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The days went by in a blur of routine. Morning jogs with Dent. Sparring with Val. Late nights with Eshlyn. Everything still felt sharp: colors, sounds, even the weight of air on my skin, but honestly, things were good. I even managed to skirt Lawrence and Dawn for over a month. I wasn’t doing it because I was scared of him. Well, maybe a little, but I was more scared of what would come of it. He wanted to train me, which meant more questions about Xolob, but that was almost besides the point. Casting came easier now, but even if I wanted to train with them, I couldn’t risk blowing up the delicate happiness I had settled into.
It was fragile, and I’d do anything to keep it. So I kept them at arm's length, actively avoided them if I had to, and made something up when I couldn’t. I wasn’t sure how long it’d keep working, but I’d have to deal with that later. For now, I was headed to the shop. Apparently, Eshlyn and Selene had some news to share.
The scent of crushed bark and sun-dried herbs hit the back of my throat the second I nudged open the door. The air felt coiled, as if it had swallowed the anticipation of everyone inside and decided to wear it like perfume. Everyone was already here, slouched and waiting, I guess for me.
I froze as every eye turned to me. “Did someone die?” I asked, half-serious.
“You’re finally here,” Selene called out, pure joy dripping from her tone. She glided through the beaded curtain as only a spirit could. A single letter waited on the counter, sealed in red wax. “Be a dear and lock the door, won’t you? We’ve got wonderful news.”
Selene looked genuinely happy, so I tried to match her energy. “Hell yeah.” A dozen questions clawed at me, but I swallowed them with a grin and turned the lock with a loud thud. “Someone want to tell me what's going on?”
Val sat off to the side, half-sunken into a crooked chair. A lazy attempt at seeming interested when he obviously wasn't.
Dent slouched at the low table, hands clasped like he was mid-prayer, or mid-apology. He and Val were a direct contrast to Eshlyn, who sat up immediately when I entered, and Selene, who was practically glowing.
Selene’s eyes drifted quickly to the envelope. “We’ve received word from the Queen. We thought it best to open it all together.”
“Oh.” I put on a practiced smile. “Great. Finally getting recognition for the cure you and Eshlyn made. Right?”
“I was beginning to think it wasn’t going to happen,” Eshlyn said, voice hopeful. “It's been so long since we delivered the original sample, along with the cure formula.”
“Well, we haven't opened it yet, but that's what I'm hoping for.” The echo of Selene's voice rose with growing excitement.
I didn’t want to dull the mood, but I had to say it. “I don't mean to be rude, but she kind of took her sweet ass time, didn’t she?” I leaned against the wall closest to Val. “We already synthesized and gave the cure to Dent… Like a while ago.”
Selene dramatically swished her translucent hair around. “Oh, hush, darling, you're about to be in the presence of royaltyyyy.”
That pulled a chuckle out of me. “Alright.”
Val shook his head at Selene, a smile forming on his lips. “Any reason they’d wait until now to send something?”
“The queen is a busy woman,” Selene assured him. “...But it's here now, and that's what matters.”
Anticipation hung thick between us until Dent shifted, sliding his chair a little closer. “Ok, I’ll admit… I’m a little nervous, what if it's about me?”
“You’re perfectly fine, Dent. Been that way for months.” I tried to sound reassuring, even though my gut wrenched at the thought I might be included in whatever the queen wants. “She probably just wants to congratulate Selene and Eshlyn. What they accomplished was extraordinary after all.”
“Alright, alright. Enough speculation.” Eshlyn cut in. I could tell she was trying not to act giddy. “Everyone is here, let's just open it, shall we?”
“Oh, I can't look!” Selene spun around. “You should be the one to do it, Eshlyn. You contributed more than I did.”
We all looked at each other for a beat before nodding. Finally, she reached forward, her fingers brushing tentatively over the seal before breaking it and reading. We watched in silence, breath held like it might change the words.
“Well?” Dent asked, voice slicing the silence.
She didn’t respond at first. Her eyes just scanned the page. Lips pressing into a thin line.
“Come on, Eshlyn. You’re gonna give me a stroke over here.” I tried to keep it light, but it landed somewhere between joke and plea.
