Location: Duchess's Upper Wing – Elira's Temporary Chambers
Time: Day 356, The Night Before Departure to Oslo
Elira was combing out her hair when the knock came — two sharp taps, followed by the slow creak of the door half-opening.
She didn't need to ask.
Only one person entered without waiting for permission and still had the decency to look unsure about it.
Serina.
Wrapped in a long, pale robe that shimmered slightly in the candlelight, her golden hair was damp and unbound, clinging in waves over her shoulders. Steam still clung to her skin. The lingering scent of lavender and rosewater entered the room with her.
Elira arched an eyebrow. "You're out of bed late."
Serina stepped inside, careful and slow, not like the spirited second empress most saw in council. "I couldn't sleep."
Elira's tone held no judgment. "The mission to Oslo?"
A beat.
"Or the man you're sending there with me?"
Serina smiled faintly. "Both."
Elira set her comb down. The light from the single wall sconce cast warm flickers over her face as she turned. The elder empress sat poised in her ivory dressing gown, the lace cuff slipping slightly from her wrist as she regarded the younger woman.
Serina didn't sit. She hovered, one hand grazing the back of the carved chair, the other brushing against her own arm as if unsure what to do with herself. Her posture was nervous, the kind that betrayed royal polish. For someone who had grown up in the inner court, practiced in every performance of nobility, the shift in weight from foot to foot gave her away.
Elira gestured toward the second chair. "Serina, you're pacing like a widow waiting on a husband gone to war. Out with it."
Serina drew in a quiet breath. "I want to ask something. And I need a real answer. Not a careful one."
Elira tilted her head, eyes narrowing slightly with amusement. "That depends. If it's about trade routes, I'm helpful. If it's about lace dye or youth potions, I disappoint."
Serina gave a half-laugh — barely there. "It's about Alec."
Elira's expression didn't shift.
But her fingers, which had returned to the comb briefly, stopped moving again.
Serina stepped closer, her voice barely above a murmur now. "I've seen how he looks at you. How you speak with him. He listens. He respects you. When you walk into a room, it's like he realigns around your gravity."
Elira raised an eyebrow, a wry flicker crossing her lips. "He listens to you, too, Serina."
"Yes. But not like that." Serina's eyes dropped for a second. "I don't think he sees me… as a woman yet. Not in the way a man begins to… notice."
Elira leaned back, her posture languid. "And you think I can… what, seduce him into seeing you?"
Serina flushed. "No. I think you understand how he works. How his mind ticks. You don't just talk to him—you register. I don't want seduction, Elira. I want strategy."
Elira let out a soft laugh—not mocking, but surprised by the boldness in the girl's words. "Strategy. Gods above, you are your mother's daughter."
She rose then, her steps quiet across the velvet rug, and took Serina's hand gently, guiding her toward the tall silver-rimmed mirror beside the armoire. They stood side by side, faces soft in the dim candlelight. Elira brushed a finger down a damp golden lock clinging to Serina's cheek.
"Look at you," she murmured. "Sixteen going on fire. You've got the eyes of a hawk and the hips of a queen in bloom. Your shape's already turning heads—even the guards glance twice, and they're trained not to."
Serina's reflection colored.
Elira continued, voice lower, intimate. "Your bust has rounded out. Your waist will narrow more by spring. Your cheekbones are lifting, your throat's lengthening. Your body is becoming a statement. One day soon, men will forget what they were saying the moment you enter the room."
Serina bit her lower lip. "But not like you."
Elira met her eyes in the mirror. "You're not supposed to be me, Serina. You're meant to become yourself. And you will — sooner than you think."
Still, Serina didn't release her hand. She stared into the mirror, at Elira's elegance and poise — a woman comfortable in her skin, in her power.
"I'm not asking because I think you'll steal him," Serina said quietly. "But because I want him to choose me someday. And I know Alec… he lives in thought. In vision. In purpose. I want to make sure I exist in those thoughts. That he doesn't leave me behind while building his world."
Elira was silent a long beat, lips parting slightly as if to answer, then pressing together again.
She finally exhaled, a soft breath laced with reluctant admiration. "Saints save me… You're more dangerous than anyone realizes."
"Then will you help me?"
Elira gave her a look both dry and bemused. "You want me to turn my own curves against him, so you can catch his attention?"
Serina didn't blink. "Yes."
The elder empress closed her eyes for half a second. "I must be going soft."
She turned to her vanity and picked up a crystal vial of perfume — one Alec had once complimented, saying it reminded him of spring thunderstorms and spice. Elira dabbed it lightly on her wrist and handed it to Serina.
"A little scent to stir the room," she said. "A well-placed step. A pause before leaving. Let me be the whisper, and you be the echo that lingers."
Serina took the vial carefully, her hands steadier now. "Thank you."
Elira gave a half-smile. "Don't thank me yet. I'm still not entirely sure Alec sees women the same way normal men do."
Serina smiled faintly. "He's learning."
Elira reached up and tucked a lock of golden hair behind the younger woman's ear. "Then let's teach him carefully."
As Serina turned to go, she hesitated at the door. "Elira?"
"Yes?"
"If he chooses you first… I won't hate you."
Elira stared at her, eyes unreadable for a moment.
"Then I'll make sure, if he does, he knows why you're worth circling back for."
Serina left with quiet footsteps and perfume in her hands.
Elira stood a while longer in front of the mirror, watching both their reflections fade into the candlelight.