The crowd's anticipation thickened as Aurianne Elodie Kallenhart swept into view, golden hair blazing beneath the chandeliers, righteous fury barely contained by the jewel-toned armor of her gown. Each step was a declaration-energy coiled and dangerous, the promise of a blade unsheathed.
Her gaze found Selvaria instantly, the space between them charged, as if the histories of two dynasties had condensed into a single, volatile spark.
Aurianne's lips curled in a smile-sharp, sweet, and venomous. Her voice, when it came, sliced through the polite din:
"So. Still clinging to those shadowed ideals, Selvaria? I see exile hasn't taught you humility. Some things never change, do they?"
Selvaria didn't waver even slightly. She hardly turned around, offering only the slightest tip of her head, and a smile that was so faint it could have been imagined-a queen tolerating a lesser hound's barking. The silver gaze travelled over Aurianne-still slow and without haste - a points pause on her modest chest.
A beat of silence that was brittle as glass.
Selvaria's reply was silk over steel:
"Waiting for you to catch up, Aurianne? I guess miracles are reserved for the faithful."
The bystanders gasped; a noblewoman stifled a laugh behind her fan while Selene almost choked on her champagne, her wide eyes glinting with pleasure.
Aurianne's cheeks burned. Her hands curled into fists-white knuckles pressing through the fabric. For a beat it looked as though she might throw decorum away and lunge- but she straightened, spine stiffening, chin becoming brittle dignity.
"At least I do not bear the stain of kin slayer' blood." Aurianne hissed. "There is no silk that can hide what runs in your veins."
The tension pinned the room back, and the nobles leaned away-the air crackling with the suggestion of an open fight, so mutually damning hell dishing on send, and even the music faltered as the players were suspended, bows poised over strings with a collective gasp.
Selvaria's expression remained immaculate-cold, untouched. Only her eyes darkened, a flicker of something ancient and wounded surfacing, then vanishing beneath ice.
"You mistake history for prophecy," she murmured, voice low and unyielding. "Bloodlines are not destiny, Aurianne. Loyalty is forged, not inherited. But I suppose you'd rather cling to your father's sermons than face the world as it is."
Aurianne's jaw clenched, her retort a blade drawn in shadow:
"You chose your side, and you'll answer for it. The Empire remembers. The Church remembers all the atrocities your family commited. We all do."
Selvaria's lips curved in a smile-small, mournful, devastating.
"Memory is a comfort for those afraid to act. I won't apologize for surviving your righteousness nor will my family."
She turned away, the gesture a dismissal more cutting than any insult. The crowd parted before her, the nobles' eyes darting between the two women, hungry for the next blow.
Aurianne stood frozen, fury and humiliation warring on her face. Then, with a brittle laugh, she called after Selvaria:
"Run from your past all you like. Shadows make poor shields."
Selvaria didn't look back. But Anwir, standing quietly at her shoulder, felt the pressure in the air coil tighter-a storm gathering, history bleeding into the present. This was more than rivalry. It was a reckoning, centuries in the making, now playing out beneath the velvet and gold of the Empire's gaze.
Selene sidled up to Anwir, voice a whisper:
"Gods, I love when she does that. Remind me never to get on her bad side."
Anwir's reply was barely audible:
"We're all on someone's bad side tonight."
The ballroom, for a moment, seemed to hold its breath-caught between old wounds and new ambitions, as two futures collided in the space between a glare and a smile.
"Did you see Aurianne's face?" she whispered, barely containing her laughter. "She looked like she'd swallowed a lemon whole. Priceless."
Anwir kept his expression carefully blank, the way a professional attendant should-though, inside, he was marveling at how surreal this all felt. In his old life, this would've been a top-tier cutscene, the kind he'd written himself for maximum drama. Now, he was living it, forced by some cosmic joke to save the one girl who never survived any route.
He risked a sidelong glance at Selene and deadpanned, "Honestly, Selene, yours are much bigger than Aurianne's anyway."
She blinked, then snorted so hard she nearly hiccupped. "You noticed?" She puffed out her chest with exaggerated pride, glancing down as if to confirm. "Well, I suppose someone around here has to represent."
He shrugged, keeping his voice low and dry. "It's hard not to. I mean, the contrast was…stark."
Selene grinned, clearly delighted. "Maybe that's why Aurianne's so uptight. I'd be bitter too if I had to stuff my bodice with holy parchment just to keep up."
Anwir bit back a laugh, glancing at Selvaria-still a picture of icy composure, as if she hadn't just started a cold war in the middle of the ballroom. He couldn't help but think, If the gods want me to save her, maybe they should've given her Selene's confidence. Or, well…other assets.
He offered Selene a sly smile. "If there's ever a contest, my money's on you. For…obvious reasons."
She elbowed him, eyes twinkling. "Careful, Anwir. Keep talking like that and you'll make me blush. Or worse-make me think you actually like working for us."
He gave a mock sigh, inwardly thinking, If only she knew. I'd take a stats screen and a save point over this any day. But out loud, he simply said, "I live to serve. And to observe. Very, very closely."
Selene cackled, the tension finally breaking around them as the crowd's attention drifted to the next spectacle. For a moment, Anwir let himself enjoy the absurdity. After all, if he was doomed to rewrite fate, he might as well appreciate the view.
Let me know if you want to push the banter further or keep it more subtle!
A cluster of nobles gathered near Aurianne, eager to bask in her reflected glory after her confrontation with Selvaria. Among them, Lord Renard Valcoran-a minor baron with ambitions far larger than his estate-leaned in, voice pitched just loud enough to carry.
"My lady Aurianne," he began, affecting a tone of courtly concern, "one must wonder how the Empire endures such… stains as the Rosenthal line. Their reputation is a patchwork of scandal and shadow. Why, I heard just last month that Lady Selvaria's own uncle was caught dabbling in forbidden magics-again. It's a wonder the Church hasn't called for a full cleansing."
He peered sideways at her, looking for approval. A few fawning sycophants snickered behind their hands. The insult was transparent; a calculated move to win favor from Aurianne by putting her rival down.
Aurianne saw this plan immediately! She could feel the eyes on her-the court-watching, waiting to see if she would take the bait. She forced her lips to curl into a slow, smug smile to match their tone and tilted her head.
"Oh, Lord Renard! How you do go on!" Aurianne said in a sweet but slightly sharp tone. "But you must not believe every rumor you hear. If we sent away every noble with a hint of scandal, we wouldn't have enough people in our grand ballrooms, and your family's wine cellar would be empty after a festival!"
Some laughter rippled through the group, some at Renard's expense, but Aurianne kept going. She pretended to sigh thoughtfully.
"You are right to be cautious. The Rosenthals are… unpredictable. Even dangerous. But lightning is too. And that is exactly what it is, a dangerous lightning strike! And the most beautiful storms leave the deepest impressions on the world!"
She let her gaze linger across the room at Selvaria, as if considering the validity of her own claim. Then she turned back to Renard, her smile sharpening just slightly.
"Besides, Lord Renard, I think you'd agree; it is far more interesting to watch a storm than to be left in its charge."
The baron's face reddened, caught between embarrassment and the realization he'd been bested. Surrounding nobles exchanged knowing glances-Aurianne had made the insult, twisted it, and reminded them all that even the her enemies make a better story than her sycophants.
The courtly intrigue continued to simmer on, the lines of allies and enemies shifting with every word.