—stone walls, trimmed hedges, familiar roads. Last time, the real Eledy had ridden like this without knowing who was watching. Who was learning.
This time was different.
I exhaled slowly, counting the breath. In. Out. Just like Knight Ledia taught me.
*Control first. Emotion later.*
The Harmontt estate came into view—white stone, open gardens, banners fluttering gently in the afternoon breeze.
I straightened my posture as the carriage slowed.
---
The Harmontt garden terrace was exactly as Gerson had described—open sides draped with sheer curtains that did nothing to provide privacy, surrounded by meticulously maintained flower beds in full spring bloom. Afternoon sunlight filtered through the latticed roof, casting delicate shadows across the table laden with pastries and fine porcelain.
I arrived precisely on time. Not early enough to seem eager, not late enough to be rude.
Lady Sheera Harmontt greeted me at the terrace steps with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Lady Eledy! How wonderful that you could join us. Please, have a seat."
The other three were already seated—a calculated arrangement. Kiera Castor held the position of honor at Sheera's right. Amara Vellond and Seraphine Marlowe flanked the remaining sides, leaving only one chair open.
Directly across from Kiera.
Of course.
I took my seat with a polite nod, accepting the teacup a servant offered. The porcelain was warm against my palms.
"We were just discussing the upcoming harvest festival," Sheera said brightly, settling back into her chair. "Lady Seraphine attended last year's celebration in the eastern provinces. She was telling us about the flower parade."
Seraphine leaned forward, her auburn curls catching the light. "Oh, it was absolutely magnificent! They weave fresh blooms into entire carriages—roses, lilies, even night-blooming jasmine. The scent alone was intoxicating."
"I heard the royal family made an appearance," Amara added, her tone casual but pointed. "Including the crown prince."
The shift in energy was immediate. Subtle, but there.
Kiera set down her teacup with practiced grace. "Prince Louise does enjoy public festivals. He's quite devoted to the people."
"And quite handsome," Seraphine said with a giggle. "Though I suppose you'd know better than we would, Lady Kiera. Didn't you dance with him at the spring ball?"
Kiera's smile was modest, perfectly calibrated. "Only once. His Highness was kind enough to honor several ladies with dances that evening."
"But he spent the longest time speaking with you afterward," Amara pressed, her eyes gleaming. "Everyone noticed."
"Please, you're flattering me too much." Kiera waved a delicate hand, but her posture suggested she was enjoying every word. "His Highness is merely polite. I'm sure he'd converse with anyone who approached him."
"Still," Sheera mused, tapping a finger against her teacup, "you would make a lovely match. House Castor's standing, your accomplishments in music and literature... the court already speaks highly of you."
Kiera's expression remained demure, but something flickered in her eyes. Interest. Carefully controlled, but present.
"The crown prince is rather young though, isn't he?" Seraphine tilted her head thoughtfully. "Twelve, I believe? You're fourteen now, Lady Kiera."
"A two-year difference isn't so unusual," Sheera said. "Though I suppose for a crown prince, matches are often arranged with political considerations rather than age."
"Actually," Seraphine said, her tone light and innocent, "isn't His Highness the same age as Lady Eledy? They're both twelve."
The conversation pivoted like a blade finding its mark.
All eyes turned to me.
Kiera's smile widened—warm, friendly, perfectly venomous. "That's right. What do you think about His Highness, Lady Eledy? You must have thoughts on the crown prince."
The question landed with surgical precision.
They didn't know what wound they'd pressed.
A wound I inherited. A wound that still stings.
The diary had documented it in careful detail. Eight years old. Visiting the palace with her mother. Eleanor's words, written down years later with aching nostalgia: "Mother said if I married the crown prince, I could live there someday. That I'd have to work very hard."
The real Eledy had clung to those words like a lifeline.
Then came the magic assessment. Zero aptitude. The dream shattered—no mage could marry into royalty, and a noble girl with no magic was barely a noble at all.
But she hadn't given up. The dream calcified into something harder, more desperate. At least I can be useful to him. Political studies. History. Economics. Diplomacy. Pages and pages of notes in the diary, tracking her progress, her hopes.
It wasn't enough.
Four pairs of eyes watched me. Waiting. The silence stretched just long enough to become uncomfortable.
I set down my teacup with careful precision and met Kiera's gaze directly.
"Isn't that a question better suited for you, Lady Kiera?" I kept my tone light, conversational. "I don't have any magical ability. Unlike you, I can't even dream of the crown prince."
The words landed softly, but the impact was immediate.
Seraphine's giggle cut off mid-breath. Amara's fingers stilled against her teacup. Sheera's perpetual smile faltered for just a fraction of a second.
