They linked arms.

  The Herald cleared his throat three times before he could find his voice. He turned slowly toward the grand hall and lifted his staff with trembling hands.

  A low fanfare began—rich strings and distant horns, notes rising like mist.

  “Announcing,” the Herald called, voice echoing from the high arches, “Ilyari Aierenbane and Tazien Aierenbane—by Imperial decree, formally entered into the Academy of Kaisulane.”

  The hall fell still.

  Then they stepped forward.

  And the whispers bloomed like wildfire.

  Ilyari’s gown was a gleam of moonlight—silver silk so fine it shimmered like mist, shaped to cascade over her shoulders and down her back in liquid folds. Embroidered stars glittered across the bodice and hem, catching the light like frozen stardust. Her snow-white hair had been twisted into a delicate half-crown of braids, the rest curled softly down her back. Tiny crystal beads nestled in the coils, catching light and scattering it like fireflies.

  Beside her, Tazien stood straight in a royal blue suit edged in polished steel trim. The cut was sharp, tailored with military precision but softened by the rich, dark hues. His white hair—clean, freshly twisted—gleamed under the lanternlight, pulled back with a simple blue clasp. His boots struck the floor like clockwork. Every movement precise, every step rehearsed.

  “They can’t be—”

  “Weren’t they just—?”

  “That’s gutter trash?”

  “No… no, look at them…”

  “Did you see her hair? Stars preserve us…”

  Even nobles who refused to clap couldn’t look away.

  A cough broke somewhere near the front. A noble nearly choked on his own breath. It was the Emperor’s eldest son, who had just turned to look—and then forgot entirely how to breathe.

  Caedin’s jaw clenched. “Who in the blazes had that much mana to—”

  The Emperor said nothing.

  He stared down at the girl in silver—at the line of her jaw, the pride in her posture—and for a heartbeat, saw someone else. A niece lost to war and choice and politics long buried.

  But no… not her.

  This girl was younger. Smaller. Different. Yet…

  His face went still.

  Let them look regal, he thought coldly. Let them shine.

  It will only make the fall more dramatic.

  He raised a hand.

  “Let them be entered into the rolls,” the Herald announced. “Let them take their place in the Academy.”

  Polite applause followed—thin and clipped, some begrudging, some confused. But no one said they didn’t belong.

  The music faded. The room stilled. At the front of the grand hall, the Emperor stood. Sulan-Kai’s robes fell in flawless folds, etched in black and crimson — the colors of empire, power, and blood. A hush blanketed the chamber as he lifted one hand, palm forward, and began the formal ritual.

  “You have been admitted to the Academy of Kaisulane,” he intoned, his voice rich and precise, carried by ancient cadence. “You now stand beneath the eyes of this court, this kingdom, and the sacred flame of the Covenant.”

  Ilyari and Tazien kept their eyes forward. Their hands were still joined, fingers squeezed just enough to know the other was real.

  “You will swear yourselves to study,” Sulan-Kai continued, “to serve the empire in knowledge, bravery, and might. You will commit yourselves to the pillars of Kaisulane: Order. Discipline. Obedience.”

  A ripple of breath passed through the audience as he said the final word.

  “In your faith, you will uphold the rites of Virekan. You will serve the Ascended Flame and no other. You will not touch the forbidden. You will not speak of the blasphemy of Old Glyphs. You will not stray from the Empire’s light.”

  The words hung like smoke.

  He looked down at them, his eyes hard as stone.

  “Do you swear this, Ilyari Aierenbane?”

  She straightened, the silver of her dress catching the lanternlight like a drawn blade. “I do, Your Imperial Majesty.”

  “And you, Tazien Aierenbane?”

  Tazien raised his chin. “I do.”

  A beat of silence. The Emperor studied them—too long.

  And then he turned to the hall, his voice rising like a wave about to crash. “Then so it is written.” The Herald began to step forward—but the Emperor raised a hand.

  “Let it be remembered,” he said, voice steady, “that these children—prisoners of mercy, spared in infancy by Imperial clemency—now stand within these sacred halls, under my watchful eye.”

  A murmur spread through the audience like a chill wind.

  “Let none forget that their blood is exiled,” Sulan-Kai continued, “their names stained by treason past. That they are not born of Kaisulane, but of a fallen house.”

