"Brave citizens of the sacred hold of Ellisgrove!"
The herald's voice rang across the plaza like it owned the air.
His brass horn, etched with shimmering runes.
Amplified every syllable until the stones themselves seemed to vibrate with pomp.
"Your King, Augustus Septimus Von Rimu, ruler of crown and crest, arrives. Exactly one hundred and sixty-eight hours after the First Princess, Alteria Miriam Seraphine Von Rimu!"
The crowd reacted like they were supposed to. Clapping. Cheering. Some with actual pride.
Most with something else. Habit. Fear. Obligation.
"The Castle in the West opens its arms once more to its sovereign flame! Stand tall and show your supreme gratitude as the envoy of His Majesty passes!"
I watched from the edge of the training courtyard.
Just visible through a break in the battlements.
The obsidian gates at the city's edge creaked open with slow reverence, silver inlays catching the light as the magic barrier shimmered faintly, then peeled back in a soft ripple.
A procession emerged.
Mounted guards at the lead, their armor so polished I could see the morning sun in their breastplates.
Each rider moved in perfect sync, draped in the King's colors: blue and gold, sharp and unquestioned.
Behind them came the carriage.
Blackwood, heavy, carved with the Von Rimu crest like a scar. Its wheels made no sound, gliding over the stone road with practiced authority.
…
The air in the carriage wasn't still.
It was staged, and it was propped.
The cushions were velvet.
The gold trim on the windows was polished so aggressively it looked angry.
The scent of citrus like it was placed there by hand, not nature. She sat across from him.
One leg tucked over the other, posture perfect, every movement thought out, except her fingers.
Those betrayed her.
Tapping gently against her own thigh. Not a rhythm.
Just release.
Her cheek pressed briefly against the window, fogging a corner of the glass with a single breath.
Outside, Castle Valvoral climbed higher.
It's shadow beginning to swallow the horizon.
"I hate the view from this angle," she muttered.
No response.
King Augustus hadn't moved since they left the city gates. One hand rested atop the head of his cane.
Not for support, but declaration.
The other draped over the seat's arm.
Fingers curled in a way that suggested he didn't need to hold anything to own it.
"You should enjoy it," he said eventually. "It may be the last time you see it from inside a royal crest."
She smiled.
Sharp and smug and too practiced to be real.
"I suppose you're here to remind me I'm not the heir."
"I'm here," he replied, "to remind you that your sister still breathes. And as long as she does, you are not essential."
She looked away from him, back to the glass.
The trees outside blurred into streaks.
A hawk passed overhead.
"I wonder if that Drakos of hers will make it a week."
Augustus adjusted his sleeve without looking at her. "That depends," he said. "On how well she's trained him."
She laughed under her breath.
Not loud.
Not amused.
More like the sound glass makes before it cracks.
"Trained him? Please. She summoned him like she was picking out a pet."
She leaned back.
Brushing imaginary dust from her lap.
"No plan. No permission. No political instinct. It was a tantrum in ritual form."
Augustus's gaze didn't shift.
He seemed carved in his own silence.
The weight of his presence pressing against the walls of the carriage like a second ceiling.
"He survived the ritual." His voice didn't rise. It didn't need to. "That makes him more capable than most."
"Or more dangerous," she said. "You really think that boy—whatever he was before—is just going to kneel and purr?"
Augustus's fingers tapped once on his cane. Once.
"The only thing more dangerous than a Drakos without purpose… is a Vassalord without control."
Her lips tightened.
That one touched something.
A nerve or a bruise. Possibly both.
"I'm not her, you know," she muttered. "I don't throw crowns at strangers and call it strategy."
"No," Augustus said, finally looking her dead in the eyes, "you try to earn them like knives. Sharpened and hidden until someone bleeds."
He paused.
"And that's why I brought you."
She blinked. Once. "To what, spy on my sister?"
"To watch her. Learn from her. And when the moment comes—remind every House that Von Rimu never makes the same mistake twice."
The silence stretched between them again.
