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【𝐒𝐘𝐋𝐕𝐎𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐄】

The welcoming banquet was usually a predictable affair.

From my seat at the end of the hall, elevated atop the steps, I had a view of it all. Lords forcing laughter at stale jests, concubines whispering behind jeweled hands, and my ever-watchful captain delivering reports like quiet condemnations.

"Before we march on Driftwoode, we must first rid the empire of these rebellions," Ser Bastian said as he stood before my table. "Four more lords were burned in their castles during your journey away."

"I heard of that," I replied, fingers tapping the carved armrest of my seat. "I agree with you, Ser Bastian. But I'm not interested in weeds. I want the root. Instead of cutting the heads of those stoking the flames, deliver me the fools funding their torches."

He inclined his head, long dark hair falling past the steely curve of his pauldron.

"Of course, Your Majesty. I'll dispatch the Briarbound Knights under secrecy."

"See that you do."

The heavy doors of the hall groaned as they swung open.

I waved Ser Bastian away and sat a little straighter.

I'd been curious about this moment since my return. Welcoming banquets for my brides were usually dull spectacles — blushing girls paraded in silks too fine for their worth. Despite their false modesty, I could clearly see the ambition they harbored.

But this princess?

I suspected she'd offer something more... entertaining.

What color would she choose?

Surely the maids had informed her what the colors here meant. Though the way the princess had spoken to me previously, it seemed she might already have an understanding of the harem's workings.

Perhaps she would be arrogant enough to dress in black.

That would certainly be entertaining.

"Introducing Princess Raine Stjorme of Drakfjord," the herald bellowed.

Silence settled over the hall.

I leaned forward, fingers curling tighter around my seat's thornwood armrest. Even the musicians faltered before they scrambled to recover.

What could possibly have my court so stunned?

And then I saw her.

She moved across the threshold like mist unraveling — the palest of green silks clinging to her form in a delicate whisper. The off-the-shoulder cut exposed her pale collarbones while the corset cinched her narrow waist. From her hips, the dress spilled behind her like fog pooling in a valley. And to tie it all together, silver embellishments in the gown's design caught the candlelight beautifully.

Yet despite the grand design of her dress, I couldn't look past its colour.

Green.

It was an exquisitely soft hue, yes, but still a color reserved for the lowest rank of my harem.

Clover.

A deliberate insult to herself.

And, by consequence, to me.

I grinned at the sight.

The princess should have looked meek. Afraid. New concubines always were on their first night — eyes darting for allies, posture stiff with practiced grace. Yet this one walked with her chin high, gazing upon the room as though the entirety of my court was beneath her.

Despite her trembling during our journey, tonight there was not even a flicker of fear.

I leaned back in my chair, watching her advance. With each step, she passed the other concubines as they sat in their ranks. Nearest to the doors, she passed the Clovers in green first, then Daisy in blue, Peony in pink, Lavender in purple, Dahlia in orange, Rose in red, Orchid in gold, and finally, the Nightshades in black.

Through it all, she never looked at any of them. Only at me.

This princess certainly has nerve.

Her gaze held mine as she approached the raised dais — the table set for us alone. The train of her dress was long enough to pool down the stairs below us, a pale river spilling across dark marble.

She stopped beside me, head high, lips curled in the faintest, most insolent smile.

I almost laughed.

"I thought you understood the rankings in my court," I smirked as my eyes swept over her gown.

She smoothed her skirt as she took her seat beside me.

"I do."

"And yet, you still chose green?"

She leaned in, her hand gesturing toward the furthest table, where women in green sat like wilted plants.

"See those girls there?" she asked, voice light.

I squinted mockingly, lips curling.

"Barely."

The corner of her mouth lifted.

"That seems like the best seat in the hall."

Ha!

I grinned as my eyes took the princess in.

No doubt, this banquet would prove anything but dull.

With that, dinner was served. And through the courses, I kept my attention on this new bride. It was obvious she tried her best to seem indifferent. Though paired with her initial fear of me, it only piqued my curiosity all the more.

I tested her. A jest here, a veiled challenge there. But each time, she parried with a dry remark or a fleeting glance, her attention stubbornly fixed on her plate.

By the time the main course arrived, my patience wore thin.

Not with anger, but fascination.

She wasn't flustered. Nor was she simpering for favor. She was just... ignoring me. Like I was nothing more than another lord in the room.

Perhaps she couldn't hear me clearly?

I leaned in.

"I think the music must be too loud."

Her gaze flicked to mine, flat and unimpressed.

"I'd prefer it to be louder."

My grin widened.

She was either reckless or ignorant. Perhaps both.

"You're awfully interested in that canary pie, Princess," I noted.

"It's the most interesting thing in this hall," she sighed, slicing into it with meticulous care.

A muscle ticked in my jaw.

"You dare say such a thing with your sovereign seated beside you?"

Finally, she turned, storm-gray eyes locking with mine for the first time tonight. They were colder than I expected. Older. As though she'd already seen the worst the world had to offer and found it underwhelming.

"My apologies, Your Majesty," she drawled. "You are, of course, more interesting than the canary pie."

