The afternoon sun rose behind the distant hills, casting a soft, amber glow over the palace gardens. Inside the grand dining hall, Vivian sat at the head of the long oak table with her fingers gently circling the rim of a goblet filled with red wine. The liquid shimmered like rubies in the golden light, but Vivian's gaze was distant, her mind far removed from the warmth of the moment. Her posture was relaxed and her smile faint, but her thoughts were sharp and moving with quiet precision.
Around the table sat carefully selected guests, none more important than Genevieve and her family. Deltas. A rank she once knew intimately before clawing her way to the top. She hadn't forgotten where she came from, and she hadn't invited them out of sentimentality. No, this evening was a calculated move. One piece in a game she was determined to win.
Genevieve's mother, ever elegant in a modest but tasteful gown, smiled with the kind of politeness that didn't reach her eyes. Her husband remained quiet, his expression unreadable, while Genevieve sat further down, composed but tense. Vivian noted every glance, every tight smile, every silent exchange. They were trying to play it cool, but she could smell their unease. She owned this room. Every breath, every pause, every glance, they were hers to control.
She took a slow sip of wine, letting the taste linger on her tongue. A quiet thrill buzzed in her chest. Tonight was not just about social pleasantries. It was about planting the seed of an alliance, one she could mold, one that could eventually bind her son Tristan to Genevieve in a way that would secure the future of the crown. Friendship was just a costume this evening wore.
The food arrived, roasted meats laid out on silver platters, the aroma rich and inviting. The silence hung a moment longer before Vivian, her voice smooth and composed, finally broke it.
"It's been far too long since we've sat down like this," she said with a soft laugh, lifting her glass. "Time rushes by so fast. It's easy to lose track of the people who once meant something to us."
Genevieve's mother offered a smile, practiced and perfect. "Yes, it's been quite a while, Your Majesty. We've all been occupied with the demands of the season. But it's truly an honor to be here today."
Vivian inclined her head slightly in response, eyes drifting to Genevieve. The girl had grown, matured. Beauty was not in short supply, but there was something more in her, something sharp, and observant. Her face gave little away, but Vivian could feel the layers beneath her quiet exterior. That intrigued her.
"You know," Vivian began again, this time with a slower, more deliberate cadence, "with all the uncertainty ahead, I've been thinking. The strength of our kingdom depends on the strength of our families. And those bonds... they need to be more than history. They need to be active, deliberate and trusted."
Genevieve's mother nodded, leaning in. "We've always believed in unity. It's what's carried us through the difficult times."
Vivian smiled, but the curve of her lips barely reached her eyes. "Exactly. Power is fleeting. But loyalty? Loyalty is everything."
The words were chosen carefully, dropped like stones into still water, creating ripples she fully intended to measure. The conversation veered toward politics and diplomacy, a safe territory. But her thoughts were far ahead of her words. Tristan would soon inherit the throne. And when he did, he would need someone by his side. Not just a wife, but a partner who could carry the weight of expectation. Genevieve had potential. She was already a friend to him. The roots of something deeper were there, it only needed encouragement.
But that truth stayed locked behind Vivian's smile for now.
She turned the discussion toward family. "Tristan's been so busy preparing for court," she said, her tone casual but eyes gleaming. "It won't be long before he's standing where his father once did. I hope he'll have the full support of the people in this room when the time comes."
The sentence hung in the air, heavy with implication. Genevieve's mother looked at her daughter before replying.
"Of course," she said with emphasis. "He'll have our full support."
Vivian felt a rush of satisfaction, though she barely showed it. Just a subtle lift of her chin. The idea was taking root. Slowly, gently and just as she'd planned.
As the evening stretched on, Vivian was the perfect host, gracious, engaging, and warm. But behind the pleasant exterior, her mind never stopped working. Every word spoken, every look exchanged, she catalogued. She was never truly present; she was always a few moves ahead.
And yet, one name kept creeping into her thoughts. Celeste. A girl from a disgraced omega family. Poor, rejected and invisible to most, but not to her. Not anymore.
Celeste had become a shadow in the corner of her mind, unwelcome but impossible to ignore. Vivian had been observing her from afar, and it hadn't escaped her attention that a mysterious bundle of food and medicine had been left at the girl's doorstep. A gesture of mercy? Perhaps. But Vivian knew better. She could smell her son's involvement like blood in the air.
He hadn't said a word, but he didn't have to. She knew him too well.
