The music had started again.
A slow, elegant waltz floated through the chamber as nobles returned to their games, pretending they hadn't just witnessed a silent war ignite between prince and exile.
Aveline didn't move.
She stood near the mirrored column, a half-filled glass in hand, watching them with the same serene gaze she once used to pick apart foreign ambassadors in court.
She didn't need to seek attention.
It found her.
"Darling Aveline," a familiar voice cooed behind her. "It's been far too long."
Aveline didn't turn at first. The voice was honey-soaked and sharp—a dagger wrapped in silk.
Then she faced her.
Lady Calista Merovein.
The Duchess of Arles.
Graceful. Deadly.
And one of the key women who had watched Aveline fall—and smiled through it.
"Lady Calista," Aveline said smoothly. "Still wearing winter colors? How fitting."
The duchess laughed softly, tapping her fan against her chin. "Oh, I've always believed in dressing for the climate. Though I must say, I didn't expect to see you back in court—let alone summoned."
Aveline tilted her head, her smile razor-thin. "Yes, well. The tides do change. Especially when the ice thaws."
Calista's eyes glittered. "Indeed. But some things buried in ice remain… spoiled beneath the surface, don't they?"
It was a warning. A dig.
Aveline stepped forward, voice low but lethal.
"Careful, Calista. You speak like a woman who thinks she's untouchable."
"And you," Calista murmured, brushing imaginary dust from her sleeve, "walk like you haven't already lost everything once before."
They held each other's gaze.
And for a heartbeat, the court grew colder.
Then Calista smiled sweetly and glided past, as if nothing had happened.
But her perfume lingered. Sharp. Cloying. Poisonous.
Aveline didn't flinch.
She turned back to the crowd—and saw Caden watching from a distance, eyes narrowed.
He was already moving toward her.
Caden approached like a shadow dipped in velvet—quiet but impossible to ignore.
He didn't bow. He never did.
Instead, he stopped just beside Aveline, letting the music and murmurs cover his words.
"Well," he drawled, eyes on Calista's retreating form. "That looked like a lovely reunion."
Aveline didn't look at him. "She still wears perfume like she's trying to hide something."
"She is," Caden murmured. "A forged letter, for one. Slipped to the royal archives two weeks before your exile."
That made Aveline glance at him.
"She was part of the smear," Caden confirmed, his tone laced with something darker. "Wrote to the council claiming you conspired with foreign mages. Said your influence over the prince was unnatural."
Aveline's lips parted slightly, but not in shock. In confirmation.
She had suspected. But suspicion and truth were different beasts.
"I should've known," she said softly. "She always smiled too wide."
Caden smiled faintly. "That's how vipers dislocate their jaws."
He handed her a goblet—real wine this time, not whatever ceremonial nonsense was being passed around.
"And what do you plan to do with that knowledge?" he asked casually.
Aveline looked into the goblet, the red liquid catching the candlelight like blood in a chalice.
"Nothing," she said. "Yet."
Caden arched a brow. "Strategic patience. Dangerous. I approve."
He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice.
"Just know this, Aveline—Calista's circling because she's afraid. If she thought you were truly powerless, she wouldn't waste her breath."
Aveline looked up, eyes calm as glaciers.
"Good," she said. "Let them all be afraid."
And somewhere across the ballroom, Calista turned—just in time to see Aveline smile.