Chapter 3: The Banquet of Lies

The palace gleamed once more.

By evening, the halls were filled with laughter, the air sweet with roses and wine. The same musicians played, the same nobles gathered, the same candles flickered against crystal and gold. Everything unfolded exactly as it had before, yet Seraphina felt like a ghost walking through memory.

She stood before the mirror in her chambers, adjusting her gown of white silk trimmed in gold. Her reflection was perfect: calm, radiant, untouched. Only she knew that beneath the ribbon hiding her hair, silver strands shimmered faintly under the light.

It was strange, standing in this moment she had already lived. Every gesture, every word of the servants, every rustle of fabric was familiar. The only difference was her heartbeat, steady and deliberate, no longer filled with fear.

When she stepped into the ballroom, the crowd turned as one. Applause rippled through the hall.

Prince Adrian waited near the throne dais, handsome and composed, the very image of royal grace. His eyes softened as she approached, but she no longer mistook that look for love.

She curtsied smoothly. “Your Highness.”

He smiled and offered his hand. “My lady.”

His palm was warm. The touch should have comforted her; instead, her mark burned faintly beneath her glove, a quiet pulse of light she could feel in her veins. She withdrew before he noticed.

As the evening unfolded, Seraphina moved among the guests with effortless poise. She remembered every conversation, every noble’s name, every false compliment that had once flattered her. This time, she listened.

A merchant whispered to a baron about imported poisons from the southern coast. Two maids giggled behind a curtain, gossiping about the prince’s fondness for Elysia. Her hearing was sharper than before, too sharp. Every whisper reached her clearly, even those spoken across the room.

She touched her temple. What is happening to me?

Her sister’s laughter cut through the noise. “Sister! You look beautiful tonight.”

Elysia swept toward her, radiant in silver silk. The same gown. The same jeweled hairpiece shaped like a crescent moon.

“Thank you,” Seraphina said lightly. “You as well.”

Elysia clasped her hands, eyes full of affection. “Let us toast again, as before. For luck.”

For a heartbeat, everything froze, the memory of that poisoned glass, the guards, Adrian’s cold stare, the sound of her mother’s sobbing.

Seraphina smiled. “Of course.”

They sat side by side. Elysia poured the wine, her movements graceful and practiced. She lifted her own glass. “To my dear sister.”

This time, Seraphina didn’t drink.

Instead, she let her fingers brush the rim of her glass. The mark on her palm pulsed once, and something stirred in the wine, a faint shimmer like silver dust dissolving in sunlight. Her breath caught.

The faint whisper of the goddess echoed in her mind. They will be weighed.

Her vision sharpened, and for an instant, she saw threads of light, thin as spider silk, trailing from Elysia’s hands into the cup. Dark energy clung to them, faint but unmistakable.

So this was how she had been framed.

“Is something wrong?” Elysia asked sweetly.

Seraphina lifted her gaze and smiled. “No. I was only admiring the color.” She set the glass aside and turned to a passing servant. “Please, fetch a new bottle. This one has gone flat.”

Elysia blinked. “Oh? I thought it was fine.”

“I prefer something fresher,” Seraphina said.

Her sister’s expression faltered for the briefest moment before she laughed it off. “As you wish.”

The new bottle arrived moments later. They toasted again, and this time nothing happened.

The crowd clapped, none the wiser.

But Seraphina saw it, the faint flicker of confusion in Elysia’s eyes, quickly hidden behind a smile. She enjoyed that moment more than she expected.

Later, as the night waned and nobles began to leave, Seraphina lingered near the balcony. The moon hung low, veiled by drifting clouds.

She pressed her palm against the railing. The mark glowed softly, then dimmed. The metal beneath her fingers grew cold, frost blooming along its edge before fading again.

Power. Real and alive.

She stared at her hand in quiet wonder. “So this is what you gave me,” she murmured.

The voice in her mind was faint but clear. Fate bends for those who have been wronged.

She closed her fist. The warmth returned, calm and steady.

Behind her, footsteps approached.

“Seraphina,” Adrian said softly. “You were quiet tonight.”

She turned to him, her expression serene. “Was I? Perhaps I’ve simply learned when to speak.”

He smiled faintly, unaware of the danger in her words. “You’ve grown wiser.”

“Perhaps,” she said. “Or perhaps I’ve simply woken up.”

He didn’t understand, of course. None of them did.

As he walked away, she looked toward her sister across the ballroom, laughing amid the nobles’ praise.

Seraphina’s lips curved, calm and unshaken. The fire in her chest was no longer grief. It was for a purpose.

This time, she would not die in the dark.

This time, the crown would burn before it fell into another’s hands.