“It’s… Official,” she said finally. “A royal summons. All five of us. By name.” She looked up, eyes steady. “Remy. Val. Dent. Selene. Myself. Signed by Queen Aurelene.”
I tried to hold a fake smile on my face, but my stomach dropped when she mentioned me.
Val snorted, dry and humorless. “What the hell does she want with me?”
“Or me?” I looked at Selene and Eshlyn, trying not to appear startled.
“No idea,” Dent said, glancing over to Val before finding me. “But you gave them the original sample, Selene delivered it to the queen, Eshlyn cultivated the cure, and I was treated with it.”
“We all had a role,” Eshlyn said. “But there’s no explanation, just the summons. We’re expected at the citadel in two days. That’s… All it says.”
“Not even a thank you?” Dent muttered, leaning back.
“No formal thanks? No little ribbon?” Selene snorted, posture sinking low. “How rude.”
Eshlyn studied the page again. “Just the Queen’s signature and the appointment time.”
I crossed my arms. “So they wait until we’ve done everything, fixed the problem, proved Dent’s fine, nearly forgotten the whole mess, and now they what? Want to talk?”
“Without even a thanks, fuck you or nothing?” Val quipped lightly.
Eshlyn folded the letter neatly and set it down. “Seems so, but the timing is deliberate. That much is obvious.”
Val’s gaze found mine then, probably reading the concealed anxiety rising in my gut. “You’re sure this is about Eshlyn and Selene?”
“I don’t know,” I muttered. “But yeah… Probably. What else would it be?”
Silence fell, thick as fog.
“Well, I guess we'll have to find out while we're there,” Eshlyn said with a shrug.
“No shot.” The words flew out before I could stop them. “I’m not walking into a royal spotlight. If they know who I am, that’s a one-way trip to prison.”
“What?” Selene’s eyes flicked toward me as if I’d just let something slip. “It’s a summons, not an invitation, and recognition from the queen is not something to pass up on.”
Val stood, running a hand through his hair. “Well… Fuck.”
“We’re expected to act like professionals,” Eshlyn said, voice easy. “They won’t doubt us if we don’t give them a reason to. So just… Be mindful.”
“Precisely,” Selene added. “The Queen has bigger problems than your criminal record. We should be flattered. Our efforts are finally being recognized.”
“Sorry.” I dragged a hand down my face. “I didn't mean to dampen the mood. So… What’s the dress code?” Best clothes to go to prison in.
“Formal attire, no doubt,” Eshlyn responded casually.
Dent huffed a tired laugh. “Well. At least we know it won't be boring.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Val muttered under his breath.
...
I wasn’t going in unprepared.
The Queen’s citadel was the judicial heart of the floor, law, power, and punishment, all in one gilded box. There’d be guards, officials, wards... And the queen herself, whom I doubt I’ll get along with. If they didn’t already know I was on the run, I might be able to pass through, but if they did… I was probably screwed, but at least I’d have a plan. At the very least, I could scout the layout, mark the exits, count blind spots, and pick out places to stash a weapon if it came to it.
The rooftop baked beneath my boots, sun-heated slate radiating warmth through the soles. Wind stirred the air, sharp with copper and stone. I crouched at the edge, cloak tight, eyes tracking the fortress below.
The citadel sprawled out below me in cold precision: marble towers kissed with silver, banners snapping in rhythm with the breeze. Four drawbridges crossed the moat, one for each cardinal direction. Guards rotated like clockwork. Carriages filtered through the gates in perfect sequence. One stopped at the outer post, then again under the archway, each checkpoint lit with faint wardlight. No stumbles. No shouting. Not even a bird above the spires.
I narrowed my focus, eyes locking on a pair of officials as they crossed the final threshold. My vision shifted, zooming in and tuning into their aether-signatures as the wards flared in a soft pulse. I kept watching, but my gut only twisted tighter. It didn’t just have security checkpoints. The whole place was basically under active surveillance. Still, I scanned the field again, wondering what the Queen would expect from us. Charm? Submission? Then pushed my vision closer, like twisting a lens, studying for cracks and patterns. Anything I could use. I figured maybe I could mask my blades. Blur their outline like I do with the aether-hand, but hiding from people wasn’t the problem. The wards were what mattered.
