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The hall fell into a heavy hush, the kind that seemed to steal the very air from the room. Alara's pulse quickened as her gaze snapped to the entrance, where two figures emerged through the gilded doorway.
The woman—Seraphine—moved like a shadow cloaked in silk, her steps smooth and deliberate. Her dark curls, a glossy black that mirrored the fabric of her gown, framed a face as sharp as her smile. She carried herself with an effortless confidence, the kind that made people notice without trying. Her dress, a deep black that shimmered faintly in the light, hugged her hourglass figure in a way that seemed intentional—almost calculated. Every movement of hers was fluid, deliberate, and faintly theatrical, as though she savored the unease she left in her wake.
Beside her, the ambassador, Kael, strode with cold, unerring precision, his movements as deliberate as the blade at his hip. His presence commanded attention, exuding a quiet authority that made the air around him feel heavier. He was a man in his sixties, with a tall, lean frame honed by years of discipline. His silver-streaked hair was closely cropped, accentuating the sharp angles of his face. Deep-set eyes, piercing and unwavering, surveyed the room like a seasoned general appraising his battlefield. His weathered features carried the weight of experience, each line etched into his face a testament to decades of conflict and strategy.
Kael's gaze swept over the room, pausing briefly on King Mikayel. The intensity of his look was unflinching, calculated, and deliberate. Seraphine's dark eyes followed, a flicker of amusement dancing in them as her sharp gaze took in the tension in the hall.
"I thought you said the Asterians weren't returning your messages?" Alara whispered, her voice low but urgent.
Her father's jaw tightened, his teeth gritting audibly. "They're not."
"Then why are they here?" she pressed, her tone sharp with unease.
He didn't answer, and Alara's stomach sank. He doesn't know, she realized grimly, the thought prickling at her already frazzled nerves.
Her eyes flicked back to the Asterians as they began their slow, deliberate walk through the crowd. They moved leisurely, unbothered by the sea of watchful eyes and murmured whispers parting around them. The weight of their presence rippled outward, palpable and heavy.
A chill crept up Alara's spine, the fine hairs on the back of her neck standing on end. Why does it feel like they're hunting something?
Seraphine's gaze flicked toward a darkened corner of the hall, her expression unchanged. For the briefest moment, Alara thought she saw movement there—a figure cloaked in shadow, shifting just enough to catch her eye. She blinked, trying to focus, but the image dissolved as quickly as it had appeared, leaving her questioning whether it had been real.
When her eyes returned to Seraphine, she realized with a jolt that the woman was staring directly at her. A sharp, knowing look lingered in her dark gaze, freezing Alara in place. Her chest tightened, and she quickly turned away, fixing her focus back on her father.
"Why does he call himself an ambassador?" Alara asked, her voice quieter now, carrying an edge of unease. "Do we even have an Asterian ambassador?"
Her father's jaw tightened further, the muscles in his face betraying the effort to mask his tension. "We did—briefly—right after the war's conclusion. Tiberian pulled him not long after." His eyes never wavered from the pair as they continued their deliberate approach, his gaze razor-sharp.
"Is that the same man?" she pressed, her tone sharpening.
"I don't remember his name," he replied simply, his voice heavy with disinterest—or was it weariness? "It was over thirty years ago."
Alara frowned, her thoughts swirling as she cast another glance toward the approaching figures. The pieces didn't fit, and the unease coiling in her chest refused to loosen.
They were now just before the steps. Alara's gaze sharpened as she caught a fleeting interaction—a servant passing by hesitated, their tray wobbling slightly when Seraphine's hand brushed against theirs. The movement was so subtle, so inconsequential, it could have been overlooked. But Alara noticed the slight pause, the whispered word exchanged too softly for her to hear. The servant's eyes darted downward as they hurried away, disappearing into the crowd.
What did she say? The question gnawed at Alara, sparking unease, but there was no time to dwell on it. Seraphine and Kael began ascending the stairs, their steps deliberate and unhurried until they stood directly before them.
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The two bowed deeply, their gestures smooth and polished, like well-rehearsed choreography.
"King Mikayel Markarian," Seraphine said, her lips curving ever so slightly as though she were holding back a private amusement. Her voice carried an almost teasing lilt, sharp and disarming. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you in person."
The way her words lingered, as though she was savoring some hidden irony, made Alara's chest tighten. Her gaze flicked to her father, searching for a hint of his reaction, but his expression remained steadfast—unyielding and unreadable.
"I am, unfortunately, unable to return the pleasure," King Mikayel said at last, his voice steady but edged with ice. "As I have no idea who you are."
Seraphine's lips curved further, her expression unbothered by the sharpness of his words. "That is nothing that time and conversation cannot fix," she replied smoothly, gesturing to the room around her. "And we are in the perfect location for both."
Kael's eyes shifted then, landing on Alara. The look froze her in place. It wasn't a passing glance or the casual acknowledgment she had expected. His gaze lingered, deliberate and razor-sharp, as if peeling back unseen layers. For a fleeting, unsettling moment, Alara felt seen—not as a noblewoman or a temple acolyte but as something else entirely. Something Kael recognized.
Why does he look at me like that? Her breath hitched, and it took all her willpower to keep from stepping back.
