DISCLAIMER: The author's imagination and passion are the only sources of inspiration for this novel, which is a work of dedication. Parallels between these pages and the past or present may be apparent to some readers, but they are completely coincidental. You are free to interpret this art anyway you see fit, and it is meant for your enjoyment.
The week before the Summer Gala felt more like preparation for a two-front attack than a countdown to a celebration.
Samantha sat at her workstation in the Hylde manor, still recuperating from the sensory onslaught of the commoner's festival. Her "peace" had officially vanished. The weight of arriving cargo caused the front gates to creak every hour.
"My Lady, another one," Beth said, her face white as she strained to lift a box that had a subtle iron and mountain pine odor.
It was opened by Reinn. The Mydril Wolf's characteristic stone, obsidian, was used to sculpt the hilts of a set of magnificent, handcrafted daggers. Next to them was a note in the rigid, masculine handwriting of Dyierrean:
Lady Reinn,
For you, the world is getting noisier. If you're determined to go through it without your "rubies," at least bring a biting object. These have been sharpened by me. Consider them a "nap" for your adversaries.
— Dyierrean Mydril
Reinn mumbled, "He sent me weapons," as a tiny, uncontrollable smile tugged at her lips. "Who sends a girl daggers for a gala?"
"The Crown Prince, apparently, sends everything else," Beth said, pointing to the corridor.
It was the apocalypse of flowers. Giywon had supplied enough rare dragon-lilies to cover the east wing. However, there was a tiny velvet box in the middle of the flowers. There was a lovely lion's mane-shaped hairpiece inside, made of spun gold and diamonds.
The letter smelled like arrogance and citrus and was written on imperial parchment:
To my favorite 'Personal Problem',
You are the only star I want to watch at the Gala, which is a stage. When you wear this, nobody will dare turn away. My dance card has already been cleared for the first three songs. Until I've had enough of your company, don't even consider the buffet.
— Giywon Edryyion
Reinn groaned and buried her face in her hands. "They're going to kill each other," she said. "And they're going to use my dress as the battlefield."
The hot, starry sky greeted the Gala night. With thousands of enchanted lamps illuminating its white marble walls, the Imperial Palace was a lighthouse.
The rumors ceased when the Hylde carriage arrived on the red carpet. The Quiet Lioness's eventual revelation had been anticipated by the nobles.
The carriage door opened.
The crowd let out a collective scream as Reinn emerged. She had disregarded the diamond mane and the obsidian daggers. Rather, she had ordered a silk gown made of sparkling, iridescent silver that resembled moonbeams. It was a color that was exclusive to her; it wasn't "Hylde Gold" or "Mydril Black."
She had the festival's wildflowers, which had been magically preserved in crystal, fastened to her hair. She appeared majestic, ethereal, and—above all—completely herself.
Two men at opposite ends of the hall stopped talking in the middle of their conversation as she walked into the ballroom.
Wearing the Dragon's white and gold, Giywon felt his heart skip a beat. When he saw her in her own clothes, he wanted to walk across the room and permanently lock her in the imperial vault since he had expected her to wear his gift and prove to everyone that she was "his."
Dyierrean had that well-known sting in his heart when dressed in the somber, formal attire of the Mydril House. She appeared to be a dream from which he was reluctant to awaken. He started to approach her after adjusting the concealed blade at his waist, which matched the pair he had sent her.
They reached her at exactly the same time.
"You didn't wear the gold," Giywon remarked, admiration and frustration blazing in his blue eyes.
Dyierrean said, "And you aren't carrying the steel," with a deep tremor in his voice that appeared to drown out the music.
Reinn's chin was raised as she gazed at them both. "I am wearing myself out tonight. I hope the Dragon and the Wolf can handle the competition."
The opening waltz's first chord was played by the orchestra. At the same time, both men extended their hands.
Giywon proclaimed, "The first dance belongs to the Crown," displaying his imperial might.
"The first dance belongs to the one who protected her in the streets," Dyierrean retorted, his violet magic glistening at his fingertips.
Reinn glanced at the empire's two strongest hands. Neither did she take either. Rather, she grinned and picked up a glass of champagne from a passing tray.
"Actually," she said, her mischievous eyes twinkling. "I think the first dance belongs to my father. He's been waiting for a 'proper' dance with his daughter all night. You two can decide who gets the second dance... if you can manage not to burn the palace down while you wait."
A low laugh came from the shadows as she approached a beaming Duke Eyrion, leaving the Prince and the Duke standing in startled stillness.
Syiena, the Crown Princess, moved forward and fanned herself. "Oh, brothers. I told you she was a legend. You both look like you've been bitten by a kitten and realized it's actually a tiger."
Even though the Gala had only just started, it was immediately obvious who would win: Reinn Hylde had at last perfected the technique of being the center of attention without uttering a word.