Kiera's expression didn't change. The smile stayed perfectly in place. But something flickered behind her eyes—calculation, maybe. Or irritation that I hadn't crumbled as expected.
"You're too modest, Lady Eledy," she said smoothly. "Magic isn't everything. I'm sure you have many other admirable qualities."
The counter-strike. She'd opened the door to catalogue my failures—all while sounding supportive and kind.
But the conversation shifted before she could press further.
"Did you know?" Sheera said, leaning forward. "Last year, a Goblin King appeared in our eastern dungeon."
Seraphine gasped. "A Goblin King? That's incredibly dangerous."
"It was," Sheera continued, her voice dropping. "Father had to hire two high-ranked mercenary crews just to subjugate it."
"Doesn't Duke Castor have ties with those companies?" Amara asked casually.
Sheera brightened. "Oh, you're right! Father mentioned that. Duke Castor helped facilitate the contract."
Kiera set down her teacup. "Father believes in maintaining good relationships with reliable mercenary groups."
The pieces were moving into position.
"The eastern trade routes have been affected lately," Amara said. "The Rovaan territory routes especially."
All eyes turned to me.
"The situation is being addressed," I said evenly.
"But the dungeons aren't being cleared," Amara pressed gently. "My father mentioned it last week."
Seraphine nodded sympathetically. "The merchants are quite vocal about their concerns."
"Can't House Rovaan hire mercenaries?" Sheera asked.
"High-ranked crews don't come cheap," I said.
"No, they don't," Kiera agreed softly. "Which is why Father was so concerned when he heard about the Rovaan situation."
The words landed like stones.
"Didn't Duke Castor offer assistance?" Amara asked.
"He did," Kiera confirmed. "Military support—experienced soldiers. No cost to House Rovaan."
Sheera clasped her hands together. "That's so generous!"
"He truly is benevolent," Seraphine added. "Always helping, even when he doesn't have to."
Kiera's smile remained warm. "But Count Rovaan declined, didn't he?" She paused. "Why is that, Lady Eledy? Father only wants to help."
I set down my teacup and met her gaze.
"We prefer to handle our own problems," I said quietly. "Duke Castor is already managing so many responsibilities—helping so many houses, even without being asked. I wouldn't want to burden him further."
The meaning underneath was clear.
*Don't stick your nose where it doesn't belong.*
Kiera's smile didn't falter, but something flickered in her eyes.
"How noble," she said softly. "Though I do hope Count Rovaan reconsiders. It would be unfortunate if House Rovaan's pride led to further difficulties."
Amara nodded. "The merchant guilds have so much influence. If they decide the routes are too dangerous..."
"They'll demand compensation," Seraphine finished.
They pressed me with questions—never openly, never crudely. Each one was measured, layered beneath politeness, designed to corner without appearing to do so.
I answered where I could, deflected where I must. A half-truth here. A clarification there. Enough to remain courteous. Never enough to give them what they wanted.
It wasn't enough.
I could feel it in the slight pauses, the exchanged glances, the way their smiles failed to reach their eyes.
Then it happened.
"More tea, Lady Eledy?" Seraphine reached for the teapot.
"No, thank you—"
But she was already pouring.
Amara shifted in her seat.
Her elbow bumped.
The teapot tilted.
Hot liquid splashed across my hand and wrist.
The pain was immediate—sharp, biting. My skin flared red where it touched.
"Oh!" Seraphine gasped. "I'm so sorry!"
"I'm really sorry, Lady Eledy," Amara said quickly. "I wasn't looking."
The table erupted. Napkins appeared. Sheera called for water.
My hand trembled. I forced my fingers to still.
I set down my cup.
Carefully.
The trembling was visible. The reddened skin obvious.
But I didn't pull away.
I lifted my gaze.
Seraphine was still apologizing. Amara was dabbing at the tablecloth. Sheera hovered with concern.
Kiera watched.
"No," I said quietly.
They stopped.
"I should be the one to apologize."
Confusion flickered across their faces.
I met Kiera's eyes.
"I didn't know the tea would accidentally spill."
The emphasis cut through the false sympathy like a blade.
The table went silent.
I stood, smoothing my skirts despite the tremor in my burned hand.
"I believe it's time I take my leave. Thank you for the lovely afternoon, Lady Sheera."
"But Lady Eledy—" Sheera started.
"Please give my regards to your mother."
I didn't wait for dismissal.
I turned and walked away—steps measured, spine straight.
Behind me, silence stretched.
Then, just as I reached the garden path, I heard it.
Kiera's voice, soft but carrying.
"How interesting."
Not angry. Not mocking.
Thoughtful.
---