The royal summons came before the garden had even cooled from the chaos.
Two guards appeared at Aveline's side, silent and unmoving.
"The Queen requests your presence," one said, voice clipped.
Not an invitation.
A command.
Aveline dusted a petal from her sleeve and rose without a word. The nobles watched her leave, curiosity sparking behind every false smile and lowered gaze.
The halls leading to the Queen's solar were silent, lined with statues of dead kings and forgotten warriors. Aveline's steps echoed between marble and memory.
At the great oak doors, the guards bowed and pushed them open.
Inside, Queen Seraphina waited.
She was a woman of steel and silk, her silver hair coiled in a crown of thorns. Her eyes, however, were sharper than any blade.
"Aveline," the Queen said, voice smooth as still water.
"Approach."
Aveline curtsied low, every movement a study in poise, and lifted her gaze without fear.
"I heard there was…excitement at the luncheon," Seraphina said, sipping from a goblet of wine as if discussing the weather.
"I regret that Lady Brielle was harmed," Aveline replied carefully. "But I'm grateful the healer was swift."
The Queen hummed—a sound that could have meant amusement or warning.
"Swift, yes. After you gave him the answer."
A long pause.
"You saved a girl," Seraphina continued, setting down her goblet with a soft clink. "And in doing so, you saved your reputation."
Another pause.
"But you've also made enemies braver."
Aveline remained still.
The Queen's lips curved faintly. "They will not strike so clumsily next time."
Aveline's pulse quickened, but she said nothing.
"You must decide, Lady Aveline," Seraphina said, voice like velvet wrapped around iron. "Will you be prey… or will you be the hunter?"
Aveline lifted her chin, her voice crisp, almost defiant.
"I will be the hunter, Your Majesty," she said. "I will make them regret ever thinking me weak."
The words rang sharp in the stillness, full of fire and certainty.
For a moment, the Queen said nothing.
Then—
A soft, dangerous laugh escaped Seraphina's lips. It was not the laughter of approval.
"You speak of regret," the Queen murmured, her silver gaze gleaming. "You assume they will fear you simply because you wish it."
Aveline's breath caught, but she held her ground.
"Fear is not given, child," Seraphina said, each word heavy as a blow. "It is earned. In blood. In betrayal. In choices that leave you sleepless."
She rose from her seat, moving closer, her presence cold and vast.
"You speak boldly now," she whispered, close enough that Aveline could feel the chill of her words. "But remember this—only fools hunt with an empty blade."
The Queen's fingers, cool and calloused, brushed Aveline's cheek almost tenderly.
"Survive first," Seraphina said. "Then you may think of vengeance."
With a rustle of skirts, she turned away, dismissing Aveline without another glance.
The heavy doors closed behind her with a soft thud.
For a long moment, Aveline just stood there, her hands curled into fists at her sides.
The Queen's words still echoed in her ears, cold and merciless.
Only fools hunt with an empty blade.
She inhaled slowly, forcing herself to loosen her fingers, to lift her chin. The corridors stretched before her, dim and endless, the flicker of torchlight casting long shadows across the marble.
Every statue she passed seemed to watch her.
Every hush of wind against stone sounded like a whisper she couldn't quite hear.
This court… it was beautiful.
And it was deadly.
Aveline's heels clicked sharply against the floor, her steps growing faster, more deliberate. No more hesitation.
She would not be prey.
She would learn. She would adapt. She would survive—and not because of luck or charity.
Because she would become exactly what they feared.
"Rough audience?" a voice drawled behind her.
She whirled, skirts flaring slightly.
Lucien leaned against the nearest pillar, half-shrouded in shadows, a lazy smirk playing on his lips.
His tunic was dark, embroidered subtly with his House's crest—a thorned rose strangled by vines.
Everything about him screamed casual arrogance.
Except his eyes.
Those were sharp. Calculating.
Waiting.
Aveline straightened, gathering her frayed composure like a cloak around her.
"I don't recall asking for company," she said coolly.
Lucien chuckled, pushing away from the pillar to saunter closer. "No. But I find you fascinating when you're furious."
He stopped just a little too close.
"Careful, Lady Aveline," he murmured, voice low enough that only she could hear. "This court eats its heroes first."
Their eyes locked—fire meeting ice, pride meeting warning.
Neither one willing to look away.
The guards opened the doors. The summons was over.
But the warning… still rang in the air.
Aveline allowed herself a small, cool smile.
"Then I suppose," she said lightly, "it's fortunate I have no desire to be anyone's hero."
Lucien's brows lifted slightly, clearly intrigued by the shift in her tone.
She stepped past him with unhurried grace, her perfume—light, floral, dangerous—trailing in the air between them.
"But you're wrong about one thing, Lord Lucien," she added without looking back. "The court doesn't eat its heroes first."
She paused, just long enough to let the words sink in.
"It eats those too stupid to realize they're standing in its jaws."
Without waiting for his reply, she swept down the corridor, her steps light, her heart steady.
Behind her, Lucien laughed quietly—a sound full of dark amusement.
And perhaps, a touch of respect.