Music recommendation: "Everybody Wants to Rule the World" by Lorde
A soft undercurrent of tension ran through the grand drawing room at Lady Margaret's estate, hidden beneath the practiced smiles and delicate laughter that echoed off the towering marble walls. The room itself was a marvel, with its intricately carved columns and gilded accents, every inch of it speaking to the opulence of Thalorwen's elite. Massive arched windows framed the setting twilight outside, casting a silvery glow over the gathering, while the light of crystal chandeliers bathed the scene in a warm, golden hue.Soft fae lights drifted lazily above the polished marble floors, casting a warm, golden glow on the fine silks and velvet draping every surface. Fae music floated in the background, its gentle cadence doing little to soften the tension brewing beneath the delicate conversations filling the room.
Noblewomen and their daughters, dressed in shimmering gowns and draped in jewels, clustered together in small groups, their voices lilting with laughter that never quite reached their eyes. The scent of enchanted flowers filled the air, mingling with the faint tang of fae wine, but it was the sharp bite of ambition that dominated the gathering.
At the head of it all sat Lady Margaret, reclining with the practiced ease of someone who believed the world belonged to her. Her gown, deep crimson and threaded with gold, flowed elegantly over her as she raised her glass, eyes sharp as she surveyed the room. The upcoming ball was on everyone's mind, and as always, the women's thoughts swirled around one question: Who would the king choose as his queen?
Margaret's daughter, Catherine, stood at her side, the embodiment of calm confidence. Dressed in a gown that shimmered like the midnight sky, she wore her beauty like armor, her chin lifted just enough to make her superiority clear.
"Of course," Lady Margaret began, her voice smooth, her words sharp, "Catherine has been particularly busy preparing for the ball. One can only hope the night proves as significant as I believe it will."
Polite murmurs followed, though the smiles that accompanied them were thin. Lady Elara, seated a few chairs down, raised an elegant brow. Draped in sapphire blue, she looked every bit as regal as Margaret, but with a sharper edge to her voice. "Ah, yes. Balls do tend to reveal who's most... well-suited for the crown." Her smile was tight, and her gaze flicked to Catherine, the meaning behind her words clear.
Lady Margaret's eyes gleamed, though her expression remained serene. "Indeed, Lady Elara. And I trust your daughter has been preparing as well? A royal ball is, after all, an opportunity to prove oneself worthy."
Elara's lips twitched. "Naturally. Selene has been practicing diligently." She gestured to her daughter, a stunning young woman with a head of silver hair and a gown to match. "But as you know, it takes more than just appearance to secure a throne. There must be substance as well."
The tension in the room thickened as the other women glanced at one another, waiting to see who would strike next. The court was a battlefield, but the weapons were sharp smiles and delicate insults. Each mother believed her daughter was the best candidate for the king, but no one dared say it outright. Not yet.
It was Lady Calista who broke the silence, tall and elegant in her shimmering lavender gown. "I've always believed that actions speak louder than words," she said, gesturing for her daughter, Elena, to step forward. Elena, with her pale blonde hair and ethereal beauty, smiled sweetly before raising her hand. With a flick of her wrist, silver petals began to bloom in the air, spinning and swirling until an entire illusionary garden hovered above them.
Gasps of admiration followed as the flowers glistened in the soft light, their delicate fragrance filling the room. But just as quickly as they appeared, the blooms began to wither, their silver petals falling to the floor, dissolving into nothingness.
"How beautiful," Lady Margaret remarked, her tone sugary but with an edge of condescension. "Though rather... fleeting, don't you think?"
Calista's smile faltered, but before she could respond, Catherine took her cue. With a subtle flick of her fingers, the air above them exploded in a dazzling display of fireworks—gold, silver, and blue sparks crackling and shimmering before fading into the night.
The gasps this time were genuine, and the admiration that followed had teeth. Catherine smiled, calm and composed, her demonstration both effortless and commanding.
Lady Ilora, a striking figure with raven-black hair, raised her glass with a smirk. "Now that is something to behold," she said, her words laced with a sugary sweetness that belied her jealousy. "Though, of course, such displays are... distracting. I've always believed a ruler must rely on more than just spectacle."
Lady Margaret's smile didn't waver. "A ruler must indeed rely on more than spectacle," she agreed. "But then again, a ruler must also understand when to seize the attention of a room, wouldn't you agree, Lady Ilora?"