  He looked directly at them now, and even Tazien flinched under the weight of that stare.

  “For let their titles be written, as they are the Exiled Crowned Princess and Prince of Nyameji.”

  The silence was absolute. Gasps. A dropped goblet. A hand pressed to a mouth too late.

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  Ilyari froze. Tazien’s hand gripped hers tight and he turned wide-eyed and looked at her. She offered a small cautious smile but then she was serious again. The Sulan-Kai had exposed them.

  The Emperor’s voice pressed on, iron over velvet. “They live not by right. They live by mercy. They have never touched the Code of Fallen. They have never sworn to the traitor’s banner. And for this reason—and this reason alone—they are permitted to live. To learn. To prove their loyalty to Kaisulane.”

  He leaned forward, and the temperature in the hall seemed to drop.

  “To rise… or fall… by their own hand.”

  The Herald swallowed, startled but bound by duty. “Let them be entered into the rolls,” he announced. “Let them take their place in the Academy.”

  This time, the applause was a formality—mechanical, minimal.

  Some nobles whispered furiously.

  Others sat in stunned silence.

  And two men near the front — the same scoundrels from the graveyard — were suddenly grinning like vultures spotting a wounded beast.

  “Royal blood,” one murmured. “And unclaimed. How… ripe.”

  Beside them, Lady Talvane looked ill. Lord Talvane’s expression was unreadable.

  The Vaelen, still staring at Ilyari, now looked more interested than he had earlier, “Well now, who would imagine, more royals in the empire. Nervous brother? Technically she holds the same title as you. What if father likes her better?”

  Caedin frowned, “Or her brother can put you on a leash and make you their royal dog. You are good at licking boots.”

  Vaelen laughed and gave a small bark, leaning back into his chair in thought. If this was the reason that they were almost assassinated, perhaps it was worth thinking that they were trying to be rescued. But what if they could be sworn to loyalty here. Kidnapping them would be pointless. He mused this thought and would present it to his father later.

  The herald turned and bowed to the Emperor and then announced, “May the ball begin!”

  The ballroom doors opened on a hush of stringed music—the kind that shimmered like crystal and glided on polished marble.

  A fanfare struck up, soft at first, rising like moonlight on water. The scent of perfumed candles and polished wood filled the air.

  And into that gleaming hush stepped Ilyari and Tazien Aierenbane.

  The crowd turned.

  A collective breath hitched.

  Not because anyone expected them—no one had paid much attention to the names on the registry, especially not the last ones. But now, heads turned for another reason entirely.

  Whispers erupted in waves.

  “That can’t be the the dirty urchins from before—”

  “Royalty? Does this mean we should bow, do they even get that, stars above—”

  “They’re… actually beautiful?”

  Nobles turned in place, fans fluttering faster.

  They were no longer prisoners.

  They looked like royalty.

  Gasps rippled through the ballroom. Fans fluttered. Goblets froze mid-sip.

  A nobleman near the dais whispered to his wife, “Those are the same dirty spawn from earlier, aren’t they? How…?”

  “They were dragged in like street rats,” she hissed back. “Now look at them.”

  Lady Talvane paled visibly from across the room, clutching the stem of her glass too tightly. Lord Talvane stared openly, his mouth parted slightly in disbelief.

  Further back, Lord Veyric Darnell and Master Calder Venth watched with narrowed eyes. Darnell muttered, “Didn’t think trash could shine so bright.”

  “Shine’s easy,” Venth replied, swirling his wine. “Keeping it? That’s where they break. And if my son doesn’t break her, I surely will. A young noblewoman in training could use… guidance”

  Ilyari heard the murmurs, felt the eyes scraping across her skin like blades. Tazien leaned slightly toward her, his arm steady beneath hers.

  “You still with me?” he murmured, his voice low.

  “I think I might vomit in someone’s crystal chalice,” she whispered back.

  He grinned. “That’s the spirit.”

  They moved deeper into the ballroom trying to navigate away from Venth and Darnell. Nobles stepped aside—some out of respect, others out of disdain. A few didn’t move at all, forcing them to brush past.

  At the far end, Prince Vaelen Kai stood alone near a gilded archway, his expression unreadable. He had not touched his wine. His eyes tracked Ilyari’s every step, a flicker of something sharp and searching in his gaze.

