Music recommendation: "Glory and Gore" by Lorde.
The ball was in full swing, with the grand opulence of the night casting a glow over the crowded hall. The nobles were already indulging in wine and conversations, their sharp eyes scanning the room for every movement, every misstep. But as Zarafea entered, a hush fell over the space, the rustle of silks and the clink of crystal goblets slowing as all eyes fixed on the stranger.
The woman who walked towards the dais was striking, her beauty undeniable even in a room filled with the most exquisite fae and elves. She moved with an effortless grace, her gown shimmering under the light as though the stars themselves had woven it. Her glass-blue eyes, intense and full of purpose, swept over the hall, taking in the grandeur, the music, the endless wealth of the kingdom.
Whispers began to rise like a wave, starting at the edges of the room and slowly rippling inward. Heads bent together, and fans were raised to hide smirks and knowing glances.
"Who is she?" Lady Elara's sharp voice cut through the low murmur as she leaned toward Lady Ilora. "No noblewoman, surely. Look at her—far too common."
"Physician's daughter, they say," Lady Ilora replied with a sneer, her gaze narrowing as Zarafea walked past. "But she's far too lovely to have come from mere healers. How fortunate for her."
Catherine, seated not far from the dais, clenched her jaw, her fingers digging into the arm of her chair. She had dressed with deliberate care for this night, confident in her beauty and her carefully crafted image of perfection. But as she saw the attention Zarafea was drawing, her heart stung with bitter jealousy.
A sly voice to her left whispered, "Oh, Catherine, I thought tonight was your night. It seems you may have some competition." Lady Verina, with her mocking smile, glanced at her out of the corner of her eye. "I wonder if he will notice her?"
Catherine forced a smile, her gaze never leaving Zarafea's elegant form as she glided toward the dais. "She may have a pretty face, but that's all. The King values far more than mere beauty." The words were a balm to her pride, but they rang hollow, even to her own ears.
As Zarafea approached the dais, the Human Queen of Valdraen observed her with narrowed eyes. Her ladies whispered among themselves, eyes flicking between Zarafea and the King.
"She's a pretty thing, isn't she?" one of the Queen's attendants murmured, her voice laced with envy. "A shame, though. She won't last. These fae care little for humans—or those below their station."
The Queen sniffed, her gaze haughty as she raised her goblet. "Indeed. We shall see how long her charm holds."
Across the room, the elves, known for their timeless beauty and air of superiority, exchanged looks of amusement. Lady Alwynn of Sylriath smirked, nudging her companion with an arched brow. "It appears the humans are threatened. How quaint."
Her friend, equally amused, chuckled softly. "Jealousy does become them, doesn't it? Though I admit... even we elves might find ourselves envious tonight." Their eyes followed Zarafea's every movement as she reached the dais, her posture regal and commanding despite the whispers trailing behind her.
Zarafea stopped before the thrones, her eyes meeting Asher's for the briefest of moments. She dipped into a graceful bow, every motion practiced and serene, as if she had been born to courtly life. For a moment, even the King's bored expression seemed to shift, his gaze lingering on her a second longer than on the other guests.
A murmur of surprise swept through the crowd. Who was this woman, and how had she captivated the King's attention with just a glance?
Catherine, seething in her chair, tried desperately to mask her frustration. She could feel the gazes of the other women on her, their barely concealed smirks and taunts needling at her pride.
"Looks like someone's not the star of the night," Lady Ilora murmured just loud enough for Catherine to hear. "How disappointing, after all that effort."
Catherine shot her a withering look, but her attention was soon drawn back to Zarafea, who had left the dais and was now making her way through the crowd toward the tables, where the finest wines were being served.
"Look at her," one of the noblewomen sneered. "So confident. And for what? The daughter of a mere physician should know her place."
"Perhaps she does," another replied with a smirk. "She's simply aiming higher. A physician's daughter might be a cure for the King's cold heart, don't you think?"
The women tittered behind their fans, though their eyes followed Zarafea's every move, filled with both disdain and curiosity.
"She certainly has caught his eye," Lady Seraphine added with a low chuckle, casting a sideways glance at Catherine. "I wouldn't worry, dear. The King may be momentarily distracted, but we all know where his true interest lies... don't we?"
Catherine smiled thinly, though her eyes were sharp. "Of course. A pretty face might catch the eye, but it's power and presence that hold it."
But as Zarafea took a glass of wine and glided to an empty seat, the whispers continued, and Catherine's heart burned with growing fury. The other women could taunt her all they wished—she would not be outdone by a mere stranger.
The room hummed with intrigue as the ball pressed on, nobles glancing between Zarafea and the throne, wondering what this night would bring. The taunts and veiled insults continued to fly, but no one could deny it—this mysterious woman had captured the attention of the court, and with it, the King's.
And that, above all, was what mattered.