I was still running through the options when I heard a voice beside me: “Do you ever just walk the streets like a normal person?”
I didn’t flinch, but only because I was half-expecting it. Sort of. I wasn’t happy to see him, but he’d stayed away longer than I thought he would. “Hello, Lawrence,” I said flatly. “Ever consider not sneaking up on people like a deranged stalker?”
He stepped up beside me without a sound, hands clasped behind his back. His coat fluttered faintly in the breeze, hood shadowing his face with far too many layers for a sunny day. Still, he didn’t look even mildly uncomfortable. “In this context,” he said, casual as always, “I find it more efficient to bypass pleasantries.” He paused and glanced toward the citadel: “Especially when someone’s perched in a restricted zone, watching the queen’s walls like a thief casing a vault.”
“I prefer nervous guest, and how do you do that?” I glanced sideways, genuinely curious.
“Whatever do you mean?” His voice slithered across my spine like it usually did.
I turned back to my scouting. “Walking around without a sound… And finding me up here.”
“Surely silence isn’t beyond your skill set.” He paused. “And as for finding you… It's easy, you glow like a lighthouse.”
“Great,” I muttered without looking. “Any tips on not shining like a beacon for the magically inclined?”
“You’d know if you weren’t so determined to play this ridiculous game of cat and mouse.” His gaze drifted down to the citadel again. “And don’t tell me you are actually planning a heist?”
“Why does everyone assume I’m up to no good?” I adjusted my stance, refusing to rise to the bait. “I’m just scoping the place. I’ve been summoned for tomorrow.”
“Lovely,” he said smoothly, but I caught something shift below his mask. “Judging by your paranoia, I take it you’re not expecting tea and cake.”
I shrugged. “I don’t know yet.”
Lawrence tilted his head, studying me for a breath too long. “You have been avoiding me,” he said plainly. “Why?”
I rolled my eyes, turning my gaze back to the citadel spires and avoiding the question. “Nice to see you too.”
He let a smile unfurl across his face, slow and unsettling. “You’ve yet to deliver on your obligations.”
I tried not to react, but my voice betrayed me, just slightly. “I never gave a timeline.”
He paused for a moment. “You’re stalling.”
Ugh. Fine. I slumped down, turning away from the citadel to lean my back against the roof's edge. “...I’m not ready.”
He hummed, a quiet, amused sound with no warmth. “Honesty. At last.”
“I’m not afraid of the power,” I said, though the words tasted like doubt. “I just can’t risk fucking things up right now.”
His eyes narrowed slightly. “You may think restraint is a virtue, but in your position, it’s a liability.”
The silence stretched, taut as a bowstring. “Look… I’m too busy to run around killing flowers, so.” My head shook, knowing I’d have to give him something to go away. “What do you want to know about Xolob?”
He didn’t say anything for a while, as if weighing his options. Then: “Who did it, and why?”
“The people in the alley,” I responded immediately. “The ones who were waiting for me. The ones who aren’t breathing anymore.”
“Go on”, his red eyes gleamed as he crouched down next to me.
“They work under the Xanathar’s Guild.” I continued. “They took Xolob. Burned the shop after things went sideways. I know of them.” I prayed he wouldn’t ask how. “Slave trade. Filthy work.”
“Do you believe Xolob could still be alive?”
“No,” I said too fast.
“Interesting.” He paused, catching my shift, but, for whatever reason, he let it go. “What else?”
“I know where their headquarters is,” I admitted. “At least the one on this floor.”
“Perfect.” His eyes lingered, voice cold despite the calm. “You’ll take me there,” he said, as if it was already settled, “When the time is right.”
I didn’t answer. It wasn’t a question.
“Remy.” His voice dropped, ominous and low.
My eyes snapped to his.
“Do not ignore me again.”
I only nodded, swallowing the lump rising in my throat and trying not to flinch as his blood-red eyes caught the light. A faint smile curled like he was daring me to find out what would happen if I did.
