The next morning dawned sharp and brittle, like a blade left too long in the frost.
Selene rose early, long before the court would stir, her body moving through the motions of dressing and preparing as if she were outside of herself.
Her new handmaidens silent, faceless girls appointed by Cassian's council buttoned her gown with quick, efficient fingers, pinned her hair in elaborate coils, dusted her cheeks with the barest touch of rose powder.
Armor.
Everything was armor now.
Silk and smiles and whispered lies, spun around her like a second skin.
Selene stood before the mirror as they worked, studying the reflection that stared back.
The woman in the glass was flawless.
Composed.
Regal.
And yet, deep in her eyes, the fracture lines were beginning to show.
She needed to move carefully.
The first crack was always the most dangerous.
The court gathered by midmorning, filling the audience hall with a low hum of tension barely disguised by silk and gold.
Selene entered through the grand archway, every inch the queen they had expected to hate.
Her gown was a masterpiece, deep emerald green embroidered with silver thread that caught the light with every step, the color of new beginnings... and envy.
She let them watch her.
Let them whisper.
Let them wonder.
Cassian stood at the far end of the hall, speaking with his advisors near the thrones.
He looked up as she entered.
Their eyes met across the crowded room.
No nod.
No smile.
Just the briefest narrowing of his gaze.
Measuring.
Calculating.
Selene dropped into a perfect, shallow curtsey, just low enough to show deference without surrender.
When she rose, she wore a smile that could have rivaled any courtier's, a soft, sweet thing as polished as it was lethal.
And Cassian's mouth twitched in response, something dark and amused flickering in his storm-gray eyes.
The first dance of the day had begun.
The courtiers flocked to her immediately.
Hiding their claws behind silk gloves, their daggers behind honeyed words.
Lady Alessa of Rivermount, the daughter of a minor baron, but with ambitions as sharp as any duke, swooped in first, her voice a lilting melody.
"Your Majesty," Alessa cooed, sinking into a graceful bow. "You are a vision this morning. A breath of fresh air for our court."
Selene smiled.
Poison and perfume.
"Lady Alessa," she said, her voice light as spun sugar. "You honor me."
The other nobles closed in around them like wolves drawn to the scent of blood.
Compliments wrapped in veiled insults.
Questions masked as polite conversation.
Whispers that peeled at the edges of her composure.
"Where did you train in courtly manners, Your Majesty? Surely not in the ashes of Arlont?"
"Such grace. Unexpected, considering your... unfortunate lineage."
"I do hope you will guide our King wisely, Your Majesty. He can be so... impulsive."
Selene smiled through it all, every muscle in her face a carefully controlled mask.
She laughed at the right moments.
Blushed prettily at the false praise.
Tilted her head just so when asked about her family, letting the hint of sadness flicker behind her lashes before banishing it with a sigh.
A performance.
A masterpiece.
And as she danced through the labyrinth of words, Selene realized something else:
They weren't just testing her.
They were afraid of her.
Not because of who she was.
Because they didn't know what she would become.
The trap was sprung at the midday break.
Lord Verin, a snake of a man who wore piety like a second skin approached her with a polished smile and a silver goblet in his hand.
"My Queen," he said warmly, "may I offer you refreshment? A token of welcome."
Selene accepted the goblet with a smile so sweet it could have rotted teeth.
She brought it to her lips and paused.
The scent rising from the cup was faint.
Almost undetectable.
But not to her.
A lifetime of careful training, of assassins' tricks and courtly poisonings, had honed her senses sharp as a dagger's tip.
Belladonna.
A small dose.
Enough to cause dizziness. Slurred speech. Fainting.
Enough to humiliate.
To weaken.
To make her seem fragile before the court.
Not enough to kill.
No, death was too simple for this game.
They wanted her ruined.
Selene lowered the goblet gracefully, hiding her revulsion behind a soft sigh.
"My lord Verin," she said, letting the words drip from her tongue like honey, "how thoughtful."
She turned to the nearest serving boy, a trembling, pimply-faced youth barely older than sixteen and offered him the goblet with a smile.
"Such generosity should be shared," she said. "Please, drink to my health."
The boy's eyes widened.
He looked at Lord Verin, who paled visibly.
The court went still.
Silent.
Waiting.
Verin stammered something, protest, denial, she couldn't even hear it.
Because Cassian was moving.
Slowly, deliberately, he stepped away from his advisors, cutting across the room with the lethal grace of a wolf among sheep.
Selene could feel the shift in the air as he approached, a tightening of invisible strings, a crackling tension that made the hairs on her arms rise.
Cassian reached her side.
He plucked the goblet from her hand with two fingers, lifting it to the light.
Examined it.
Turned his head slightly toward Verin.
And smiled.
It was not a kind smile.
It was the smile of a king who had built his throne from the bones of the foolish.
"My Queen's health is a matter of utmost importance," Cassian said, voice carrying easily across the hall. "We cannot allow it to be endangered by carelessness... or treachery."
Without another word, he poured the contents of the goblet onto the marble floor.
The dark liquid splashed at Verin's feet like blood.
A statement.
A warning.
The court erupted into a flurry of bows and murmured apologies.
Verin stumbled backward, face ashen.
Selene lowered her lashes, hiding her own expression.
She hadn't needed Cassian's intervention.
She could have destroyed Verin herself.
But the message was clear.
Cassian would protect her.
At least, for now.
At least, while it suited him.
As they walked side by side back toward the thrones, Cassian leaned down slightly, his voice brushing against her ear like a blade.
"You play the game well," he murmured.
Selene tilted her head toward him, allowing her smile to grow just a little wider, a little sweeter.
"So do you, Your Majesty," she whispered back.
Their hands never touched.
Their eyes never met.
And yet the bond forged between them in that moment was sharper, deadlier, and infinitely more dangerous than any dagger she had ever held.
Because for the first time, Selene realized something terrifying:
She was starting to enjoy the game.