The night pressed deeper over the gala great hall, yet the air inside seemed alive — a low hum of voices, laughter, and music flowing through polished marble corridors. Candles burned in silver sconces, their glow flickering against the banners of the three houses that arched above the gathering. The crest of Ridgehall gleamed among them, though fewer heads turned toward it.

  Kael stood near one of the tall windows, his reflection glinting faintly in the glass. He could see the ballroom beyond the main corridor — a sea of nobles dressed in silks and crests, their movements smooth, their smiles rehearsed. The mingling had gone on for hours, but this was still only the prelude. The main gala — the true gathering of lords and heirs — was yet to begin.

  Orin nudged him lightly with an elbow. “You’ve been staring at the same spot for half an hour. You planning to scare the glass into telling you the future?”

  Kael blinked, pulling back from his thoughts. “Just thinking,” he said.

  “Thinking looks painful,” Tarin muttered, adjusting his collar for the tenth time. The fabric still refused to sit right. “If we’re going to stand here much longer, someone better bring food. All this perfume and no meat — it’s torture.”

  Rhea gave him a sharp look. “Try not to sound like you crawled straight out of the barracks. You’ll embarrass us before we even start.”

  “Relax,” Joran said quietly, his eyes tracking a line of well-dressed heirs moving across the hall. “They already think we don’t belong. Might as well let them be right about one thing.”

  Kael’s gaze followed Joran’s. Across the polished floor, clusters of nobles whispered among themselves. Every now and then, a glance would drift toward them — brief, assessing, before turning away again. The sons and daughters of Wicelind’s houses moved with the ease of people born to marble halls. Their laughter came easily, their gestures smooth. Yet Kael could sense the weight beneath it all — an invisible line dividing those with power and those who were merely tolerated.

  He straightened his cuffs, his movements controlled. “We’re not here to belong,” he said quietly. “We’re here to be seen.”

  Rhea’s lips curved faintly. “Then you might want to start talking to someone before the night ends.”

  As if on cue, a noble heir approached — tall, clean-shaven, his coat embroidered with the golden crest of lord Valenor. His smile was polite, though Kael caught the faint calculation behind it.

  “Lord Kael of Ridgehall, isn’t it?” the man asked, offering a shallow bow. “I’ve heard your name before — , if I’m not mistaken?”

  Kael inclined his head. “You’re not mistaken.”

  “An honor,” the man said smoothly. “Your house has been… quiet for many years. It’s good to see Ridgehall represented again at the council gatherings.”

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  Kael could hear what wasn’t said. Quiet for many years — a polite way of saying forgotten.

  “Ridgehall doesn’t make noise for its own sake,” Kael replied evenly. “We prefer to let our actions speak.”

  The noble chuckled softly, though his eyes lingered on Kael’s. “Of course. A respectable philosophy. Still, in Wicelind, words often shape the world before actions do. You may find that silence can be a disadvantage.”

  “Only for those who mistake it for weakness.”

  For a moment, neither looked away. Then the noble’s smile returned, polite and shallow once more. “We’ll see, Lord Kael. I hope we’ll speak again when the main gathering begins.”

  He turned and disappeared back into the crowd, his silk cloak whispering across the floor.

  Orin let out a low whistle once he was gone. “Well, that went better than I expected. No wine thrown, no duel challenged. You’re improving.”

  Kael didn’t respond. His eyes followed the man’s retreating figure. “They’re testing the waters,” he said quietly. “Trying to see if I’ll break.”

  “Then don’t,” Joran said, his tone calm. “That’s all you need to do tonight.”

  The music shifted — softer now, carrying through the hall like a breeze. Servants moved among the guests, refilling glasses and exchanging platters of fruit and roasted meat. The lights dimmed slightly, a signal that the formal announcements were close. The main gala would begin soon, once the Lords of the three houses entered.

  Rhea leaned closer to Kael. “You held your own,” she said quietly. “He was fishing, but you didn’t bite.”

  Kael shrugged. “He’ll have plenty of others to talk to before the night is over.”

  Before Rhea could reply, another voice rose nearby — warm, amused.

  “Lord Kael, is it true you trained under your father directly?”

  Kael turned to see another figure approaching, a woman this time — around his age, dressed in a deep emerald gown that shimmered as she moved. The crest on her brooch marked her as a member of House Teriner — one of the wealthier families allied loosely with the central house. Unlike the previous noble, her smile was genuine, or at least convincing.

  “ I did not ,” Kael said.

  “I envy you,” she replied lightly. “My father insists on lectures, not lessons. There’s a difference — one’s meant to teach, the other to remind me what I can’t do yet.”

  Rhea hid a small smile. Kael found himself almost relaxing. “Lessons are rarely gentle,” he said. “But they stay with you.”

  The woman tilted her head. “Then I hope yours serve you well tonight. There are more eyes on you than you might think.”

  She offered a small nod and moved away, leaving only the faint scent of perfume behind.

  When she was gone, Tarin muttered, “At least that one didn’t sound like she wanted to start a war.”

  “She’s still measuring him,” Rhea said. “Everyone here is.”

  Kael turned his gaze back toward the far end of the hall. The main doors remained closed, guarded by twin soldiers bearing the insignia of the High Lord of Wicelind. Beyond them, the true event waited — the speeches, the alliances, the quiet power plays that shaped the future of the realm.

  And they would be standing in the middle of it.

  He exhaled slowly. “Let’s step outside for a bit. The air in here feels heavy.”

  They slipped through a side corridor and into a quieter balcony that overlooked the lantern-lit gardens. From here, the laughter of the gala drifted faintly, distant and muted. The night sky stretched wide, stars hidden behind clouds.

  For a moment, none of them spoke. The silence felt rare — something real amid the noise.

  Tarin leaned on the railing. “Never thought I’d miss training after all this,” he said. “At least when Daren was shouting, I knew who to punch.”

  Orin chuckled softly. “Don’t tempt fate. The nobles might take that as an invitation.”

  Rhea shot him a look, but there was humor behind it. “You two will never change.”

  Kael’s hands rested on the railing, fingers tightening slightly. “You see how they look at us,” he said after a pause. “Like we’re guests at a table that isn’t ours.”

  “Maybe we are,” Rhea said quietly. “But we earned the right to sit here.”

  Joran nodded. “And they’ll see that soon enough.”

  Kael’s gaze drifted toward the hall again, where golden light spilled across the marble. “They don’t see Ridgehall yet. Just you .”

  “Then show them,” Rhea said. Her voice was steady, but there was warmth in it. “Show them the heir your father couldn’t be.”

  The words echoed softly in the night air — the same words Daren had told him not long ago. For a moment, Kael’s jaw tightened. Then he drew a slow breath, the tension easing.

  He turned back toward them. “The main gala starts in less than an hour,” he said. “We should be ready.”

  Orin grinned. “Ready for what? Talking circles with nobles until dawn?”

  “Ready to endure it,” Kael said. “That’s how we hold the line tonight.”

  They shared a faint smile between them — not of ease, but understanding. Whatever lay beyond those golden doors, they would face it together.

  As they reentered the hall, Rhea glanced at Kael. “Looks like it’s starting.” Kael nodded once, his expression unreadable. The night, at last, was about to begin.