“Now.” He straightened and nodded toward the citadel again. “What are you planning?”
Not even I knew exactly, so I simply answered, “I’d rather not go in unarmed, or at all, honestly. But I don’t have that luxury.”
Lawrence's lips twitched upwards. “And you believe what? That a dagger or two will give you a fighting chance?”
“It's better than nothing.” I retorted, standing up beside him.
“I hardly think so.” He reached into his coat and withdrew something small, dark, and flat like a coin, but etched with shifting lines that shimmered under the light. “This,” he motioned, holding it between two fingers, “...Is a token of stillness. It won’t conceal anything you're dense enough to bring in, but it will quiet that flame you wear like a banner.”
“You mean, it'll change my signature?” I turned towards him, shocked that such a thing existed.
“Not exactly, but it will make you... Uninteresting.”
I stared at it, wary and not knowing what the hell that even meant. “Why help me?”
He looked toward the sky, sun catching the edge of his skin. It smoked faintly before he turned back into the hooded shade. “Because if the queen wants something from you… I doubt it ends with conversation, and the less she knows, the better. For both of us.”
I took the token. It was cool and weightless, but something in it hummed.
Lawrence stood. “And leave the blades. It’s not like you need them anyway.”
“Thank you,” I said quietly. Wishing I didn’t feel the urge to say what he so clearly wanted to hear. “We’ll meet up again when this is over.”
“Excellent,” he turned to leave before continuing. “I doubt I need to tell you this, but do not trust the queen. Not even with the smallest piece of you.”
Creepy but okay. He was gone before I could respond, just as quickly as he appeared, but still, something gnawed at me. He didn't even ask that many questions.
...
The scent of pressed linen and rose balm filled the bedchamber, mingling with warm afternoon light that spilled through delicate curtains. Across the bed, four gowns lay neatly arranged. One starlight silver. One rosy red. The blue one I hadn’t worn in ages. And my favorite, black. The kind that drank in light and didn’t give it back.
Eshlyn circled behind me, comb in hand, silent and focused as she worked through my hair. Her fingers moved with methodical precision as she tucked a stray strand behind my ear, smoothing it down without a word.
“You know,” I said, watching her in the vanity mirror, “If you stare at my scalp any harder, I think your eyeballs might pop out.”
She smiled faintly, not quite looking up. “I’m trying to decide if your hair isn’t cooperating because it hates me, or because it fears what I might do to it.”
“I’m leaning toward fear. Self-preservation, probably.”
“I’m certainly feeling the disdain,” she murmured, finally meeting my eyes in the mirror. “Still, you’ll look dazzling. Scandalous enough to raise a brow, and tasteful enough to get away with it.”
“I’d usually love that,” I said, more thoughtful now. “But I think I need something softer this time. Something that says I’m not worth a second glance.”
Eshlyn moved around to face me, holding out a pair of crescent-shaped earrings, opals catching the light.
“You know my ears aren’t pierced,” I reminded her, eyeing them with genuine regret.
“A tragedy we should rectify,” she sighed, then reached instead for a necklace, silver thread strung with midnight stones and quiet diamonds. She fastened it around my neck. “I know you're not feeling optimistic, so I'll concede this time. Shall I contrast your gentle fit with as much fire as I can manage?”
“That would be lovely… And so you,” I said, catching her gaze in the mirror with a slow smile.
She nudged my shoulder. “Need I remind you, we’re attending a royal dinner. Not a trial.”
“Depending on their intel, it may be the same thing.” I shot back, trying to keep my tone casual.
That pulled a snicker out of her. “I’ve met her, by the way.” She said, lowering herself into the armchair beside me. “Queen Aurelene. Once before.”
Interesting. I turned slightly toward her. “You think she’ll recognize you?”
“Perhaps, but I doubt it,” her voice was careful, “I’ll admit, I was excited earlier, but I’m feeling a bit strange about it now.”
“How so?” I questioned.
“Not sure. The timing and lack of detail in her letter just make me think it's not recognition she’s offering.”
“Then you’re probably right,” I said softly. “Sorry. I know that meant a lot to you.”
