Astreya blinked, registering the words a beat later, and then she laughed. It wasn’t cruel, it wasn’t masked—it was honest, the kind of laugh that came when someone struck a nerve too cleanly to ignore.

There was something almost magical in the way Katarina said it, as if she were weaving both her truth and her defiance into every syllable. And Astreya realized with a sharp pang of recognition that this was exactly what she had spent her whole life doing: rebelling against her brother and his elegant cruelty, defying her father with just enough likeness to escape erasure, and just enough difference to never become the same.

She had rebelled against nearly every man who had ever crossed her path, never once bending under pressure. And so she could not help but respect Katarina for that same courage, especially now, trapped in the cage of a marriage forced upon her.

“Fair enough. I’ll refrain from engraving it in marble.” Astreya answered, the words balanced between sarcasm and sincerity.

As the laugh died on her lips, Astreya slid seamlessly back into character, she hadn’t given up on rattling Katarina. If anything, every display of her intelligence only sharpened her own desire to prove she was the quicker mind.

“But tell me, Princess Katarina…” she drawled, her tone turning syrup-sweet again. “Do you always follow your guests like a shadow, or am I just the lucky one?”

No response, no movement, Katarina simply chose not to dignify that with an answer. So Astreya pushed further, tilting her head just enough to let her hair fall like a curtain.

“…Is it curiosity that drives you? Or a need to dazzle me before your fiancé drags you into his tragedy?”

“Your brother doesn’t frighten me.” Katarina answered, almost feigning boredom.

The more Astreya provoked, the more it seemed Katarina was quietly sharpening whatever move she intended to make next.

“Oh, he should. But you’re not very good at reading men, are you? ” Astreya’s tone dropped lower, almost intimate. “Or women, for that matter.”

When she finished, Astreya expected Katarina to falter—whether with a step back, a flash of anger, or the faintest crack in her composure. Anything that would prove the blow had landed.

Instead, Katarina tilted her head just slightly, the gesture eerie in its calm.

“If this is how you mask your insecurity, then perhaps you should try a subtler performance.”

Then Katarina stepped forward, not enough to threaten, just enough to make it clear she had chosen to move.

“Effort has its charm, I’ll admit…” she went on with a terrifying calm. “Though yours tastes more of desperation than strength.”

This one was the real strike, and Astreya’s mind raced, too fast. Not with words, not yet, but with instinct: anger, rage, frustration, and something very close to humiliation.

She was losing—not just the upper hand, not just the tempo, but the thread. The entire rhythm of the duel was slipping from her grasp, and she could feel it: Katarina wasn’t stumbling, she wasn’t reacting, and worse she was dismantling her with surgical grace.

And Astreya, who had built her life on wit and control, found herself cornered by someone who hadn’t truly moved. This wasn’t just a verbal exchange anymore, this was personal, and she was no longer toying with a casual opponent.

She forced the fire back down her throat, swallowed the sting, and did the only thing she could without combusting.

“Careful…” she warned, her tone quiet but edged. “You’re not the only killer dressed up as royalty tonight.”

But Katarina didn’t retreat, she held her gaze, unshaken—with the faintest curve at the corner of her mouth—as if the barely veiled threat were something to savour.

To her, it was proof she’d struck exactly where she meant to—and the confirmation that she had already, in some irrefutable way, won.

“I know.”

Astreya hated the way she was standing, deeply composed, and completely unmoved. She wanted to shake that perfect spine, to make her gasp, to find the fracture line in that ice and split it open.

But just as she was ready to say something vicious, she heard footsteps echoing from the corridor, and a pair of Virelys maidservants appeared in the archway.

“Your highnesses,” one said softly, bowing her head elegantly. “The hall is prepared. The reception will begin shortly.”

Katarina didn’t move right away, but her eyes lingered on Astreya for half a second longer, just enough to suggest: Crushed. Like a little flower beneath my foot.

“Very well.” she said, while turning elegantly on her heels.

She walked past Astreya without a single backward glance, like the world had never shifted. And yet, as she followed the servants through the corridors, she couldn’t help but turn that small victory over and over in her mind, savoring the satisfaction of having drawn blood without lifting a hand.

This woman is as unsettling as she is predictable, which is almost amusing in itself.

I have no doubt her little tactics work splendidly on the majority of people, but it’s all so transparent—she lunges into the trap as if she cannot help herself, mistaking recklessness for brilliance, and mistaking noise for depth.

I wonder if her magic is the same: spectacular, incendiary, a display meant to blind and overwhelm. Or perhaps—she can conjure illusions of a different kind, ones that don’t shout but whisper, ones that might actually unsettle rather than entertain.

Still, watching her pour so much effort into these psychological games already feels almost tiresome. And if she thinks she can wear me down with these performances, she’s more naive than I thought.

But I wonder what her true purpose is in all this—what does she really seek? Because in the end, I am not the only one standing at the edge of upheaval. What does she truly think, behind the fire and the games?

Anyway—don’t waste your mind on her Katarina. None of it will matter, because no one will have the time to glimpse the real consequences of this so-called alliance.

Meanwhile Astreya stood still for a moment, the silence clinging to her like a second skin. For the first time in forever, she had been disarmed before she recited the last line of her script, and worst of all, part of her liked it.

She was impressed by the way Katarina didn’t flinch, didn’t stumble, didn’t try to charm or impress. And she was able to strike cleanly, precisely, almost irreversibly. It was a form of manipulation Astreya had never encountered before—one that didn’t shout or seduce, but dismantled with the certainty of someone who knew where the foundations were weakest.

Astreya had spent years circling around false opponents: men too loud or cruel to be clever, women too pretty or predictable to be cruel, warriors too old or dumb to be unpredictable. She knew how to perform for them, how to win with only half a smile, and often a well-placed illusion.

But this was entirely different, Katarina wasn’t trying to perform, she wasn’t even trying to provoke, she was simply holding the kind of power that didn’t need to announce itself. And Astreya, predator that she was, recognized the scent immediately: a mind that didn’t yield, but watched, and waited.

Fascinating. Truly fascinating. This woman is a living riddle, carved out of something far darker than she lets the world believe.

And to think, I came into this kingdom convinced I’d be suffocated by tedium and hollow ceremonies. But here she is—my unexpected gift, my favorite new target, the one whose composure begs to be undone.

And isn’t it convenient? She is also the one I am meant to manipulate, and to short-circuit. How perfect the gods have been to hand me such a puzzle wrapped in such a terrible package.

She really does look as though she believes she can master herself against any kind of provocation—well, I’ll be more than happy to prove her wrong.

But her presence alone guarantees one thing: my plan to sabotage this cursed alliance is going to be far more entertaining than I ever imagined.

And now, she found herself smiling, because somewhere deep beneath the show and the tension—Katarina Virelys had just become interesting, compelling, or perhaps dangerous.

But Astreya had always loved dangerous people, even when they were planning to crush her, especially then.