The banquet hall of Aurelion glittered with light, but Atelion Abdryth Maetyr Aurelion felt none of its warmth.
Music flowed.
Laughter followed.
Politics breathed between every pause.
He sat at the high table beside Princess Eniola Kemyra Solaryn Nyxveil, separated by tradition, bound by treaty.
From a distance, they looked like a perfect image of harmony—two heirs poised beneath crystal chandeliers.
Up close, the tension was unmistakable.
Azharel Nyxveil watched Atelion like a blade measuring distance.
Vaelion Nyxveil smiled, spoke freely, laughed easily—and missed nothing.
Lyrion remained behind them, half a step back, eyes lowered.
Forgotten already.
"So," Vaelion said smoothly, lifting his goblet, "the Crown Prince of Aurelion is said to favor restraint over dominance."
Atelion met his gaze calmly.
"Dominance invites resistance.
Restraint invites underestimation."
Azharel scoffed.
"Spoken like a man who has never been tested."
Atelion did not respond.
Eniola's fingers tightened slightly around her cup.
Only slightly.
Enough to notice—if one was paying attention.
The king of Aurelion spoke then, redirecting conversation, but the damage lingered.
Lines were drawn.
Appraisals made.
This was not a celebration.
It was reconnaissance.
Later that night, the palace corridors emptied.
Atelion moved without escort, his steps measured, aura sealed so completely that even the watchful wards failed to stir.
He reached the western observation gallery and stopped.
Someone else was already there.
Eniola stood at the balcony's edge, looking out over the city lights.
No guards.
No attendants.
"Your brothers allow you to wander alone?" Atelion asked.
"They forget me," she replied.
"It is convenient."
Silence followed.
Atelion did not press.
She did not elaborate.
"You do not fear this marriage," Eniola said suddenly.
"I fear outcomes," Atelion replied.
"Not arrangements."
She turned to face him fully now.
Gold eyes sharp, searching.
"Do you intend to control me?"
"No."
The answer came without hesitation.
"I intend to survive the consequences of this alliance," he continued.
"And I assume you do as well."
For a moment, something unreadable crossed her face.
Then it vanished.
"Survival," she said.
"Yes. That is familiar."
Footsteps echoed in the distance.
They stepped apart at once.
By morning, rumors would twist this encounter into something else entirely.
Deep beneath the palace, Elyndor Vaelis paused mid-incantation.
"Something is moving," he murmured.
Rhydan Stormvale looked up.
"Here?"
"No," Elyndor said.
"Farther. Older."
He closed his eyes, sensing a thread of magic thin enough to miss—yet persistent.
Not an attack.
A probe.
In another empire, unseen fingers tightened around a king's mind.
Morvessa Noctyra smiled into the darkness.
"Soon," she whispered.
And far above, unaware of how close the world stood to fracture, Atelion Abdryth Maetyr Aurelion continued to walk a line so narrow that one misstep would end everything.