“I’m alright.” Eshlyn reached out, brushing her fingers against mine before taking my hand. “But if I’m right, Selene will be devastated.”
“Damn… Well then, for her sake. I hope you're wrong.”
She nodded slowly, thumb tracing the edge of my knuckle. “I admire that about you. You might not hope for yourself… But you do for others.”
I chuckled. “Might want to get your eyes checked. I’m more ‘disaster with good intentions’ than anything admirable.”
“Not true.” She bumped me with her shoulder. “You get into trouble, sure, but you always land on your feet.”
Finally, I leaned forward, resting my forehead against hers, and she let out a breath I hadn’t noticed she’d been holding. “You know,” I whispered, holding her gaze, “You’re kind of adorable when you’re pretending not to worry.”
She huffed a laugh that cracked, just slightly. “And you’re intolerable, giving me those eyes when we have places to be.”
I smiled, leaned in, and nipped at her ear. “Then let her wait. I’ve got more important things to handle.”
Her fingers curled beneath my jaw, drawing me slowly into a kiss, not meant to ignite, but to anchor. It wasn’t quite what I wanted, but I appreciated it anyway.
When we broke apart, her hand lingered, thumb brushing my cheek. “Don’t tempt me,” she winked.
“Tempt you into something stupid?” I teased, dragging each word with dramatic sarcasm. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
We lingered like that a moment longer before I finally stood, reaching for the soft blue dress and tossing the red one toward her. “Meek and dangerous,” I said with a wink. “We’ve got this.”
Eshlyn caught the gown mid-air, already rising. “Then allow me to do the talking,” she said, glancing over her shoulder, “And keep your head down… Maybe they’ll believe it.”
...
The lobby gleamed beneath the afternoon sun, polished stone floors reflecting light like calm water. A fragrant breeze from the courtyard stirred the silk banners overhead.
Dent, Val, and Selene waited near the front desk, framed by the tall archway. The quiet hum of carriage wheels lingered outside the opulent doorway, held open by my favorite doorman, waiting to give me their all-too-familiar greeting.
Dent wore a cream tunic trimmed with soft brown, modest, but clean. Beside him, Selene stood like something carved from myth. Gone were the layers of translucent modesty. Today she shimmered in white and gold, her form gliding with quiet grace. A spirit dressed as a prayer. Val turned to face us, dressed in a darker tunic, black with soft blue underlayers, subtle embroidery threading up the cuffs. It wasn’t identical to mine, but the color echo warmed my heart a bit. I didn’t try to match, but it was a pleasant surprise.
As we reached the landing, just as planned, Eshlyn stole the room. Her gown was deep crimson, layered in folds of light fabric that trailed behind her like living flame. The bodice was sharp, confident, and unapologetic. Even Selene tilted her head in acknowledgment.
“Eshlyn,” Dent murmured with a low whistle. “You could start a revolution with that gown.”
“You’re too kind,” she responded, my arm linked with hers. “Besides, it was all Remy’s idea. They want to hide in my shadow.”
I gave her a flat look. “I believe it's called subterfuge.”
“More like forgettable,” she teased.
I bumped her playfully with my hip, “That's the idea, isn’t it?”
“Whatever it is…” Dent motioned to lead her down the final steps. I let her go, slowly letting my outstretched arm keep contact until his replaced my own. “...It’s working.”
Selene’s gaze passed over me, the modest blue dress, the subdued details. She didn’t speak, but she gave me a nod of approval, posture as pleasant as ever. Val stepped closer, eyes sweeping over my outfit without a word. But his mouth shifted into a sly smile, and he offered his arm with a look that made me feel like I was the only one in the room.
“Look at you!” I teased, linking his arm with mine. “We match.”
“I’m thoughtful like that.” He said arrogantly.
I bumped against him playfully. “How’d you know?”
“Secret.” He winked, eyes lingering.
Behind us, the chariot driver entered, a tall man in a tailored black uniform and an equally tall hat. He gave a practiced bow. “If the ascenders are ready… The Queen awaits.”
Selene extended her arm, mirroring Eshlyn’s grace with precision. The driver met her halfway in a silent exchange of etiquette. She didn’t speak, but the gesture felt chilling, like watching a ghost glide into a painting.
