The Veyldan Estate had grown quieter. Though for Elara, silence was never comfort. Every morning, she moved through her routines with measured grace. Overseeing the maids, reading under the morning sun, practicing etiquette drills, and preparing herself for what might happen that day at the Foundation Anniversary.

Her days seemed steady, even serene. Yet deep within, she sensed the faint hum of change, like the air before a storm.

One afternoon, a maid approached her chamber, head bowed.

"My Lady," she said softly, "a sealed missive has arrived from the Imperial Palace."

Elara glanced up from the notebook she was writing in. The gold crest of the Crown Prince's Office shimmered faintly against the parchment.

"An invitation?" she murmured, breaking the wax seal.

Her eyes skimmed the words, then froze.

Her pulse skipped. This wasn't supposed to exist.

In all her previous lives, there was never any mention of a preparatory event. The celebration had always been singular. A grand, glittering ball held at the end of the month. But this, this was new.

"Preparatory gathering…" she whispered. "Why now?"

A shadow of unease crossed her face. Was this the change she had begun to feel lately? The ripple in fate she couldn't quite name?

She folded the invitation carefully, her mind restless. Something has shifted… and I'm not sure whose hand moved first.

Across the hallways of the Veyldan Estate, Seraphine's delighted voice could be heard as she ordered the servants around her room, until her joy turned into shock.

Before her stood a set of boxes draped in silk ribbons, new arrivals.

"What are those?" she demanded, brow furrowing.

The maid stammered, "For Lady Elara, my lady. They were delivered this morning from the Imperial Atelier."

"The—Imperial Atelier?" Seraphine's tone sharpened. "Are you saying—His Highness sent them?"

The maid hesitated, then nodded. "A dress for the Preparatory Gathering, and another for the Founding Anniversary, both bearing the Crown Prince's seal."

The porcelain cup in Seraphine's hand cracked, shards splintering across the table.

"He… sent her matching gowns?" she muttered under her breath, her fingers trembling.

Every Founding Anniversary before this, she had always been the one to receive Adrienne's attention. Yet now, without warning, Elara had become the recipient of something personal.

"That girl," Seraphine hissed. "She's pretending to be meek again… just to steal sympathy."

Mirielle, lounging lazily nearby, arched a brow.

"Perhaps His Highness simply finds her pitiful," she drawled. "Or perhaps he's grown bored of you."

"Watch your words, Mirielle." Seraphine's tone dropped, her pride pricked. "Elara Veyldan won't take what's mine. You'll pay for this, Elara."

On the other side, within the Crown Prince's study, Adrienne sat before an open window, the imperial skyline burning gold under the sunset. His gaze lingered on the table before him. Upon sketches of fabric swatches and handwritten notes for the dresses he had commissioned.

"She'll look better in light blue, it would match her bright blue eyes" he muttered. "Silver brings her misfortune…"

He didn't know where the thought came from, only that it felt right.

Night after night, his dreams had returned.

 
The same haunting image: Elara, pale and trembling, a glass slipping from her hand. The faint scent of wine and poison. His voice, shouting her name. And darkness. But when he awoke, he always convinced himself, it was just a dream.
"Still… what if it wasn't? What if that dream is a glimpse of what's yet to come?"

"This event, this additional gathering. Maybe it will change things," he whispered, running a hand through his hair. "If I stay near her, nothing will go wrong this time…"

The weight in his chest tightened. This time?

The thought unsettled him. Yet his resolve remained. Protecting Elara felt instinctive, necessary.

He stared at the invitation copies scattered across his desk, unaware that the one addressed to Elara had already reached her.

"I'll be there," he murmured, voice low. "No matter what."

Far beyond the Aurelthar borders, another empire held a council inside a grand obsidian hall. The Emperor sat upon his throne, flanked by the banners of allied kingdoms.

"So," the Emperor said, fingers steepled, "the Aurelthar Empire's Founding Anniversary will commence soon."

One of his advisors bowed slightly. "An invitation addressed to our empire arrived this morning, Your Majesty." The Emperor leaned forward, interest flickering across his sharp eyes.

"How… intriguing," he murmured. "Aurelthar rarely extends invitations this early. Curious."

The butler stepped forward, presenting a sealed scroll upon a silver tray. The Emperor read it in silence, then smiled, faintly, almost amused.

"Tell me," he said, turning toward one of the delegates seated nearby, "would you care to accompany us this time?"
The delegate blinked. "Me, Your Majesty?"

"Why not?" The Emperor's tone was smooth, almost casual. "Aurelthar will be far too occupied entertaining its guests. I doubt they'll notice one more… observer."

A glint of calculation lit his eyes as he rolled the parchment closed.

"Perhaps," he said lightly, amusement threading his voice, "we'll witness something worth remembering. I wonder what expressions they'll wear when they see you—the Veyldans, was it?"