Two weeks had passed since Serena arrived in Drakenfell.
What began as a few afternoons assisting Hyran in the library quietly escalated into dawn-to-dusk workdays.
By the second week, Elara joined them in the afternoons.
Gavriel, meanwhile, had visited the library more times in those two weeks than he had in the previous five years combined. Once, he stood for a full ten minutes holding a book upside down before realizing it.
Hale developed an alarming habit of accidentally running into Elara several times a day. Twice now, he had knocked over chairs and stepped on Dexmon's foot just to hand her a flower.
Serena didn't fully understand why they were being treated so well and allowed to stay. Both she and Elara offered to train to become warriors or work as omega servants to contribute.
Hyran shut that down immediately.
He did not bother hiding his annoyance and informed them, quite plainly, that it was the stupidest thing he had heard all year.
But today was different.
Today was their day off.
Serena and Elara had been pampered since morning.
The omegas who escorted them to the spa spoke only of King Tiberon's insistence. Clear orders, with no room for refusal.
So they were bathed, fitted, and groomed, with full hair and makeup done.
Serena stood still atop a low pedestal in a private fitting chamber.
She held her arms away from her sides as two seamstresses moved around her with quiet, practiced efficiency.
Elara sat nearby on a velvet stool, already fitted.
Her gown was deep blue silk trimmed in silver thread. Her dark red hair was curled and pulled up.
Hale had given her earrings, which she wore proudly.
Technically, an omega had knocked and delivered a small box from Hale. Not to her knowledge, Hale had been pacing the corridor next door and dramatically overthinking the entire gesture.
"Hale won't be able to take his eyes off of you," Serena said, glancing at Elara with a grin.
She looked composed, alert, eyes never quite still.
"He's giving mixed signals," Elara said with a sigh.
Serena was about to ask what she meant, when the chamber door opened.
A voice cut through the room, sharp with amusement.
"I see they've decided to dress Skeletor in silk," Princess Agnes drawled from the doorway.
"A charity gift from whoever you're spreading your legs for, no doubt. Enjoy wearing the cheapest dress in the room."
Elara stiffened instantly.
Serena's usual composure cracked for a brief moment of shock. She had assumed Agnes's name was merely a convenient figurehead for the rumors, with Queen Bellatrix as the true source. She blinked once and smoothed her expression back into place.
Agnes stepped inside as if she owned the chamber, her own gown a fitted sweep of pale gold silk, obsidian beads stitched so densely they drank in the light.
She smiled as she approached, slow and deliberate, like a predator assessing prey.
"They'll stare at you because you look uneasy," she said, voice light but dripping disdain. "You know you don't belong here, and so does everyone else. But even harlots have their days I suppose."
The seamstresses froze. One swallowed audibly.
Serena turned slightly, looking at the Princess. "Have I done something to offend you, Princess?"
Agnes's expression hardened. "By existing. And by going after what's mine."
"I'm not after anything," Serena said evenly. "We're guests here, by King Tiberon's grace. If there is a misunderstanding, I would like to clear it."
Agnes's mouth twisted. "You can drop the act. That sweet humility routine might fool everyone else, but not me. You're after Dexmon — my betrothed — and you don't even bother to hide it."
Serena blinked, genuinely taken aback. "There must be some mistake. I've spoken to Prince Dexmon only a handful of times."
"You bonded with his dragon," Agnes hissed, voice cracking on the last word.
Serena frowned, confusion flickering across her face.
"I didn't realize that was his dragon. If it was, I'll stay away. It wasn't my intention—"
Agnes moved in a blur and the rest never left her mouth.
SMACK.
The sound cracked through the chamber like a whip.
Serena stumbled from the pedestal, hitting the floor hard. Blood welled at her lip, a bruise already blooming across her cheek.
Elara was on her feet instantly.
Her fists clenched at her sides, shoulders squared, spine rigid with the kind of still fury that preceded violence. She reached for Serena, helping her steady to her feet.
Serena's hands shook from Agnes's words, not the slap.
Bonded to Prince Dexmon's dragon. Bonded without him saying a single word about it. Without anyone saying a word at all.