Val took my hand lightly, guiding me toward the carriage. Its polished black frame gleamed like obsidian.
“I can’t tell if you’ve done this before,” I said, eyeing the steps, “Or if you’re very good at pretending… Either way, it’s freaking me out.”
“Oh, good,” he chuckled, guiding me into the carriage, “I was just thinking how very posh and un-Remy-like you were being.”
“Eshlyn did tell me to keep my head down.” I teased lightly, not letting go until he took a seat beside me.
“Your specialty.” He teased back, whispering in my ear.
I elbowed him, but didn’t lean away. “Are you always this annoying, or just when I’m trying to behave?”
“Hard to say,” he murmured, eyes teasing. “When have you ever done that?”
One by one, we stepped into the cab. The doors shut behind us with a heavy thud, the sound echoing through the small space.
Only a single lightstone hung overhead, casting the cabin in a soft, pale glow.
...
The dining hall was a masterpiece of symmetry and shine, silver-veined stone stretched into vaulted ceilings, candlelight glinting off crystalware set with such precision it looked summoned. The tall windows were veiled in white linen, a delicate touch in a space otherwise crafted to overwhelm. Three soldiers flanked each wall, unmoving in silver-trimmed armor.
The table stretched like a runway between us, guards stationed along the edges like ornate statues. Servants moved like shadows, silent and sharp-eyed. Officials filled the upper seats, their faces unreadable behind layers of polished etiquette.
Even after hours spent scoping this place from above, I’d come to the simple conclusion:
Don’t even try. Not a charm tucked in a boot seam. Not a thread. Needle. Nothing. In the end, I could only pray a cloak of mediocrity would shield me from whatever waited inside this prosperous palace of pretentious puppets. I used what Lawrence gave me just before the carriage stopped, did exactly as instructed: pressed the token to my pulse, waited until it dulled, and tossed it out before we passed the wards. I didn’t know why or if I really needed it, but it was all I had to calm my nerves, and now there was no going back, so whatever it was. I hope it worked.
We were already seated when she entered. Queen Aurelene lowered herself at the head of the table like a crown settling into place atop her kingdom. Full of grace and composure. She wore storm-gray silk edged in pale gold. Her face was lined with age, hair mostly ashen, but every motion was deliberate, and it wasn’t serenity or power that coiled beneath her skin. It was worse: absolute, unchallenged authority.
I immediately hated every inch of her. I tried not to. I really did. But the arrogance, the ease, it reeked of blind entitlement. The kind that comes from being born with a world already bent to your will.
Val took my hand once everyone was seated, resting it in the small space between us. I was grateful. It kept me still. Made it easier to appear casual and hide the weight of every calculation running behind my eyes.
There were too many forks. Multiple glasses. Sized utensils that made no sense to me. Just like that first dinner I had with Eshlyn, but now I understood why she might have called it ‘not too fancy,’ Because this was ghastly in comparison.
Now she sat beside me at a table designed to break ‘lesser’ people and smiled like she’d been born for it. Poised and refined. Every movement was graceful enough to disarm. She inclined her head toward the Queen with practiced deference, voice warm but measured. “Your Majesty. It’s an honor to be invited into your home this evening. We humbly thank you for your hospitality.”
There it was, her mask. Perfectly placed. No cracks. A beautiful lie. I knew Eshlyn actually hated this kind of thing. The overdone pageantry. The hollow politics and constant pretending, but she was good at it. Too good.
The Queen offered a thin smile in return. “Eshlyn Elleth, your reputation precedes you. The honor is mine.”
Elleth?
Her gaze swept the table slowly, like she was weighing each of us on some invisible scale before continuing. “I’ll admit,” she began, her tone graceful but firm, “it’s rare I extend invitations of this nature, but then again, it’s abnormal to see unregarded Ascenders distinguish themselves so efficiently.” She smiled, as if she had just offered a compliment instead of a veiled reminder of our place. “As Floor One’s sovereign, it’s my duty to recognize excellence where I see it, and to encourage harmony between sectors.” She lifted a glass, but didn’t drink. “You represent a kind of possibility that’s increasingly difficult to cultivate.”
