The Winter Solstice approached like a whispered omen. Aeloria's castle, once cloaked in frostbitten quiet, now pulsed with preparations. Servants rushed to and fro, stringing garlands of silver and white, lighting lanterns that glimmered like distant stars, and scrubbing every stone surface until it gleamed. Yet for a kingdom in the grip of siege, the palace presented a face of merriment.
Elara stood at the balcony overlooking the castle's main gates. Below, the carriages one by one brought nobles from all over Aeloria and even further. A masquerade of unity, she thought bitterly. Masks of reality and imagine would drown her halls tonight, and somewhere between them the Jade Lotus would play a role.
Bael joined her, his boots thudding against the marble. "The guests are arriving in droves. Too many faces. Too many risks."
"Exactly as planned," Elara replied. Her pupils contracted as she saw the streamers of foreign lords and foreign clans waving on top of the carriages. The Fireborn emissary had come, their scarlet sigil a stain of blood against the snow. The Emerald Crane Sect did not come too far behind, and their signs sounded of mysteries and rediscovered entity affiliations.
And then—silver. There lay one banner waving, and it certainly bore the famous crest of the Silver Fang Clan.
Bael frowned. "They came."
Elara's lips pressed into a thin line. Varik never turned down the chance to witness the kingdom's divisions laid out in the open.
"He'll want something."
"They all do."
The Grand Hall, Hours Later
The hall of Aeloria was a sight of starkly beautiful awe. Chandeliers of carved ice hung from the ceiling, glimmering with enchanted lights. Both the stone pillars were decorated with royal blue and silver banners, the colors featured by royal house of Elara's. Nobles in fine silks and fur, circled and bumped, unnaturally laughing, their eyes sharp as daggers, eyeing each other up like a pack of cannibals.
At the head of the hall, Elara sat on a high-backed chair—an imitation throne carved from froststeel. It loomed over the room, a silent reminder of who still held power. Bael followed her, unseen but an implicit threat to all who might tempt with the offer of treachery.
"You look as though you're waiting for the first dagger to be thrown, came a voice.
Elara didn't have to turn to recognize it. Varik Stormclaw strode toward her, dressed in dark leathers trimmed with silver fur, his silver hair loose and wild. A wolf that walked among men.
"You clean up well for a man who rarely leaves his mountains, Elara remarked coolly.
Varik smirked. "And you throw quite the party for a kingdom on the brink of collapse.
"Careful, Varik. You might make me think you care."
He got closer, his penetrating look penetrating the mask of politeness. "I don't care about your throne, Princess. But when the rot spreads, it reaches us all."
Just watch and wait," she replied, before directing her gaze back to the hall. "You may yet see the roots burn."
The Gathering of Spies
The hall teemed with movement and whispers. The fireborn envoy, Lord Kaelin, drank to excess, his crimson cloak behind him as he made the rounds to greet the others. Lady Irelia hovered by the musicians, her smiles sharper than the daggers strapped to her thighs. Servants carried silver trays, their movements practiced and precise.
In the shadows, Bael moved like a wraith. He had placed his most loyal lieutenants in every corner of the hall, pretending to them like guards, attendants, and beggars. They looked for signs, too-fast eye contact, unnaturally grasping for concealed steel, and equally too-still faces against the roaring of the festival party.
Bael's sight landed on Elara seated on the dais, her face impassive when she spoke with Lord Durnhold, on the dais. She played her role well—regal, untouchable, a queen in all but name. Yet Bael knew her better than most. Her quiescence was the quiescence of a predator who is about to pounce.
Then he saw it.
A servant carrying a tray of wine moved toward the head table, steps smooth and deliberate. Too smooth. Bael's eyes narrowed. He knew all the servants by name, all the faces who had passed through this house. But this man—he was unfamiliar.
"Stop him," Bael growled under his breath.
He started to walk, shuffling through the mob with a focused intent, his gloved hand upon the hilt of his sword.
The First Strike
The moment their attention shifted toward the approaching servant then Bael emerged from the throng. Time slowed. The man's hand dipped beneath the tray, pulling free a slender dagger etched with black lotus petals.
"Princess!" Bael roared.
Elara responded instantly, her froststeel dagger sparkling as she got up. The assassin lunged, blade aimed for her throat. Elara sidestepped, her own weapon slicing across his arm. The man hissed with pain but moved with graceful sinuousness, and then struck again.
The hall erupted in chaos. Nobles took off running in panic and spread out like startled birds as guards stampeded. Bael slammed into back the assassin, sending him skidding to the ground.
"Alive," Elara commanded, her voice carrying over the din. "Take him alive!"
The killer took a wild lash, as if possessed, against Bael's iron hold. However, just as a response, he turned right suddenly—and Elara regarded it. A faint shimmer beneath his collar.
"A poison seal!" she shouted.
Bael released him, but it was too late. The assassin's body shocked as black capillaries crawled over his surface. He dropped dead to the ground, the dagger falling from his grasp.
A terrible silence filled the hall.
Elara stepped forward, her eyes scanning the crowd. "Let this be a lesson to those who conspire against Aeloria, she said, her voice cold and clear. "You will fail."
Her gaze lingered on the nobles, their faces pale and wide-eyed. Somewhere among them, she knew, the true orchestrators watched.
Varik's voice reached her ears, low and amused. "You play a dangerous game, Princess."
Elara turned her head slightly, meeting his gaze. "And I will win."
The Aftermath
The body of the assassin was pulled through the hall, and the cries of the guests followed, buzzing around like a raging fire. Servants cleaned the blood, but the stain remained—both on the floor and in the hearts of the nobles who had witnessed it.
Elara stood alone in the now-empty hall, staring at the black lotus dagger resting on the table before her.
Bael entered quietly, his expression dark. "We searched him. No identification. Nothing to tie him to anyone."
"They're testing us," Elara murmured. "Measuring our resolve."
Bael's jaw tightened. "Then we'll strike first."
Elara's hand clasped about the blade's hilt, the cold seeping into her hand. "Soon. But not yet."
She turned to the window, looking out at the darkened city below. The Jade Lotus had revealed their intention, but only a part of it.
Next time, she thought, I'll be ready.
Far away, unknown at all, there floated a black lotus banner in the windless cold air.