“Have you lost your hearing, Riven?”

Riven turned slowly, her body still adjusting to the surreal warmth of the grand hall. Her fingers curled reflexively, brushing against the smooth fabric of the gown she wore. It was a soft silk dyed in the rich blue that marked House Marlowe’s colors, layered with a white provide that peaked from underneath the fabric.

She finally looked up to see her father, Lord Evander Marlowe, standing before her with his usual stern, calculating gaze. His expression was a mask of impatience, though a glimmer of something else flickered in his eyes before he masked it under his usual dispassion. Beside him stood Taryn, her older brother, his features reflecting the same reserved severity as their father’s, his mouth set in a firm line as he observed her with a critical eye. The familial resemblance was uncanny; both men possessed the Marlowe sharpness, a quality that made them appear as though they were assessing everything and everyone, weighing usefulness against risk.

Riven remembered how she had originally considered their adherence to such values ridiculous; their family was so minor in the story that Lord Marlowe’s name had only been mentioned once, and as for Taryn, he’d been even less significant in the novel; a mere shadow in the background. Yet here they stood, dominating the grand hall as though they were its very center. Before, Riven had merely played the part of a frail daughter, only breaking the rules to try and see the major events of the novel for herself. That had led to her starving in a cell, a prisoner and enemy to the very princess she admired so much.

"Father, Taryn," she murmured, testing her voice, which sounded both foreign and achingly familiar to her own ears. The silk gown swayed as she shifted, and the unfamiliar weight of her hair, styled high and intricately woven with tiny sapphire pins, reminded her just how much she’d forgotten. 

"You were expected at least an hour ago, Riven. Must we remind you every time what this evening means for our family?" Taryn’s expression remained stern and his tone was heavy with a sense of duty, though he looked at her with something akin to curiosity.

“And here you stand as though half-dazed,” Lord Evander added, glancing at her with scrutiny. “If you are not prepared, then perhaps you do not comprehend the importance of your debut.”

“I understand Father,” Riven answered, the memories flooding her mind. So, she had been sent back to the day of her societal debut, the day when she should have become more important, but as was fitting for a side character, she remained in the shadows. The event had been mentioned in the book, but only because Calia would attend in disguise, gathering information on the families who remained. 

It was a good time to start changing things.

“It seems I had a moment of weakness, but the moment has passed,” Riven waved away, using an excuse she often gave when focused on remembering all the events of the novel. It had caused everyone to believe she had a weak constitution, but now, it would work as an excuse for her future endeavors.“I will go to Mother immediately.”

“See that you do,” Lord Evander agreed, his gaze shifting toward her with a mix of irritation and faint approval. “The Marlowe name is not one to tarnish with carelessness, Riven. I’ve made sacrifices to see us where we are, and it’s your duty to uphold that position tonight.”

She inclined her head, and without another word, she turned to leave, catching the curious flicker in Taryn’s eyes as he tracked her movements. He was suspicious, perhaps reading more in her movements than before. She remembered him as fiercely loyal to their father and family status, his sense of duty rigid to the point of austerity. But he’d always been protective of her too, in the same distant way as the rest of the family.

“I need to try this time,” Riven started to whisper to herself as soon as she was out of earshot of her father and brother, trying to consider how she could change her fate. There wasn’t much she could do about her family ties to Calia’s uncle; her mother was a second cousin to both the late and current emperor, although her father was only an earl. They had wanted Riven to find a husband that could neither elevate their family or help maintain that status, but she had avoided every attempt at marriage back then by playing the delicate, disinterested daughter. 

Riven paused as she walked by a mirror, taking a moment to examine her appearance. She had bright pink eyes, so bright that Riven always found it almost impossible to believe that she didn’t have magic in her blood. She knew her dark hair was wavy when she wore it down, and it was piled atop her head with far more elegance than she had seen in years. Now, those soft eyes that had once been filled with awe at seeing her favorite characters were filled with an intensity she hadn’t remembered possessing, a silent promise to survive.