And that was the problem.
Vivian's gaze lingered a moment too long on her wine glass before she looked up again, eyes refocusing. The get-together was winding down. The last plates had been cleared, whilst the servants moved silently through the hall. She rose from her chair, graceful and poised.
"I'm so pleased we could share this evening," she said, her voice gentle, but firm beneath the surface. "Let's not wait so long next time."
Genevieve's father, who had remained mostly quiet, finally spoke. "It's been a pleasure. We'll certainly do this again soon."
Vivian offered a nod, her expression unchanged. "Yes, we must. It's important to remain close, especially now."
The family excused themselves. Vivian watched them go, her expression was serene. But inside, her thoughts turned cold and focused. Her mind returned to Celeste and the threat she represented. Tristan's secret generosity toward the girl was more than a distraction, it was a risk. And Vivian did not tolerate risks.
As the dining hall emptied, Vivian remained still for a moment, letting the silence settle. Then, slowly, her lips curved, not in joy, but in calculation. A quiet, knowing smirk.
She had allies forming, plans unfolding, and a prince to guide into power.
But she also had a girl to deal with. A girl who was dangerously close to the one thing Vivian refused to share.
Her son.
And Vivian would do whatever it took to cut that thread before it knotted into something that could unravel everything.
Later that night, the air turned colder, sharp enough to sting. Celeste pulled her coat tighter as she moved through the narrow streets, the faint glow of lanterns casting long, broken shadows along the dusty cobblestones. Every step she took felt heavier than the last, not from fatigue, but from the crushing weight inside her chest. She kept her head down, cautious not to draw attention, but the thoughts swirling in her mind refused to quiet.
Tristan's face wouldn't leave her. The way his eyes had softened when he handed her the bundle. The warmth in his touch. The way he'd looked at her like she mattered, like she wasn't just someone surviving at the edges of his world. That simple moment haunted her now. It had meant more than it should have. More than she could afford to admit.
Her father had refused to speak of it, brushing past her with silence. But she saw it in his eyes. He'd noticed the shift in her, the flicker of emotion she couldn't hide. He was a man who noticed everything, even when he pretended not to. And he didn't like what he saw.
Celeste's thoughts churned with guilt. She hadn't asked for Tristan's help, but she hadn't refused it either. She'd needed it, desperately. Her sister who had fallen ill, had her condition worsening by the day, and there had been no other way. But accepting Tristan's kindness felt like stepping into a world she had no right to enter. One gesture, and she was already tangled in something far too dangerous.
She turned a corner, instinctively checking over her shoulder. A noise. Footsteps, faint but deliberate. She knew right away it wasn't the wind.
Panic fluttered in her chest. She kept walking, trying to stay calm, but her muscles were already tensing, preparing for the worst. The streets were empty and silent except for the occasional rustle of leaves. But those footsteps, they didn't belong to a stranger. She knew them. Every pace was measured and familiar.
She moved faster, breath quickening, and eyes locked on the alley ahead.
Then, a voice broke through the dark. Low, but familiar. "Celeste."
She stopped dead in her tracks.
Her heartbeat slammed in her ears as she turned. Tristan stood just a few feet away, his face lit dimly by the moonlight. He looked different now, troubled, unsure, but there was still a softness in his eyes that made her chest tighten.
"I had to see you again," he said, voice rough with emotion. "I couldn't just leave it like that."
Celeste didn't answer. Couldn't. Her mind was spinning with things she wanted to say, but none of them made it past her lips. All she could feel was the heat rising in her throat and the unbearable closeness of something that felt like hope.
Then-another sound.
Footsteps again, faster this time. And closer.
Tristan heard it too. His jaw clenched. He stepped forward, placing himself between her and the alley. "Go inside. I'll cover you."
She blinked, stunned. "But..."
"Now, Celeste. Go."
There was no hesitation in his voice, no space for argument. Her fingers tightened around the bundle Tristan had handed her. She turned and ran, feet pounding against the stone, and her lungs burning.
Inside the house, she slammed the door shut, with her heart still racing. Her father turned to her instantly, with his eyes sharp with fear.
"You were seen?" he asked, barely above a whisper.
"No," she lied, the tremble in her voice betraying her. "No one saw me."
He stared at her for a moment, then nodded.
But outside, in the thickest part of the darkness, something-or someone-watched.
Silent. Still. Waiting.
Vivian would know soon enough.
And this time, mercy wouldn't be an option.