Chapter 21 – A New Offer from House Ashthorne 

Chapter 21 – A New Offer from House Ashthorne 

Selene’s POV

The instant Isolde’s voice slices through the air... cold, razor-sharp, and utterly unlike the polished sweetness she usually wears like a crown... I freeze. I glance at her, taken aback, my spine instinctively straightening as I face her frost-laced expression. She’s always been guarded, composed. A porcelain doll with eyes that gleamed with quiet judgment. But this? This is different. The edges of her mask are cracking, and underneath, I see something raw. Not just anger. Not even jealousy.

Fear.

Real, unfiltered, bone-deep fear.

And it’s aimed at me.

Why?

Before I can ask, before I can process the undercurrent of dread tightening my chest, Zaria’s voice cuts in... sharper than a blade, steeped in venom.

 “So, she’s not a killer, but she is a thief now?”

Gasps scatter across the circle of nobles like raindrops against marble. Even the musicians fall silent. I spot Princess Seris leaning heavily against Lucian’s side while Theron supports her other arm, murmuring something low and urgent. Their concern is palpable... but Zaria doesn’t care. She’s caught a scent, and she’s going for the kill.

 “She must’ve stolen that potion from the Ashthorne exhibit!” Zaria continues, eyes gleaming with triumph. “They just showcased their private collection at the potion hall yesterday. That’s where she took it from. I bet she used it to show off in front of the princess!”

My throat tightens. My palms are damp. Dozens of eyes turn to me, some gleaming with suspicion, others merely curious. I see noblewomen whisper behind gloved fingers. Court officials narrow their eyes. The weight of judgment descends like a shroud.

I step forward.

 “I didn’t steal anything,” I say, willing my voice to stay calm. “Yes, I visited the exhibit. I was invited like everyone else. I didn’t take anything... I brewed my own version. I recreated the blend based on what I smelled there.”

Confusion rolls through the gathering like fog, thick and disorienting. A murmur builds.

Zaria scoffs, her lips curling.

 “You expect us to believe that? That you sniffed a Ashthorne potion and just… replicated it? The Ashthorne family’s potions are legendary... sacred! Their formulas are centuries old, guarded by blood oaths. Even master alchemists have failed to copy their essence. And you... you think we’ll believe you, a nobody, managed to do what no one else could?”

Even Koda, Lucian’s most loyal friend, frowns. His arms cross. I see it in his eyes... doubt.

I can feel the noose tightening around me.

My heart pounds. I feel dizzy, like the walls are closing in. A flash of memory hits me... Princess Seris convulsing, barely breathing, my hands trembling as I poured the potion between her lips. And now this?

I won’t let them twist it.

I lift the vial from my satchel and hold it high. The potion inside glows faintly, a soft swirl of golden light tinged with pale green.

 “The original formula used Shadeleaf flowers,” I explain, voice shaking but steady. “I didn’t have those. I used Frostbloom and Emberfang instead. That’s why mine has a different scent... similar, but not identical.”

The murmurs intensify. Skepticism crackles in the air like lightning. I feel like I’m walking on a blade. Any moment, I could fall.

Then... movement.

A woman steps through the crowd like a ripple through silk. Her presence hushes the room. Her gown is a muted emerald, cut with elegant precision, and her eyes... those eyes... gleam like polished jade.

 “Lady Nyra Ashthorne,” someone breathes.

The crowd stills. Every courtier, every noble, every guard lowers their gaze instinctively. Even Zaria stiffens.

Nyra stops in front of me. Her gaze settles on mine... calm, curious, piercing.

 “I’ve heard lovely things about you,” she says softly, voice velvet over steel.

I drop into a quick curtsy, heart hammering.

 “My Lady.”

She turns to the room, her voice rising only slightly, yet somehow it carries effortlessly.

 “If I may, I’d like to examine the potion for myself. I know every blend my family has ever crafted. If this is ours, I’ll know.”

Theron looks toward Princess Seris. The princess gives a single, graceful nod.

 “Very well,” he says.

I hand over the vial with trembling fingers.