The apology, so sweetly false, landed like a slap.

Before I could laugh, another approached our table.

Count Boaris waddled forward — all pomp with golden medals. The man bowed so low I feared he'd topple.

"Your most Splendid Excellency," he gushed.

I leaned toward the princess, close enough to catch the way her breath hitched.

"Look here," I murmured, eyes narrowing as I smirked. "Have you ever seen a pig begging for its food?"

She glanced at the count, at the bead of sweat forming on his temple as he waited.

"That's quite an array of medals on his chest," she remarked, gaze sliding back to mine. "Do you often award medals to pigs in your empire? The standard must be different here than in Drakfjord."

My lips twitched.

Shaking my head with a smile, I returned my attention to the count.

"Good evening, Count Boaris," I said at last, watching the man sag in visible relief.

He turned toward the princess enthusiastically.

"My, your beauty is nothing short of radiant, Princess! I humbly congratulate you on this most glorious betrothal! If you ever wish to purchase artifacts, I'll gladly offer you the best deals."

She inclined her head.

"Your kindness moves me, Count."

With a few more praises to sing, the man scuttled off.

I took a sip of my blackberry wine as I smiled.

"It seems the count has chosen a horse for his race."

The princess didn't smile.

"I've never been likened to a horse before," she said.

"And I've never been outshone by a canary pie," I countered.

This time, her lips curled in a reluctant smile.

I took that as a victory. However small.

The evening wore on — lords preening, ladies whispering, and wine flowing like blood after battle.

Then... Isolde.

She rose from the Nightshade table, her black gown gleaming like crow feathers with a plunging neckline. Her red lips curved into a smile as she approached, green eyes sparkling.

"My Love," she greeted, voice smooth as warmed honey. "I'm glad to see you well after such a long journey."

I returned the smile.

"Greetings, my dear Isolde. I hope you've been well."

"As well as I can be in the absence of my sovereign," she curtsied. Her gaze then flicked to the princess. "I came to offer my best wishes to your newest bride."

I waved a hand lazily.

"Princess, this is Isolde Flarewyn, a Nightshade Concubine. She was my first betrothal."

Initially, I wished not to have a harem. I'd seen the venom that came from my father's concubines. And Isolde had been enough. Though as I took the throne and still no heir was born to me after years, I saw my bloodline's curse for what it was.

The princess smiled as she looked down upon Isolde.

"Greetings, Lady Isolde," she said sweetly. "I can see why His Majesty has kept you around for so long."

Isolde blushed and dipped into another curtsy.

"You're too kind, Princess."

My new bride tilted her head.

"Though... pardon my bluntness, I'm still learning this land's customs. Why are you not empress? A lovely woman like yourself deserves the title."

Isolde stiffened.

Her cheeks flushed to a shade that nearly matched her vibrant red hair.

"That title is reserved for the mother of His Majesty's heir... whomever she may be."

The princess frowned, feigning innocence.

"Oh, I see. My deepest apologies. I wrongly assumed you would have achieved that by now."

Silence.

Isolde went rigid, her composure slipping.

My humor faded at the sight of my first bride so lost for words.

"I hope you enjoy your evening, Princess," she bit out before stalking away.

The princess hid her satisfaction behind her goblet, but I saw it.

"The matter of empress is sensitive to some in the inner court," I murmured, leaning in closer. "If you wish to navigate this arrangement comfortably, I suggest avoiding unnecessary enemies."

Her gaze slid to mine, unreadable.

"Is it the matter of empress... or an heir that unsettles the court?"

My jaw tightened.

"I hope Isolde provides one soon," she continued airily. "For a ruler to march off to war without a successor... well, it seems rather precarious."

"Perhaps you could assist in that regard."

She nearly choked on her wine.

I smiled.

"If you were any good at it," she muttered, setting down her goblet, "I'm sure Isolde would've honored you by now."

My brows rose.

Touché.

I let the comment hang, savoring her gall. This bride didn't simper. Didn't beg for favor. She fenced with words like an expert duelist. Was this truly the princess of an isolated kingdom? She spoke with the confidence of a seasoned lady of the court.

Dessert arrived, honeycakes, frosted and gleaming. We ate in silence this time. The princess toyed with hers, clearly restless.

"Are you enjoying the banquet?" I asked, feigning nonchalance.

She didn't look up.

"I'm enjoying the food."

"The announcement of your rank will come soon." I leaned in, watching her. "Is there anything you wish to tell me before then?"

Her fork paused.

For the first time tonight, uncertainty flickered across her face.

Would she finally begin showering me with sweet praises? No bride wanted to be left forgotten in a low rank.

Finally, she spoke.

"I have a request, Your Majesty."

My smile grew.

"Is it about your rank?"

"Yes."

There it was.

Not so different after all.

Satisfied, I sat back in my seat comfortably.

"Perhaps, if you're persuasive enough, I could grant you a higher—"

"Clover."

The word snapped the air between us.

I stared, waiting for the joke — the sly grin, the teasing lilt.

None came.

"Do you know what you're asking for, Princess?"

Her gaze met mine, steady, unflinching.

"I do. And I would be most grateful."

