Page 3 of Rhapsody of Ruin
My mother’s voice echoed softly as she welcomed him, each word a blade wrapped in silk. Courtiers smiled behind their masks, waiting for the first misstep.
Sylara Veythiel drifted through the crowd, her gown a poison-colored shimmer, mask dripping with amethyst stones. She moved like smoke, pausing near Iriel with her fan half-lifted. Her gaze flicked once, twice, to Kyssa Aurelius, as if assessing flawed jewelry in a shop. Kyssa sat rigid among her kin, her dragonbone collar gleaming against pale skin. The muscles in her jaw worked as she held her head higher still.
The first toast rose, a noble’s voice clear. “To new bonds between ash and wonder.” He lifted his glass of opal wine, its surface shimmering with unnatural light. Then he smiled too wide. “May foreign fires never consume our Shroud.”
Soft laughter swelled, poisonous as nightshade.
My fingers twitched, but I did not let them clench. I sat with my mask in place, smiling faintly, my back perfectly straight. Mother’s hand brushed mine, a subtle reminder. Perform.
And then Rhydor rose.
The hall shifted at once, silence cutting through music and laughter alike. He carried himself with deliberate weight, every step calculated. His voice was steady, the tone of a commander giving orders before a charge.
“My cousin, Lady Kyssa Aurelius,” he said, gesturing to where she sat among their delegation, “is a noble daughter of our blood. She would make a fitting consort for the heir of Lunareth.”
Kyssa’s breath caught audibly. Her hands clenched around her chair arms so tightly the wood groaned. Color flushed her pale cheeks.
The hall froze. Masks turned toward one another in delighted disbelief. Sylara’s fan stilled mid-wave. Even my mother’s head tilted a fraction, her mask betraying nothing.
I sat frozen too, though my face did not show it. My stomach turned to stone.
Iriel’s lips curved, slow and cutting. He did not even bother to rise. “A dragon on our throne?” His voice was soft, almost amused. “I think not.”
Laughter burst, too loud, too eager, feeding itself like fire.
A lord leaned toward his neighbor, making no attempt to whisper. “Do dragons not breed in stables?”
Kyssa flinched, only for Brenn , the flame-haired soldier with her , to bark a laugh so loud it startled the court. “Only when stables hold kings.”
Ripples of laughter broke against the sharp silence, some masked nobles laughing despite themselves. Others hissed disapproval.
Kyssa sat rigid, humiliation burning from her skin like smoke.
I remained still. My mask serene. My hands folded in my lap, unshaking. My spine lengthened, chin lifted, gaze cold.
They would not see me break.
Mother inclined her head once. The stewards obeyed instantly, and the music brightened, rising in sudden gaiety to push the court forward. Her signal was clear:move on.
But I could not. I watched my cousin bite down on shame until her jaw trembled. I marked the faces of every mask that laughed. Sylara. Two Varcoran lords. Even one of Mother’s own stewards.
Iriel leaned forward, voice smooth as glass. “A pity, cousin. Still, courage is admirable, even in the unfit.” He inclined his head mockingly toward Kyssa. “You wear humiliation as bravely as armor.”
The court laughed again, quieter now, crueler.
I wanted to stand, to tear away my mask and scream at them all. But my body knew its role too well. I sat motionless, every line of me composed.
The sting cut deeper than I could admit. Rejected once already, by Kylian Aurelius. Spurned again tonight by his brother’s maneuvering, replaced by my cousin’s collar. Humiliated, discarded, unwanted.
It burned in my chest until I thought it would sear through my ribs.
But I did not move.
They tested me with glances, each one a sharp prod. Would I break? Would I cry?
I did not.
Pain flared inside me, sharp as a blade. I drew it in. I wrapped it tight. And I decided.