This time not empty—held.
Like a breath no one wanted to be caught exhaling.
Then Augustus shifted. Just slightly.
"One Drakos," he said, "can tip the gameboard."
She crossed her arms. "So can a war. Or a scandal. Or a sibling who stops listening."
He didn't flinch. "Scandals pass. Wars resolve. But siblings… especially sisters…"
He glanced toward the window now, watching the hills peel away beneath wheels that didn't quake.
"…they linger in the bloodline. Even when they've stopped being useful."
She said nothing. That was her first mistake.
"You think I favor Alteria," he went on, calm, almost musing. "You think that means you've lost something. But this family doesn't reward love. It rewards leverage."
"And what is she leveraging?" she asked, folding her hands into her lap like prayer. "A broken summoning ritual and a walking mystery? You'd sooner trust a myth than your own blood."
Augustus let that hang.
The cold in his voice was studied, effortless.
"She has faith. That's rarer than loyalty these days."
A beat.
"She believes the boy matters."
"And do you?"
"I believe in results." His eyes found hers again, unreadable. "And in exits. Every piece on the board should know where its next move leads."
She leaned forward just enough to cast a shadow across his knees. "And what happens when the board changes?"
His smile was almost imperceptible.
"Then I teach it the rules again."
Outside, the castle rose like a judgment.
The sun had dipped just low enough to cast long shadows across the earth.
Stretching the towers of Castle Valvoral over the hills like claws. The spires caught the light in silver tongues, and the glass windows blinked gold like something watching them approach.
Inside the carriage, neither of them spoke.
The sister finally turned her head again.
Eyes drifting up to the narrowing path of polished stone that led to the iron gates.
Her breath caught in her throat.
She didn't let it show.
Augustus sat the same way he had the entire ride.
Unmoving, unbothered, and entirely awake.
She spoke first this time.
Barely above the hum of the wheels.
"She doesn't even know, does she?"
He didn't ask who.
That would've insulted both of them.
"She's not meant to," he said.
The girl let out a slow, bitter laugh.
"So it's a test."
"It's always a test," he replied. "She just doesn't know what part of it she's failed yet."
She didn't respond. There wasn't really a proper response to that.
"You think I've placed you here to correct her," he continued, still watching the window. "That's only partly true."
Now he did look at her. "You're not a replacement."
She straightened slightly, surprised.
"You're a reflection," he added, "to remind her what she could become if she forgot who she was."
A pause passed between them. He adjusted the cufflink on his wrist with idle precision.
"Loyalty is sentimental," he murmured, "but useful. For a time. Power, though…" His fingers stopped. He looked at her, fully now. "Power always renews itself."
She stared at him. "Even yours?"
He smiled, and for a brief, sharp second, he looked amused. "Especially mine."
Outside, the wheels began to slow.
The gates of Valvoral were close enough now to see the carved sigils running along the metal.
Sigils she recognized, though she'd never traced them by hand. Von Rimu crestwork. Ancient.
Unforgiving.
The guards were moving. A few turned their heads toward the carriage. No salutes. Not yet.
Just quiet recognition that the King had returned.
And brought something with him.
She looked up at the tallest spire.
The balcony with the hanging silver curtain.
Alteria's room.
"She's still your daughter," she said finally. "No matter how far she strays."
Augustus tilted his head. "So was your mother. And she strayed too."
Her spine stiffened, her fingers curling into the velvet of the seat.
"But I'm not asking you to be her," Augustus added softly. "Or your sister."
She looked at him.
"I'm asking you to be useful."
A knock on the outer wall of the carriage. The signal.
They had arrived.
Augustus didn't reach for the door. One of the guards would open it. That wasn't his role.
He looked once more at the castle, then back at her.
"When we enter," he said, "you will smile. You will speak only when prompted. And you will watch."
"Watch who?"
He didn't answer.
The door creaked open, the golden light of dusk pouring in like judgment.
She blinked once and stood.
Smoothing the front of her dress.
One final breath. One final silence.
No more words.