She did not fully understand what bonded meant, only that it was not small.
She had tried to ask Hyran more than once. Each time, he vanished like smoke the moment the question left her mouth.
Elara turned slowly, deliberately, placing herself half a step in front of Serena.
Her voice was cool, clipped, each word sharpened before release.
"Careful, Agnes. If what you're saying is true, then you just struck the woman bonded with the Prince's dragon."
Both seamstresses froze mid-movement.
Agnes glanced over lazily, her eyes dragging over Elara before sliding to Serena, the faint gold still clinging to her hair like dying embers.
"Oh, forgive me," she said lightly. "I forgot you both came from the same kennel. It is hard to tell where one ends and the other begins."
Serena lifted her head meeting Agnes's gaze.
"Strange," she said, voice calm, "how dogs still recognize snakes."
Agnes's eye twitched, face reddening. Before she could respond, the door opened again.
Queen Bellatrix entered.
Her gaze swept the chamber, pausing briefly on Serena, then Elara, before settling on Agnes.
Her expression softened into something warm.
"Exquisite," she purred. "As always. A perfect daughter-in-law."
Agnes preened, straightening as the praise landed exactly where it was meant to.
"Unlike some," Agnes added lightly. "Though I suppose even swamp water can be made presentable with enough silk."
Elara stepped forward before Serena could even inhale.
Her voice dipped, smooth and respectful, the way one spoke to vipers without baring a throat.
"Queen Bellatrix, how lovely of you to check on us. We will be ready for the ball."
Bellatrix did not acknowledge her and her eyes remained fixed on Agnes. Her lips curled with faint amusement, as though Elara were furniture that had learned to speak.
"When servants speak out of turn in Viremont," Bellatrix asked softly, "what becomes of them?"
"Their tongues are cut out," Agnes said with a smile, savoring the words.
Silence followed.
At those words, Elara and Serena kept their expressions neutral. They weren't sure how much Queen Bellatrix knew of their past and they absolutely did not want Princess Agnes to find out.
If the truth surfaced, that Drakenfell harbored them knowing they escaped from Viremont, to prevent war, they would be sent back. It would be the logical move and both knew it.
It could also cause Drakenfell trouble given the hospitality and pack membership they were afforded.
As the seamstresses adjusted the hem, momentarily blocking Serena's view, Agnes stepped closer. Too close. Her fingers brushed the back of the gown—not a tug.
A slice.
She slipped a small blade free from her bracelet and cut clean through the internal boning and stitching along the spine.
Not enough to tear all the way immediately. But enough that the tension would give way the moment Serena moved wrong and the back would split.
A public failure.
A humiliation.
Serena felt the subtle release of pressure. The dress no longer held the way it should.
Bellatrix laughed softly, Agnes joining her, and together they swept from the room.
The door closed.
Serena exhaled slowly and stepped down from the pedestal.
"Cass, I think I will wear the second dress," Serena said gently, turning her head just enough to meet the seamstress's eyes.
Cass blinked. "The… other one?"
"Yes." Serena's gaze was steady. "The crimson. The one Gamma Sterling gifted."
Elara felt her lips curve before she could stop them.
That dress.
Serena spoke again, voice still soft and polite. "Thank you for your help with this fitting. I apologize that the first dress was ruined. It was beautiful, and I would love to keep it and have it repaired, if that is possible."
Cass straightened, professional pride flaring. "No matter. I am happy to help," she said, then added firmly, "You are very kind, Lady Silverveil. Of course, we will repair it."
Serena inclined her head in thanks.
The seamstress hesitated, fingers flexing at her apron. "It is… quite… bold. Are you sure?"
Bold was an understatement.
That dress would not merely turn heads.
It would stop the room.
"Yes. He gifted it, and it would be rude of me not to wear it." Serena answered firmly.
Agnes had sabotaged Serena's first choice, thinking herself clever.
But Serena had not come unarmed.
This was not retreat.
This was escalation.
Elara stepped closer, eyes gleaming, grin sharp as a blade.
"Let's rattle a princess and a queen, shall we?"