Servants moved in quiet rhythms when the queen paused, setting down the first course, roots and microgreens shaped into a fan across a plate that looked like spun ice. It was beautiful but pointless. Starvation disguised as cuisine.
The Queen gestured delicately toward the meal. “We’ve brought together the best of First Floor’s culinary tradition tonight, seasonal, of course. The wine is a coast-grown blush aged in starlit vaults, paired for balance. I believe you will find it subtle, but enduring.” She let that sit for a moment, as if we might applaud.
Is she really going to wait all night before getting to the fucking point?
“...Our head kitchen staff will join us in a moment to go over the full menu, but until then, please eat, enjoy. I am sure you will find everything to your liking.”
Everyone did as instructed, as if it were an order. Or at least, we moved our utensils like we were supposed to.
Eshlyn was practiced and natural. Surprisingly, Val kept up with relative ease, but Dent looked just as out of place as I was trying not to be. Even Selene, who rarely engaged in 'mortal comforts’, moved her silverware with subtle, precise coordination, as if she was reenacting a ritual meant to loosely resemble eating.
Course after course arrived, delicate as lace and twice as fragile. Glazed roots carved into spirals. Foamed mushrooms served on glass spoons. A soup so thin it could have been tears, poured from a vessel that looked more ceremonial than practical. All of it, ridiculous in its pageantry. Conversation buzzed politely at the head of the table, officials murmuring, goblets clinking, the rustle of silk, and softened protocol, but our end of the table was mostly quiet.
I kept my eyes down, occasionally glancing sideways at Val or Dent. They were similarly hushed, composed, each of us seemingly content just to get through this without drawing attention. Eventually, I looked up to find Eshlyn sipping her wine with the elegance of someone trained not to choke on hypocrisy. The silence was deafening, so I leaned toward her, voice low. “Enjoying the wine?”
“Subtle but enduring,” she murmured, echoing the queen’s earlier phrasing. “She really knows how to treat us, doesn’t she?” Her smile was all teeth. She winked a second later, sharp as a knife.
I stifled a laugh, putting on the richest accent I could. “Oh yes. Quite. The produce is delightfully... Seasonal.”
Val snorted beside me before catching himself, clearing his throat, and recovering with mock poise. “I concur. Seasonal indeed.”
“Take in the pleasantries of royalty,” Eshlyn added lightly. “It may be our only chance to indulge in such lavish... Lavestry.”
Dent coughed before clearing his throat in the same fashion. “To lavistry then,” he echoed, lifting his glass with theatrical solemnity. We clinked our glasses in unison, quiet and treasonously amused.
All the while, the Queen continued her conversation with her advisors, untouched by irony. No urgency. No mention of the real reason we were here. By the time the final dish was cleared, I could feel the burn in my chest. Not from the wine or from hunger. Just from waiting. Knowing there had to be something ugly buried under all this shine, and the gray-haired lady at the head of the table was enjoying every second of delay.
She finally addressed us when a servant whisked her napkin away, and Selene perked up like it was finally her moment. “However delightful the cuisine may be,” the queen said calmly, “I want you to know this is not a reward.”
Then what the fuck are we doing here? I could tell Selene was subtly trying not to slump into her chair as if defeated.
“Consider it an invitation,” she continued. “To collaborate. To elevate yourselves. After all… legacy is built on the backs of the willing as well as the able.”
The way she spews royal bullshit was astounding. All those words, and they still meant absolutely nothing.
Eshlyn’s smile didn’t falter, but I saw the shift, a slight tightening at the corners. “We’re honored, Your Majesty,” she said smoothly. “Though I imagine you didn’t bring us here to discuss dinner pairings.”
The Queen chuckled in the way that echoed her position. “I must admit, I’m in love with that brilliant mind of yours, and no, of course not.”
“Our ears await your every word, Your Majesty,” Eshlyn said with a graceful nod.
Laying it on a little thick, aren’t ya? I tossed the thought toward her as if she could hear me.
