The chandeliers above were alight with a thousand sunlit flames, reflecting off crystal and gold like a constellation trapped inside marble walls. Music hummed beneath the silk-swept murmurs of nobility, and the grand ballroom was filled with bodies dipped in wine, velvet, and ambition. The air carried the mingled scents of expensive perfumes, beeswax candles, and the faint tang of distant wood smoke from the hearths.

At the heart of it all stood Aureth Caelum Serathiel, recently crowned emperor, clad in white and gold, his hair brushed to brilliance, his eyes cold as ice beneath flame. The weight of the crown pressed against his temples, a constant reminder of the throne he now occupied—and the enemies that surrounded it.

Before the first guest was received, Aureth stood in the side hall with his brothers. The cool stone walls absorbed sound, making their conversation feel almost intimate despite the grandeur surrounding them. Caelric leaned against a column in his white formal uniform, arms crossed, hazel eyes narrowed in the way only brothers mastered. The youngest sat silently on a cushioned bench, legs swinging and the lightest sunlight resting in his hair like liquid gold.

"Do I look like a king or a gilded hostage?" Aureth muttered, tugging at his collar. The fabric felt constricting, as if it might strangle him before any assassin could.

"You look like a fool pretending not to care what people think," Caelric replied dryly. "Which is only slightly better than looking desperate."

Aureth turned sharply. "I'm not desperate."

"No," Caelric shrugged, "just hosting a kingdom-wide beauty contest during a war buildup."