Grateful?

For the lowest rank?

I studied her — the tension in her shoulders, the stubborn set of her jaw. This wasn't whimsy. It was strategy. But for what?

"Are you playing mind games with me, Princess?"

She hesitated, just a heartbeat, then shifted tactics, voice softening.

"It won't be forever," she assured, gaze flicking downward. "Of course, I plan to rise to the highest rank in due time. But I wish to... earn it. To show you I can carve out my place here. I want to prove myself worthy."

The sincerity, or the perfect mimicry of it, stole my breath for half a moment.

Then... I smiled.

So, she wishes to play a game? Fine, let's entertain her.

I'm most curious to see where this leads.

"You're full of surprises, aren't you, Princess?"

Her brows furrowed as she watched me.

I stood, scraping back my chair. The hall silenced instantly — eyes snapping toward me.

"Thank you all for attending this banquet," I announced, voice echoing through the chamber. "I would like us all to give a warm welcome to Clover Concubine, Princess Raine Stjorme."

I extended my hand.

She took it gracefully and rose to stand beside me.

Polite applause rippled through the room, stunned, uncertain. The Nightshade table bloomed with quiet laughter, Isolde's smile wide and victorious.

My first bride had never been able to hide her emotions very well.

I glanced down at the princess.

Despite her low rank, she grinned as though she had just been named empress.

My brows narrowed.

What storm had I just welcomed into my court?

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Moonlight slicked the rooftops of Dornhold's fortress, its spires and bridges stretching beneath me in jagged silhouettes. From Nightshade Castle's highest balcony, I could nearly see the entirety of my court. Even Clover Castle, nestled at the edge of the mountain.

Blackberry wine stained my lips as I took another slow sip.

My mind should have been consumed with the coming war — with Driftwoode's defenses and the incessant rebellions within my domain.

Yet none of those thoughts held my attention.

The memory of pale green silk and stormy eyes lingered. There had been something unsettlingly familiar about the princess. Though I knew I'd never laid eyes on her before our meeting, I couldn't rid myself of this feeling that I had known her for years.

I frowned into my goblet.

I did not enjoy puzzles I couldn't solve.

Soft footsteps whispered against stone behind me, followed by the faint rustle of silk.

"Brooding doesn't suit you," Lady Isolde murmured as she joined me by the balcony.

Warm arms slipped around my waist. I glanced down, catching the glint of moonlight on the jeweled pins in her red hair. The nightgown she wore was too thin for such a breezy night.

"Your mind is far away," she pressed, her head resting against my back. "What troubles you, My Love?"

I smiled faintly, swirling the wine in my glass.

"It's rude to speak of one concubine in the presence of another."

Her hold tightened, fingers curling against my ribs.

"So, it is her, then. The little princess in green."

I said nothing.

Isolde stepped around me, breaking the embrace to stand at my side. The moonlight painted her in pale silver and deep shadows, softening the sharpness of her cheekbones.

"Don't you think her to be utterly foolish?" she smirked. "Showing up in green as though it could save her from a low rank?"

I hummed faintly, thinking back to how the princess had asked for such a rank.

"What exactly is her use?" Isolde continued. "You traveled all the way to her impoverished island to gain the storm sword's aid and yet they so arrogantly refused? Even a farmer's daughter would be more useful."

"We've entered into a trade agreement for their storm-forged gems," I shrugged, sipping my wine.

"Ha! Gems?" Isolde scoffed. "What good would gems do you in a war? Grains and steel are much more valuable."

I nodded.

That much was true.

"Don't you think my brides would appreciate some new jewels?" I mused, glancing at Isolde.

She rolled her eyes.

"It's not worth it for all that trouble. And besides, I don't trust this princess either," she said, crossing her arms. "There is something wrong about that girl. I smelled it."

I chuckled at that.

"If I banished every bride because of that nose of yours, I'd have an empty harem, My Lady."

Her brows set into a scowl.

"You forget where I'm from, My Love," she said. "I told you before, people from Bludverdii can smell bloodlust. This ability is even more present in nobility. Yes, I've noticed such a smell from others, but this is different. This princess... She reeked of it. Thick as fresh-spilled blood. I've never scented anything like it before."

I let out a low breath, more amused than concerned.

"And now you'd have me fear a girl in a pretty dress?"

"A princess," Isolde corrected, voice sharpening. "Have you forgotten what happened the last time this court invited one? Because of a princess, your own mother was—"

The smile died on my lips.

I turned to Isolde slowly.

"Careful, My Lady." My voice dropped to a murmur, cold as a blade unsheathing. "Our years together have bought you many luxuries here. Do not mistake them for immunity."

Her eyes flickered, lips parting as if to say more. But wisdom prevailed. She stepped back, lowering her gaze.

"Of course, My Love," she said softly. "I only wish to protect you."

I turned away, dismissing her with a glance at the court below. My eyes kept wandering toward the far side of the mountain, where the princess was surely settling into her new cage.

That feeling remained.

Familiar yet strange...

I drained the last of my wine and headed back inside Isolde's bed chambers.

Whatever game this new bride was playing, I would figure it out soon enough.

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