Kaelith zipped the third satchel with more force than necessary.
"Okay," she muttered to herself, "robe enchantments, light armor sets, spare boots, energy crystals, tea stash, training gloves, extra ink, notebooks, the emergency journal, the backup emergency journal…"
She paused, eye twitching slightly.
"Where the hell did I put the mirrored comb? I literally had it—"
"Did you try checking beneath your ridiculous heels?" asked a dramatically bored voice from the chaise by the window.
Kaelith turned slowly.
Ulricha was sprawled across the velvet lounge like a tragic duchess, clutching a stuffed obsidian cat named "Executioner." Her legs were crossed in perfectly staged misery, her black-and-red ribbons hanging like mourning veils.
"I'm not bringing heels," Kaelith snapped. "This is a diplomatic education trip, not a ball."
"Then what's the point of going?" Ulricha asked, aghast.
"To learn? Train? Represent the crown?"
"Sounds fake," Ulricha muttered. "But okay."
"I'll write," Kaelith offered half-heartedly.
"No you won't," said Ulrich from the opposite corner, where he was balancing a ceremonial dagger on his foot. "You'll forget us immediately. You'll make new friends. Learn Celestian flirting rituals. Probably marry someone with a boring name like Cressel."
"I'm not marrying anyone named Cressel."
"You say that now."
Hestia, Kaelith's youngest sister, stood by the doorway, arms folded beneath a cloak that trailed ten inches behind her. She stared at Kaelith with large, unblinking eyes.
"I had a dream last night," she announced.
Kaelith paused in her packing. "Oh?"
"You fell into a moat. A magical moat. Full of whispering frogs."
"…Okay."
"They judged you."
Kaelith turned back to her bag. "Excellent. A great omen."
"I tried to warn you," Hestia added solemnly. "But you didn't listen. You were too busy being fabulous."
"That does sound like her," Ulricha agreed.
Kaelith groaned. "You are the worst send-off crew in history."
"We're grieving," Ulricha said, still dramatically prone.
"I'm not dead!"
"Yet."
"By the time you come back, we'll all be older. Changed. You won't even recognize us."
"You're seven," Kaelith snapped.
"I might take up fencing. Or revenge."
Kaelith tossed the final satchel onto her bed, crossing her arms. "None of you are helping."
"We're preparing you for emotional separation trauma," Ulrich said helpfully. "It's the responsible thing to do."
Before Kaelith could launch a pillow in his direction, the door opened with a sharp click.
A familiar voice called, "The teleportation circle is ready. Come with me."
Lara stood in the doorway, one hand on the frame, the other spinning a long-stemmed crystalline lollipop between her fingers. Her crimson jacket was buttoned halfway, boots mud-dusted, and her smile as crooked as ever.
"Time to go, princess."
Kaelith gave her siblings one last glare. "If you touch my room while I'm gone—"
"No promises," they chorused.
---
The teleportation chamber sat at the base of the southern tower, its walls carved in a perfect circle with ancient runes spiraling from ceiling to floor.
Magic hummed in the air—steady and strong, like the low breath of a resting dragon. At the center of the room, a disc of glowing light pulsed gently, awaiting command.
Lara had dismissed the mages who powered it. Now it was just them.
Kaelith stepped into the circle, her boots meeting the glyphs with a spark. Her bags hovered beside her, carried by a levitation charm designed for dignitaries. It flickered faintly—clearly protesting the weight of the "not heels" boots inside.
"You packed like you're relocating forever," Lara said.
"I like options."
"You like control."
Kaelith didn't deny it.
Lara stepped forward and adjusted the sigil crystal at Kaelith's collar. "You nervous?"
"No."
"You're lying."
Kaelith rolled her eyes. "A little."
"Good." Lara gave her a wink. "Means you're not stupid."
Kaelith took a breath, eyes flicking to the circle's perimeter.
Lara smiled, tapping the activation rune.
"I'll be right behind you," she said.
The light surged upward, wrapping Kaelith in a cocoon of gold.
The arrival platform at the Celestian capital shimmered into view slowly—runes fading, light dimming, magic settling like dust on her skin.
Kaelith stepped forward, boots meeting the white marble floor of the arrival hall.
The room was vast and austere, shaped like an open cathedral with high arches and star-glass windows. Guards stood at the perimeter, silent and still, their armor gleaming under enchanted torchlight.
And standing at the far end of the room, arms folded, expression stone-carved, was a woman.
Kaelith slowed.
Her heart did something stupid in her chest.
The woman was tall—lean and muscular, her stance coiled like a predator at rest. Her hair was short and black, tousled in a way that looked accidental but absolutely wasn't.
Her skin was deep brown, glowing faintly under the torchlight like dusk turned solid. Golden sigils wound up her neck and along her hands, visible even through the half-gloves she wore.
Her coat black with brass clasps—was heavy, weather-worn, and well-used, with a long tear near the hem stitched in crude, angry thread.
Kaelith knew power when she saw it.
But what knocked the air from her lungs wasn't the stance. It wasn't the scar across the woman's left cheek, or the quiet menace in the way she didn't blink.
It was the fact that she was hot.
Not politely attractive. Not "oh, she's striking."
She was fucking hot.
All sharp edges and silent fury. The kind of woman you made reckless decisions around.
Kaelith straightened, brushing imaginary dust off her collar.
She had expected… someone older. Meeker. Maybe one of the polished guards Lara always sent to high-end functions.
Not this.
Not a walking battlefield disguised as a human woman.
Lara stepped in beside her, smirking like a devil with a secret.
"Imeena Cromwell," she said. "Meet your ward."
Imeena didn't bow. Didn't blink. Her eyes met Kaelith's and stayed there flat, unamused, entirely unimpressed.
Kaelith raised her chin slightly.
So that was the game.
Fine.
Her thoughts sharpened, amusement curling at the corners of her mind.
She's not that good, actually.