The royal tea party was a masterpiece of false serenity. The academy's largest garden had been transformed into a pastel dream. Ribbons fluttered from cherry trees in full, perfumed bloom. Small tables draped in white linen dotted the emerald lawn, and a string quartet played something airy and forgettable. The air smelled of sugar, flowers, and ambition.
I stood at the edge, a ghost in a blue dress. My gaze tracked the players.
Cassian held court at the central table, a sun around which planets orbited. He laughed at something a count said, the sound golden and effortless. His eyes, however, constantly swept the crowd—calculating, cataloging.
Kaelen stood apart, a dark monolith against the frivolity. He was near the rose arbor, speaking with a stern-faced general. He wasn't drinking tea. His presence was a watchful, silent pressure on the entire event. Our eyes met across the crowd. His silver-gray gaze held mine for a heartbeat—a question, a warning—before he looked away, but the silver-blue thread between us pulled taut.
Seraphina was everywhere. The perfect hostess, her strawberry curls bouncing as she flitted between groups, her laughter like chiming bells. She wore the colors of spring—pink and cream—and a necklace of pearls that lay against her throat like a collar of innocence. I watched her hands. They never stopped moving, touching an arm, adjusting a flower, never resting near the small, beaded purse hanging from her wrist.
And there was Gavin Selwyn, by the punch bowl, his face the color of spoiled milk. He clutched a glass of wine as if it were a lifeline. The fearful yellow thread around him vibrated like a plucked harp string.
Elara, true to her word, marched up to Cassian's table with Northern directness. I saw her gesture toward the mountains, then launch into what looked like a detailed, passionate lecture. Cassian's polite smile became slightly strained. Good. He was distracted.
The ritual began. Servants circulated with trays of tea and sparkling wine for the toast. Seraphina gracefully took a tray from a flustered maid. "Allow me," she trilled, beginning with Cassian's inner circle.
My heart hammered against my ribs. This was it.
She moved from person to person, offering a smile and a murmured compliment to each. She reached Gavin. As she handed him a fresh glass, her body angled to block the view from most of the party. Her hand dipped. I saw the subtle transfer, the tiny, crystalline vial passing from her fingers to his palm beneath the glass stem. Gavin flinched but closed his hand around it.
Seraphina's eyes flickered to mine across the garden. She gave me a sweet, victorious smile. She thought I was watching my own doom. She didn't know I was watching her.
Cassian stood, raising his glass. The quartet stopped. A hush fell, broken only by the whisper of the breeze.
"My friends! A toast to the season of renewal and to the bright futures blooming here at our beloved academy!"
Glasses lifted. Sunlight sparkled on crystal. Gavin's hand shook, the vial hidden in his fist. He was supposed to step forward now.
He didn't move. He was frozen, petrified.
Panic shot through me. Move, you fool! Drop it!
Cassian finished his toast. "To the empire!"
"TO THE EMPIRE!" the crowd echoed, drinking.
This was the moment. In the original script, Cassian would drink and collapse. But Gavin just stood there, paralyzed, the poison burning a hole in his hand.
Seraphina's smile didn't falter, but her eyes narrowed. A flicker of impatience. She gave an almost imperceptible nod toward Cassian's now-half-empty glass on the table.
Gavin swallowed. He took a shuddering step forward. "Y-Your Highness! If I may… a toast from… from those of us in your shadow!"
Cassian, turning back from Elara with visible relief at the interruption, raised a gracious eyebrow. "Lord Selwyn. The floor is yours."
Gavin lifted his glass. His other hand, holding the vial, moved toward Cassian's discarded cup on the table. His movements were clumsy and obvious.
He was going to be caught. He was going to bungle it and get us all killed.
Without thinking, I acted. I stepped forward, my glass in hand, and "accidentally" stumbled on the hem of my gown.
I crashed into Gavin.
The world became a slow-motion chaos. My glass flew from my hand, shattering on the flagstones. Gavin cried out, his own glass falling. And the tiny crystal vial, knocked from his grip, arced through the air.
It didn't fall toward the pond as planned.
It landed with a soft plink in Cassian's full, untouched cup of tea.
For a second, no one understood what had happened. There was just the sound of breaking glass and a startled crowd.