"Lady Alara Markarian," Kael said, his tone measured yet carrying a weight that tightened her chest.
She swallowed, forcing herself to respond. "An honor to meet you, Ambassador," she said, dipping into a curtsy. The motion felt shaky, her legs unsteady beneath her as though the ground itself had turned uncertain.
Her gaze darted to Rasa. Standing nearby but just out of the circle, Rasa's sharp eyes were fixed on them. Her posture was casual enough not to draw suspicion, but Alara knew better. Rasa was watching everything, her hand resting lightly near her blade.
Even Davian, typically relaxed and carefree, seemed unusually attentive. His gaze flicked between the Asterians and their father, his expression caught between curiosity and calculation, as though weighing whether to step into the conversation.
The corner of Kael's mouth twitched, a faint movement that could have been a smile—or something far sharper. His expression remained unreadable, his piercing gaze steady. "Your reputation precedes you, my lady. Aedre's Chosen, destined for greatness."
Destined for greatness. The phrase hit her like stones, their weight pressing down on her chest, suffocating and relentless. She felt her smile falter but quickly forced it back into place, though it felt as brittle as glass. "The temple's faith in me is generous," she replied, her voice steady despite the hollowness of the words in her mouth.
Kael's gaze lingered, his icy blue eyes locked on hers. For a moment, it felt as though he were searching for something, peeling back layers she hadn't realized she wore.
Her throat tightened, her pulse quickening as a wild thought took hold. He knows something. The notion clawed at her mind, sharp and insistent. Or he suspects it.
"Perhaps," King Mikayel interjected, his voice cutting through the tense silence like a blade. His calm yet commanding tone immediately drew their attention back to him. "We should discuss this at a later time. I don't believe the two of you were invited to this event."
Seraphine's eyes flashed, a spark of fury igniting in their depths. Her voice cracked like a whip, sharp and unyielding. "Do you believe you have the option to just turn us away?"
Gasps rippled through the crowd, some stifled, others too startled to be concealed. Alara's heart leaped into her throat, her breath catching as the weight of Seraphine's words settled over the hall like a storm cloud.
Her eyes darted instinctively to Kael Viran. He stepped forward with measured precision, his movements sharp and deliberate, his body coiled with restrained tension. Alara's gaze caught the subtle brush of his hand against the pommel of his blade—a quiet but unmistakable warning.
"Enough, Seraphine," Kael said, his voice cutting through the escalating tension like steel against steel. His tone's sheer weight of authority silenced the room, commanding attention as though he stood amid a battlefield.
Turning to King Mikayel, Kael's expression hardened, his words deliberate and cold. "If this is how you plan to broker an alliance with us, then perhaps Asteria should reconsider its stance."
Alara froze. Reconsider its stance. The words clanged in her mind like the toll of a bell, ominous and unyielding. A threat, plain as day, yet cloaked in the polished veneer of diplomacy.
Behind them, she caught sight of Davian gesturing to the nearby guards. They nodded in silent understanding, their movements swift but measured as they began to close in. Her father's laughter broke through the tense air, harsh and mirthless.
"Perhaps that would mean something to me," King Mikayel said, his tone dripping with derision, "if you had an ounce of ability to negotiate an 'alliance.'"
Seraphine turned slightly, catching sight of the advancing guards. Her gaze flickered briefly to Kael, sharp and calculating, before returning to Mikayel. Her cold smile resurfaced like frost spreading across steel.
"Perhaps we have misjudged the bonds of trust here," she said, her voice so soft it sent a chill down Alara's spine. Each word was controlled, deliberate, carrying the predatory calm of someone who knew they held the upper hand.
The air around them grew heavier, clinging to Alara's skin like a suffocating shroud. For one unbearable heartbeat, everything seemed to hold still, as though the room itself were bracing for whatever would come next.
And then it came.
A roar.
The sound erupted through the hall, sudden and all-consuming, so powerful that Alara couldn't tell what it was or where it was coming from. It was everywhere, an unrelenting cacophony that seemed to shake the very air. Her hands shot up instinctively, covering her ears, but the moment her fingertips touched her skin, her vision dimmed.
Darkness engulfed the room, a suffocating void. Only the faint silver glow of moonlight streaming through the nearby window kept her grounded, a fragile tether to reality. Her heart raced as her eyes adjusted, realizing it wasn't her sight failing—it was the lights. Every single one had gone out, snuffed like candles in a storm.
Her gaze darted across the hall, searching for Seraphine and Kael. But they were gone. Vanished. It was as if they had never been there at all, leaving only the memory of their presence to haunt her.
Then, the screams began.
A horrifying chorus of panic rose from below, the sounds of chaos and carnage weaving together in a relentless tide. Shouts of warning, the clash of steel, and the thundering stampede of feet fleeing or charging filled the air. Alara staggered, trying to make sense of it all, but the enemy—if it even was an enemy—remained unseen.
The floor beneath her feet buckled violently, the sudden movement sending her stumbling. The entire building seemed to groan, a deep, ominous sound that reverberated in her chest. Above her, the ceiling sagged, its structure straining under the forces tearing at it.
With a shattering crack, it gave way tumbling down towards her.