  Recognition? Fascination? He didn’t know. But there was something about her—something buried in memory. And then their eyes met again.

  Ilyari faltered—not from attraction, but because of the sheer intensity of his stare. She looked away quickly, cheeks warming, and hated herself for it. The prince smirked faintly, again misunderstanding entirely.

  Elsewhere, Crown Prince Caedin Kai scowled. “Who enchanted them?” he muttered to the Emperor.

  The Emperor said nothing. His head throbbed and his vision almost glazed over in anger and rage, his gaze was locked on Ilyari, the muscle in his jaw ticking faintly.

  She looked like— No. She wasn’t. She couldn’t be. He kept blinking away the comparison, but it lived in her face. Then he looked at Tazien. A mirror image of the one who took his beloved niece and turned her into a ruthless traitor.

  Still, his eyes burned into Ilyari as if to remind her: he was the one who decided she lived. That would not change.

  Just as Ilyari and Tazien reached the edge of the floor, the first noble made his move.

  Lord Darnell, all oiled silk and wolfish grin, stepped into her path with a sweeping bow.

  “Lady Ilyari,” he purred, his tone like syrup over spoiled meat. “You grace us with radiance. Might I claim your first dance?”

  Before she could answer—or slap him—Master Venth appeared at her other side, more direct.

  “You’ll want to consider,” he murmured, eyes raking her form, “who offers their hand. Status comes with choices. And choosing wrong can be... regrettable.”

  Tazien’s shoulders tensed.

  Ilyari’s spine stiffened as Venth inched closer, his breath a little too warm near her cheek. Darnell’s hand was already half-extended, fingers twitching as if to claim her.

  Then Caedin’s voice cut through the tension like a blade.

  “I think I’ll take her for a game of five-dimensional chess instead.”

  Every noble within earshot turned.

  Darnell’s smile faltered. Venth’s eyes narrowed.

  Ilyari didn’t miss her chance. She dipped into a graceful curtsy, her voice sugar-laced and composed.

  “Your Highness, I would be honored.”

  She slid away from the two nobles with practiced poise, every step screaming triumph beneath the surface. She didn’t look back—not at their flushed faces, not at Venth’s tightened jaw or Darnell’s offended sniff.

  Caedin gestured smoothly to a nearby raised table, where a crystalline chess set—elegantly tiered across five levels of translucent platforms—waited under a hovering sconce of light.

  He pulled out a chair for her.

  Ilyari raised an eyebrow and gave a small, amused smile. “Proper courtesy? You must really want this game.”

  “I was raised by a tyrant and an etiquette tutor,” Caedin said dryly, waving toward the seat. “One of them stuck.”

  She sat, careful to smooth her skirt, and glanced over the board.

  The pieces shimmered faintly, each one etched with glyphs that shimmered in and out of view depending on the angle. Pawns glided between levels. A knight phased in and out of planes. It looked like strategy and sorcery had decided to co-parent chaos.

  “I’ve never played,” she admitted, still watching the board warily. “But if you explain the rules and show me… I’ll try to pick it up.”

  Caedin sank into the seat opposite her, fingers steepling. “You’ll want to do more than pick it up. This version rewards people who think in spirals.”

  Ilyari tilted her head. “Good thing I’m already dizzy.”

  That drew a laugh from him—unexpected, light.

  She allowed her tone to drop, just slightly more sincere. “Also… thank you. For what you said. I wasn’t really in the mood to be... auctioned.”

  He blinked, then followed her subtle glance toward Venth and Darnell, who had retreated to a corner of the ballroom but still watched her with thinly veiled interest.

  “Oh,” Caedin said, blinking. “That wasn’t me being noble. That was just me being curious.”

  She arched a brow.

  He shrugged with an easy grin. “You walked into the hall like a fallen star, after leaving it like gutter smoke. I had to know which version was real.”

  “I suppose you’ll find out,” she said, reaching for her first piece.

  Caedin’s eyes gleamed. “I certainly hope so.”

  not in the gutter anymore.

  shut it down. Bruised but shining, trembling but defiant. I loved writing this moment of full reveal: the clothes, the shock, the oath, and that bombshell from the Emperor. You could feel the air leave the room when their titles hit.