Ilora's smirk faded slightly, but before she could retort, Lady Vivienne, dressed in a gown the color of sunset, leaned forward. "The ball will certainly be... revealing," she mused, her eyes gleaming with the same hunger that filled the room. "I've heard that even the sirens of Liraeth have shown interest in attending. Can you imagine? A fae king lowering himself to such... temptations."
A ripple of laughter followed, each lady whispering to each other until Catherine cleared her throat.
"I'm sure we can all agree," Catherine said softly, "that the upcoming ball will be the perfect place to demonstrate who truly belongs at the king's side."
Lady Vivienne's fan snapped shut once again. "You mean, of course, a queen," she said, her eyes flicking to the gathered daughters like a hawk surveying prey. "Though, not everyone here is suited for such a position."
Lady Annalise, who had been standing near the edge of the gathering, flushed deeply at the remark. She tugged self-consciously at the bodice of her gown, which, though finely made, didn't hug her waist as perfectly as Catherine's. She shifted awkwardly, trying to smooth the folds of the fabric, her magic sparking weakly at her fingertips in a feeble attempt to conjure some glamour.
Lady Calista's eyes glinted with cruel amusement. "Oh, dear, Annalise, perhaps if you put as much effort into your magic as you do into your gowns, you might stand a chance."
The room erupted into quiet, knowing laughter. Annalise's cheeks burned a furious red, her hands trembling as she clenched them at her sides. She opened her mouth to retort, but Lady Margaret's voice silenced her before she could begin.
"Now, now," Margaret said, her smile as sharp as ever, "let's not discourage the younger generation. After all, the king will need a queen who embodies all of Thalorwen's finest qualities—strength, elegance, and, of course, beauty."
Lady Rosalind smiled thinly. "Indeed. Though I wonder… can any of us truly predict what the king desires in a queen? He has been so... elusive."
"And so powerful," Lady Isolde added, her voice barely above a whisper, as though mentioning Asher's name alone brought a chill into the room. "I hear that even the slightest offense has deadly consequences."
Lady Margaret waved a dismissive hand. "Power is only frightening to those who cannot control it. The king needs a partner who can stand beside him, not cower in his shadow."
"And who would that be?" Lady Vivienne asked, her smile coy as her eyes flicked to Catherine.
Catherine's smile widened, her fingers idly playing with the illusory roses still floating in the air. "I suppose we'll find out at the ball."
The conversation shifted again, with more talk of the ball, the gowns that would be worn, the magic that would be displayed, but the undercurrent of competition never left. The women boasted of their daughters' abilities, their beauty, their connections, each trying to outshine the other without breaking the fragile façade of civility.
As the evening wore on, Lady Annalise made a timid attempt to demonstrate her magic, conjuring a small garden illusion in the center of the room. It was delicate, a few flowers blooming in soft pastels, but it was nothing compared to the grand displays from earlier. The women smiled politely, but the whispers that followed were less than kind.
"She tries so hard," Lady Calista said under her breath, just loud enough for those nearby to hear.
"Perhaps if she had more time to practice and less time indulging in sweets," Lady Rosalind added with a glance at Annalise's figure. "Though I suppose there's always room for a court physician's daughter at the ball."
Lady Margaret's laughter was soft but pointed, and the rest of the women soon joined in, their eyes gleaming with the knowledge that, in this game of court, only the strongest—or the most cunning—would survive.
More daughters demonstrated their powers—Lady Ilora's daughter conjured a shimmering cascade of water, while Lady Vivienne's summoned a gust of wind that sent rose petals swirling through the air. Each woman glowed with pride as her daughter displayed her abilities, believing that these demonstrations were what would secure a crown.
Willa, seated quietly at the far edge of the room, watched the display in silence. She had been all but forgotten by the other women, an afterthought. But Willa's eyes flickered as she observed the women around her—their egos, their desperation, their ambition. Lady Margaret cast her occasional glances, filled with disdain, ensuring that Willa knew her place was beneath them all.
The night wore on, filled with more thinly veiled insults and quiet boasts. Lady Margaret, always poised, steered the conversation back toward the ball, her confidence growing with each passing minute. She spoke of destiny, of birthright, ensuring that no one could forget Catherine's place in the line for the throne.
As the gathering wound down, each woman and her daughter left with a renewed sense of purpose, their ambitions burning brighter than ever. Lady Margaret remained behind, her eyes alight with the certainty of victory. Catherine, standing beside her, smiled softly, knowing that soon, the game would be hers to win.
In the shadows, Willa quietly slipped away, unnoticed by the rest. She had seen enough.