—Moonshade Corridor, Imperial Fortress—
It was barely past noon, yet the shadows in Dravendor's fortress halls always seemed to stretch long, like they were alive.
Elira walked the narrow corridor toward the council archives, flanked by towering shelves of scrolls and ledgers. The place was quiet, too quiet. She was supposed to be reviewing old treaty documents—something light, harmless. A polite suggestion from Kaelion that she "stay occupied with soft duties."
She saw through it, of course. But soft duties often revealed sharp secrets.
"Elira," a low voice called behind her.
She turned and saw Lady Nyra Vaelith, council member and military advisor, clad in silver-gray robes with her trademark steel-plated gloves. Her reputation was that of a wolf among hounds—loyal to the empire, but never tame.
"Lady Nyra," Elira greeted with a bow. "I didn't expect company."
"You never should." Nyra glanced at the ledgers in Elira's hand. "You're studying old peace accords?"
"I'm trying to understand why a nation as powerful as Dravendor made peace with my people rather than conquer us entirely."
Nyra smirked. "You already know the answer, don't you?"
Elira tilted her head. "Velanthia was bleeding, yes. But Dravendor was stretched thin after the Eastern rebellions. Your armies could take our land, but not hold it."
"Correct. A smart woman."
"And Kaelion?" Elira asked softly. "He agreed to the treaty because he knew blood alone doesn't build loyalty."
Nyra gave her a long look. "He agreed because the Emperor ordered him to. But he would've burned your kingdom to ash if left to his own will."
Elira's smile was sad. "That is what I'm trying to prevent now."
Nyra leaned close, voice lower. "You're stirring things here, Princess. The old families are watching. Some like you. Others… not so much."
"I didn't come here to make enemies," Elira said. "But I won't wear a crown of silence."
Nyra straightened. "Then be careful where you step. The court whispers louder than the soldiers shout."