The palace gleamed under a canopy of starlight, its grand ballroom filled with soft, gilded light. Velvet banners in royal colors draped along the walls, and chandeliers cast their glow over a swirling sea of nobles, all bedecked in finery. Every corner of the room sparkled, echoing laughter and whispered conversations melding with the soft strains of a violin quartet.
Ivana, dressed in a gown of deep indigo threaded with silver, wove through the guests like a wraith, her steps light and her gaze keen. The jewels at her neck caught the light, casting a halo-like shimmer around her. She paused often, smiling and exchanging greetings, but her mind was always moving, always probing, and subtly observing. Tonight, she needed to know the court's mood—and more importantly, if any whispers about her recent endeavors had traveled back to the palace.
The lively crowd surged around her, each courtier and noble trying to find favor or speak in conspiratorial tones. On one side of the room, she caught sight of Alfred, boisterously recounting his tournament "victory"—one embellished further each time he spoke of it—to a group of rapt young ladies. His voice boomed with excitement, his gestures almost theatrical.
Alfred's sister, Lady Lyra, who had just recently participated in the wisdom trials, watched with a bemused expression. She sidled over to Ivana with a glass of champagne, leaning in conspiratorially.
"Did Alfred mention how he nearly tripped over his own sword in the final round?" she whispered, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "A thrilling 'victory' indeed."
Ivana chuckled, a soft sound hidden behind her fan. "He certainly did. Five warriors, wasn't it? Or was it six by now?"
Lyra raised an eyebrow, her amusement evident. "At this rate, he'll be up to ten by midnight."
Just then, Ivana noticed several glances being exchanged in the corners of the room. The older, more seasoned courtiers huddled together, watching her with a peculiar curiosity. Whispers floated around her, vague mentions of recent palace dealings, and hints of unrest beyond the city walls. As if sensing her thoughts, one of the younger nobles approached her—a boy of no more than seventeen, eager to impress.
"Your Highness," he began, his tone almost too respectful. "I hear talk of your most recent… adventure. Quite the fearless princess we have."
Ivana smiled with practiced ease, yet her tone was light and sassy, almost daring. "Fearless, yes. And when are you joining me in the next one, hmm?"
The boy stammered, coloring deeply as he stepped back, to the muffled laughter of those around him. It was then that a servant approached, silently presenting her with a small, folded note on a silver tray. She discreetly took it, unfolding the delicate parchment. Her expression remained unchanged, but her heart quickened as she read the brief message: "Some shadows follow your steps, Princess."
The ballroom's heat and noise eventually grew too overwhelming, and Ivana slipped outside for fresh air. She moved through the moonlit gardens with measured steps, her indigo skirts trailing behind her, catching faint glimmers of starlight in the fabric's silver threads. The scents of night-blooming jasmine and roses perfumed the cool air, calming her nerves.
But a feeling of being watched stayed with her, setting her senses on alert.
As she walked deeper into the gardens, she heard a voice behind her, quiet and amused.
"Running from your adoring fans, Ivana? That doesn't seem like the fearless princess they spoke of inside."
She didn't turn right away, though a smile tugged at her lips. "Well, if it isn't Edmund. Have you come to join my retreat?"
Edmund stepped forward, the moonlight casting a faint glow on his features. His attire was stately but subdued—a contrast to the more opulent dress of the other guests. His expression was calm but his eyes held a glint of humor. "A retreat, is it? I thought you loved an audience."
Ivana finally turned, meeting his gaze with a smirk. "Perhaps, but only an audience worth my time."
They started down the path side by side, their conversation laced with the familiar edge of banter and something deeper—an unspoken understanding that had always existed between them, yet was sharper tonight, heightened by the secrecy of the garden shadows.
"You know, Edmund," she said, her tone casual, "I hear all sorts of things around the palace. Some say you're loyal to your father's plans, others say you're—shall we say—more adventurous."
He smiled, but his response was measured. "And what do you think, Princess?"
"I think you're entirely too mysterious," she replied with a glint of mischief. "And as a connoisseur of secrets myself, I can say it's refreshing to have someone who can keep up with me."
They shared a laugh, but as it faded, a quiet tension lingered between them. Their eyes met, unguarded for just a moment, and Ivana's smile softened, almost vulnerable, before she quickly recovered.
Yet as she started to speak, she caught a movement out of the corner of her eye. It was subtle, a shadow barely visible beyond the garden gate. Her heart raced, and her gaze darted to Edmund, whose smile faded, his gaze narrowing as he caught the same figure.
From the darkness near the garden's edge, a figure stepped forward, cloaked in a long, hooded robe. He was almost spectral, his movements slow and deliberate. Ivana tensed, the playful atmosphere instantly dissipating as the air grew thick with unease.
The figure's face was obscured beneath his hood, but his presence radiated a dark authority that made even Edmund falter. He stopped a few paces away, his tone calm but chilling as he addressed her.
"Princess Ivana," he said, his voice carrying a dangerous edge. "You play a game far beyond your understanding."
Edmund moved subtly to stand between Ivana and the stranger, his expression steely, his hand instinctively brushing the hilt of his sword. "State your business," he said coldly, his voice a warning.
But the figure paid him no heed. His gaze remained fixed on Ivana, who held her ground, defiance clear in her posture.
"Your attempts to meddle in the affairs of the powerful will come at a cost," the figure intoned, lifting a strange emblem from within his cloak—a twisted, shimmering piece of metal etched with symbols neither of them recognized. It caught the moonlight, casting an eerie reflection on the ground between them.
Ivana's breath hitched, but she didn't let her fear show. "I don't bend to threats, especially not from shadows without a face."
The figure tilted his head, almost amused. "Insolent, just as they warned. Take this, then, as your only warning, Princess. Leave matters beyond your understanding… or be swallowed by them."
Before either of them could react, he stepped back into the shadows, disappearing as suddenly as he had come, leaving only the twisted emblem and a lingering chill in his wake.
Ivana held the emblem in her hand, its cold metal searing against her skin. Her mind raced with questions, an uneasy fear mingling with fierce resolve. Whatever this figure represented, it was unlike anything she'd ever encountered.