Then Seraphina screamed. A perfect, piercing sound of horror. "POISON! Someone has poisoned the prince's tea! LOOK!" She pointed a trembling finger at the small vial, now clearly visible, dissolving its contents into the golden liquid.
All eyes followed her finger. To the vial. To the teacup.
And to my hand, which was outstretched from the "fall," hovering right over Cassian's table.
The narrative snapped into place with terrifying speed. The unstable, rejected Rosalind Thorne, in a fit of jealous madness, had tried to poison the Crown Prince at his party. She'd been caught in the act, knocking over the accomplice as she reached for the cup.
Gasps rippled through the crowd. Guards moved.
But Cassian didn't look at his tea. He looked at me. And for the first time, his perfect mask slipped entirely. Not into anger, but into pure, unadulterated shock. His system screens, invisible to everyone else, flashed violently in his vision.
[ALERT: MAJOR TIMELINE DEVIATION]
[POISONING EVENT: LOCATION/SUSPECT ALTERED]
[ANOMALY 'ROSALIND THORNE': DIRECT ACTION CONFIRMED]
He hadn't anticipated this move. I had not avoided the frame. I had stepped into it—but on my own terms.
Before the guards could grab me, a low, commanding voice cut through the noise.
"Stop."
Kaelen Frost stepped forward. He didn't shout. He didn't need to. The guards froze. All eyes turned to the Duke of the North.
He walked to the table, his movements deliberate. He picked up the poisoned teacup, ignoring Cassian's startled expression. "Your Grace, don't—!"
Kaelen didn't drink it. He held it to his nose, then dipped a single finger in, bringing it to his lips. A taste. His face, already stern, turned to glacial ice.
"Moonbell and Shadowcap," he announced, his voice carrying to the farthest corners of the silent garden. "An assassin's blend. Fast. Painful." His silver-gray eyes lifted, not to me, but to Seraphina. "A curious thing for a heartbroken girl to acquire. Or to handle so carelessly."
The implication hung in the air. He was redirecting. Not clearing me but muddying the waters.
Seraphina paled. "She must have stolen it! She's been acting so strangely!"
"Indeed," Kaelen said, his tone neutral. He looked at Gavin, who was cowering on the ground. "And you, Lord Selwyn. You were holding the container. Why?"
Gavin, seeing his execution approaching, broke. "She gave it to me! Lady Seraphina! She said it was a prank! She asked me to put it in his wine! She has my confession about the alchemy exam; she said she'd ruin me!" The words tumbled out in a sobbing heap.
The crowd erupted. Seraphina's face went from white to scarlet. "He lies! He's trying to protect his accomplice!" She pointed at me again, but the certainty was gone. Panic had entered her eyes.
Chaos. Perfect, beautiful chaos.
In the center of it, Cassian slowly stood. He looked from Seraphina to me, then to the weeping Gavin, and finally to Kaelen, who was holding the poisoned cup. His narrative was in ruins. His tool had broken, his frame-up had twisted, and an unpredictable power—the Duke of the North—had intervened.
His smile returned, but it was thin and dangerous. "It seems we have a mystery. Guards. Take Lord Selwyn and Lady Seraphina into custody for questioning. Secure the scene." His eyes finally landed on me, cold and reassessing. "And escort Lady Rosalind to her chambers. For her protection, of course. Lady Rosalind seems to have experienced a traumatic shock.
She has not been placed under arrest. Not yet. However, he was under house arrest. He was regrouping.
As two guards approached me, Kaelen moved between us. "I will escort her." It wasn't an offer.
The guards looked to Cassian, who gave a tight, furious nod.
Kaelen took my arm. His grip was firm and grounding. As he led me from the ruined garden, past the stunned, whispering nobles, he leaned down, his voice a rough whisper only I could hear.
"That," he said, "was either the stupidest or the bravest thing I have ever seen."
I looked up at him, at the living, breathing man who had just thrown his considerable weight into the gears of my destruction. The silver-blue thread between us was no longer faint. It was a brilliant, solid bridge.
"I'm sorry," I whispered, my composure finally cracking.
"Don't be," he said, his eyes scanning the crowd for threats. "You just turned their lovely game into a war. And war," he added, his gaze meeting mine with that same, haunting recognition from the archives, "is something I understand.