“Very well.” The Queen leaned forward, folding her hands atop the polished wood. “The cure you provided for the parasite was potent, but, as with many things in life, temporary.” She didn’t falter. Her voice remained steady, almost serene. It was so calm, I nearly missed what she was actually saying. “As of last week, the dormant sample we treated began to stir. Small anomalies and preliminary movement, but my herbalists say it’s continuing to mutate.” And then, like the final card in a half-forgotten game, her eyes settled on Dent, and so did mine.
He didn’t move or speak, but I caught it, the slight twitch in his jaw, the way his hands clenched too tightly in his lap. Barely there, but enough.
My head snapped back to the Queen, all of it catching up to me at once. “Are you fucking kidding me!?” I blurted out, loud enough to silence every utensil at the table. “If Dent’s still infected,” I continued, my voice sharp and rising despite every effort to contain it, “then maybe you could have warned us, instead of trolling us out here for bullshit wine and flattery!”
The room went deathly quiet.
Rage bloomed in my chest, white-hot and expanding. I felt it in my throat, my fingertips, my vision. It was all I could do not to throw a steak knife at her. And yet, she laughed. The Queen chuckled. A soft, amused sound, like we were playing a game I’d only just started to understand. And suddenly, I realized I was standing. I hadn’t even felt my legs move, but the soldiers had. I could feel them now, positioned behind me, silent and coiled.
Val stood in sequence, his chair scraping softly against the stone. I wasn’t sure, but I swore he shoved someone. Not hard, but enough to shift between the nearest soldier. He didn’t say a word, but the message was clear.
“So you can speak after all,” the Queen said lightly. “How refreshing, to see a fire beneath the veil.”
Val’s hand found mine next, pulling gently toward my seat like a silent anchor, but I didn’t sit. God, I just wanted to flip the table and bash her fucking face in.
Eshlyn stood then, placing one calm hand on my shoulder, measured and grounding. “I believe what my partner would like to express,” she said smoothly, “...is that this comes as a surprise, and is alarming.”
Between her hand and Val’s, I let myself be eased back into the chair, but I didn’t look away. The Queen’s chuckle lingered in my head like perfume.
“Your clarification is appreciated, Eshlyn.” She paused. “We are nothing if not understanding,” she said calmly, “...and merciful.” I felt the soldier's presence fade from behind me, but her gaze lingered, not cold but assessing, like she’d just spotted a crack in the paint and was already imagining what was beneath. “If it wasn’t so premature and childish, I might even find it delightful,” she added, “To finally encounter someone with teeth. That is.”
I didn’t respond. Couldn’t. My jaw was clenched tight enough to ache.
“Rest assured,” she continued, her tone soft as silk, “If I had the luxury of offering answers in a more… Timely fashion, I would have, but I don’t share rumors, only truths.”
This lying cunt knows exactly what she did.
She folded her hands again. “Here is the truth: The parasite remains. It is evolving. Quietly, persistently, and must be contained, for everyone's safety.” She turned her attention to Dent now, but spoke to all of us. “This is not a crisis yet, but it will be. Before that happens, I intend to snuff it out.”
Eshlyn’s fingers tapped once against the table before stilling. “You want us to go back?” She asked, voice calm but wary.
The Queen inclined her head. “Yes. This time with a team. Healers. Herbalists, and another party of Ascenders, for protection and observation… As prepared as possible, of course,” she added, almost as an afterthought.
“And Dent?” Selene asked, her first words all evening.
“Will accompany you,” the Queen said simply. “He is a live subject. His condition may be key to understanding the mutations.”
Dent didn’t move. Didn’t blink.
“So we’re lab rats now?” You fucking bitch. I muttered, trying to quell the bite still lingering in my voice.
“No,” the Queen said. “You’re a cure in motion, and the Floor needs you.”
Silence followed.
Finally, Eshlyn sat back in her chair. “With all due respect, Your Majesty. We’ll need time to consider it.”
“Naturally,” the Queen replied. “You’re welcome to remain in the Citadel tonight as guests of the Crown. Rooms have been prepared.” Her smile returned, graceful and practiced. “We begin one week from today. I trust that is enough time to gather your courage.”