The morning after the ball arrived with cold light and colder truths.
Aveline sat by the window of her private study, robe draped over her nightgown, steam rising from the untouched tea in her hands.
She hadn't slept. Not really.
Selgrin had been rattled. But rattled men became reckless. And reckless men made deadly enemies.
A knock interrupted her thoughts.
"My lady," the maid said softly, "this came for you."
Aveline turned. In the girl's hands lay a small velvet box tied with a crimson ribbon.
There was no seal. No card. No scent of perfume.
Only a single, deliberate signature scrawled on the ribbon's inner fold:
L.
Aveline's breath caught.
Slowly, she opened the box.
Inside was a silver ring.
Not just any ring.
Her ring—the one she wore before her execution. The one Lucien had given her during their first secret meeting, long before duty swallowed everything.
It was supposed to be gone. Burned. Buried.
Yet here it was.
Along with a single slip of parchment folded beneath it:
You've started a game I never gave you permission to play.
But I'll play anyway.
Aveline stared at the ring, her fingers hovering above it like it might burn her.
It was simple. Elegant. A braided silver band set with a pale sapphire—icy and clear, like his eyes the day he chose the crown over her.
She remembered the first time he slipped it onto her finger, in the garden behind the west tower. They were seventeen. Foolish. In love.
Back when she still believed love could save her.
Her jaw tightened.
"This is a warning," she whispered. "Not a memory."
Lucien didn't do sentiment. If he sent this, he was drawing a line. Reminding her of what they had… and what they lost.
Or maybe what he still thinks he owns.
She snapped the box shut.
If he thought this would shake her—he was wrong.
But the tremble in her hand betrayed her before she could bury it.
⸻
A soft knock came again—gentler this time.
"My lady?"
It was Elise.
Aveline quickly slid the box into a drawer, composed herself, and turned as the door opened.
"Breakfast is ready," Elise said. Then paused. "You… look pale."
"I'm fine," Aveline replied coolly. "Just ghosts from a past that won't stay buried."
Elise hesitated. "Would you like me to burn the letter?"
Aveline looked toward the drawer. "No. Not yet."
She stood.
"If Lucien wants to play games…" she murmured, "then let's remind him who taught me how to win."
Later that morning, Caden arrived without warning, as usual.
He stepped into her study like he belonged there, robes shifting around him like a trailing shadow. A book tucked beneath one arm, a knowing look in his eyes.
"You missed our scheduled meeting," he said without greeting. "I was beginning to think you'd changed your mind about the alliance."
Aveline didn't look up from her tea. "I didn't realize we were on a schedule."
"We are now," he replied dryly. "When assassins and traitors are involved, punctuality becomes a matter of survival."
She smirked. "Dramatic, even for you."
Caden approached the desk and set the book down. It was ancient, the cover cracked and worn. "This is what I came to show you. The binding spell you were accused of using—it's older than the Empire. Forgotten magic. Nearly impossible to fake."
Aveline's gaze finally lifted. "But not entirely impossible."
"No," he said, watching her carefully. "And someone wanted it traced back to you."
She leaned back, thoughtful, fingers lightly tapping her cup. "Which means someone wanted me gone… but not for treason. For something else."
"Exactly." Caden paused, eyes narrowing slightly. "And you… look like you already know who sent that something."
Aveline's expression didn't change, but something in her shoulders tightened.
"I received a message this morning," she said, casually. "From a ghost."
Caden raised a brow. "Anyone I know?"
"Only the man who tried to kill me with love," she replied.
There was a beat of silence before he exhaled, low and dry. "Ah. The prince."
She said nothing.
Caden tilted his head. "Do I need to worry?"
Aveline smiled—cold and unreadable. "Only if you think he still owns a part of me."
Caden gave her a long look. "Everyone still bleeds where they were loved."
She met his gaze. "Then I suggest you don't love me, Caden."
"I won't," he said, turning away. "That's what makes me useful."
But neither of them quite believed that.