Riven’s mind raced with half-formed plans and fragments of the story, but her thoughts stilled when she arrived at the doors to her mother’s private quarters. She took a deep breath, steeling herself. It still felt like years since she had seen her mother, recalling how Lady Althea had begged Calia to spare them, reminding her that they were family. Riven's hand hesitated on the polished handle of the heavy door, memories of her mother’s last moments with her flashing through her mind. Lady Althea Marlowe had always been a composed, dignified figure, her grace a mask that rarely cracked. But in Riven's final memories of her, her mother had looked almost unrecognizable, her features twisted with desperate, pleading fear as she’d tried to bargain for their lives. 

Riven shuddered, shaking off the memory. That end hadn’t come yet; maybe, with enough caution and a little foresight, she could avoid that fate for herself and for her entire family. She took a deep breath and pressed a trembling hand to her chest as she smoothed her expression into something calm, collected. Everyone would think it too strange if she suddenly started acting differently, so she would have to play into the role she had created for herself, for now. 

Lady Marlowe stood near the large open windows, her silhouette framed against the fading light as if she were part of the elaborate tapestries that hung around her. Lady Althea’s figure was unmistakable; poised, impeccably dressed in deep violet silks, and every inch of her presence radiated a careful, controlled elegance. She turned, her gaze lingering briefly on Riven as she entered, her expression showing only the faintest hint of surprise before it resumed its usual placid composure.

“Riven, you’ve finally come. I was beginning to wonder if I would need to have someone fetch you,” her mother said, her tone delicate yet with an undercurrent of mild reproach, the kind reserved for minor breaches in decorum. Riven noted the way her mother’s gaze swept over her dress, clearly not surprised that her daughter was not ready. “Luckily, it seems you’ve arrived just in time for you to get ready.”

“Yes, Mother–”

“Now, Althea, give the girl some space. It’s not every day a young girl has her debut,” Riven’s head spun to see the source of the new voice, unable to help her surprise. There had not been anyone with her mother the last time she visited her mother’s quarters on this fateful day, and yet here stood a stranger with her. A woman who didn’t belong. 

“You must be Riven,” the woman said, her tone carrying a touch of mirth, though her words were gentle. “I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of meeting yet, but I have heard quite a lot about you.”

The woman was dressed in a sophisticated gown of midnight blue, lined with intricate silver embroidery that gleamed subtly as she moved. Her posture was relaxed yet dignified, and her gaze held a glint of both amusement and warmth as she studied Riven with an interest that felt almost… familiar. She moved gracefully, her hand extending slightly, though she did not reach forward, as if giving Riven the space to approach. Her features bore a resemblance to the Marlowe line, but there was an intensity in her eyes that set her apart: a spark that made her appear both mysterious and a touch dangerous.

“Riven,” Lady Althea said, her voice soft but tinged with a faintly reproachful tone, “this is your aunt, Idrina Marlowe. She has returned from the north to attend your debut, and possibly to stay for some time with us.”

Aunt Idrina? Riven searched her memories, but this woman did not exist in her previous life, nor had she appeared in any of the plotlines of The Silver Throne. Since she carried the Marlowe last name, she had to have married into the family, but as far as Riven knew, her father had no siblings. Was she even more distantly related to them then? Riven finally took a step forward, inclining her head slightly, doing her best to mask her unease behind a careful, polite expression.

“It’s an honor to meet you, Aunt Idrina,” she said, keeping her voice as steady as she could manage, though her mind buzzed with questions. Had Idrina been at the debut before and she had simply been too focused on seeing Calia that she hadn’t noticed?

“Come on, Riven. Your servants have a lot to do before we leave,” Lady Althea ordered and Riven nodded again, turning to follow her mother with her guest as they made their way to her room. Even as she walked down the halls, she couldn’t get the sudden appearance of this Aunt Idrina out of her head.