Nyra uncorks it. She lifts the bottle to her nose. Time seems to pause. Her eyes flutter closed. She inhales deeply.

And then again.

And again.

The silence is unbearable.

When she opens her eyes, the verdict is in them before she speaks.

 “fang root root. A touch of nettle. Frostbloom… ginger… Ah,” she smiles faintly, “but no Shadeleaf. This is not one of ours. The scent is close, impressively close... but the components differ. This potion was made by different hands. This young lady speaks the truth.”

Gasps explode around the hall.

 “She did it?”

 “She recreated a Ashthorne blend?”

“That’s impossible... no, no, it’s genius.”

I exhale a shaky breath. Relief crashes into me like a wave. My knees nearly buckle.

Nyra returns the vial with a nod of approval, her voice warmer now.

“To replicate such a complex formula, with substitutions no less... and still preserve its integrity? That’s not just talent. That’s brilliance.”

My cheeks burn. Lucian is watching me, his eyes alight with pride. He nods at me... a silent, steadying gesture.

“Thank you,” I murmur. “It was nothing, really.”

Nyra laughs... a soft, melodic sound.

“Hardly ‘nothing.’ I’ve declined every apprentice for the past two decades. My family’s tradition requires bloodline succession. But you… I’d be a fool to let you go unnoticed.”

She steps forward and offers her hand.

 “Selene, would you train under me?”

The hall falls still again. Even the candles seem to hold their breath.

My heart skips a beat.

“I... I would be honored.”

The crowd erupts in hushed amazement. Zaria glares daggers. Isolde looks like she’s seen a ghost but soon the festivities continue as if never interrupted. 

The ballroom is a portrait of decadence... candlelight dances on marble, golden ribbons trail from the vaulted ceiling, and a soft hum of violins fills the air like a whispered enchantment. Guests begin to gather for the opening waltz, their laughter and conversation a polished murmur of nobility.

To my surprise, it’s Theron who approaches.

His presence is regal but warm, and when he reaches me, he bows low, extending his hand.

 “May I have the first dance?”

For a second, I think he’s mistaken me for someone else.

“Me?” I blink.

“Of course,” he says with a smile. “It’s the very least I can do... to thank the girl who saved my sister’s life.”

Before I can answer, I see Isolde pivot swiftly, her lips pressed in a thin line. She reaches Lucian and loops her arm through his without hesitation. It’s a deliberate move... one meant to be seen.

Everyone waits.

I glance once more at Lucian. His gaze hasn’t left me since I stepped onto the floor. He nods again, subtle and sure.

I place my hand in Theron’s.

The music swells.

We move.

My dress flutters around me like liquid sunlight, catching the glow of the chandeliers as Theron leads me into the first turn. He dances well... better than I expected, gentle and courteous... but even as I follow his steps, I feel Lucian’s gaze anchored to me like gravity.

Across the room, I meet his eyes... and suddenly everything else fades.

Isolde’s POV

I watch them.

Theron and Selene twirl beneath the chandeliers, golden and graceful, and I want to scream. My skin prickles. I grip Lucian’s arm harder than I should, but he doesn’t flinch. His posture is perfect. His face unreadable.

Until I speak.

 “We don’t dance like we used to,” I whisper, voice like silk over poison.

Lucian’s expression hardens.

“That’s because there is no us anymore.”

The words land like a slap.

 “You’re part of my past. Selene is my present.”

I stagger inward, stunned. I feel the blood drain from my face, but I smile tightly, refusing to let the cracks show. I won’t cry. Not here. Not in front of them.

The tempo shifts. Dancers begin to spin, exchanging partners in a sweeping cascade of movement. Lucian lets me go.

And just like that... he’s gone.

He moves across the floor like a storm, sweeping Selene into his arms as if she belongs nowhere else.

And she… fits.

Too well.

The way her hand rests on his shoulder. The way their steps align instinctively. Her gold dress and his pale hair glimmering together like they were painted onto the same canvas.

My stomach churns.

It should’ve been me.

I will not let her win.

Not like this.

Not tonight.