Riven groaned as she collapsed onto her bed, already exhausted despite the early hour. Ever since Eirlys's tea party, Riven found herself flooded with invitations to events that were little more than elaborate displays of Vassorian nobility’s predictable dance of ambition. Each gathering had its charm but the novelty wore off quickly, and Riven could feel the subtle scrutiny from every hostess.

Even worse, it did little to increase her pool of suitors. She had heard Noela whispering with another maid that apparently the Marquess had increased his offer for Riven to marry his son, but her father was still hesitant, for good reason. Even if the Marquess didn't care, it would be reckless to tie their family’s fate to a man so closely allied with Emperor Lirian’s ambitions. Their family always got by on being “just important enough”, and Riven marrying into the Marques’s family would jeopardize that.

“Not to mention getting me killed sooner,” Riven muttered into her pillow, her thoughts drifting through the bleak options she had left. It was maddening; she’d made a place for herself within these courtly circles only to realize how little it would actually change. Unless she could align herself with a powerful family independent of the emperor’s tighter circle, no suitor would shield her from Calia’s revenge.

She sat up, frustration gnawing at her as she turned over the situation in her mind. If marriage alone wouldn’t be enough, she’d need a second way to ensure her escape if her plans within Vassoria fell short. But doing so meant having access to funds without drawing her family’s attention, which was nearly impossible with Taryn holding the family purse strings. She could hardly ask for anything without justifying every coin. On top of that, she was still a child in this world. She still had several months until her twentieth birthday, but it would not be a good day; it was then that Calia would attack the capital and everything would spiral from there.

“Your thoughts are too loud,” Riven frowned as Myelia hopped up onto her bed, settling comfortably atop the silk coverlet with an expression that somehow managed to look both regal and mildly annoyed. The cat flicked her tail, fixing Riven with those keen silver eyes that seemed to glow faintly in the room's dim light.

“Well, if you’d like to be helpful instead of judging me, I’d appreciate it,” Riven muttered, half-joking as she reached out to scratch Myelia’s ears. The goddess tilted her head slightly, accepting the attention with a low, contented hum. “After all, if I die again, so does your only hope of gaining power.”

“Hmm, true,” the goddess agreed, her tail flicking thoughtfully as she settled into a more comfortable position. “However, if you truly need assistance, perhaps you should spend less time complaining and more time listening.”

“Listening…?” Riven repeated, trying to think back to the events of the day. Not much had happened, other than responding to invitations with her mother and then she spent some time with her governess learning etiquette. Of course she had heard some of the servants gossiping about…

“Of course,” she whispered, eyes brightening. How could she forget about that? “The tournaments.”

Vassoria’s grand tournaments, held annually to celebrate the empire’s legacy and strength, were events unlike any other in the realm. Noble-sponsored knights from across the empire would participate, each one vying for fame, favor, and fortune. The tournament was the perfect stage for a rising knight to gain prestige and, for the winning knight, an even greater reward.
            A boon from the emperor himself.

It was the grand tournaments Calia had used to sneak her army into Vassoria, even entering the tournament herself as one of the knights under a disguise. She would be the one to win and then demand her uncle to give her back the throne, but Riven didn’t need to win. She just needed a knight to compete, to win enough matches to garner a reasonable sum and to be willing to share some of those winnings with her.

“I’d need a knight to sponsor, one who won’t care that I can’t sponsor him officially…” Riven murmured, running through the knights and nobles she’d encountered recently. Most of the available knights were already backed by their own families or powerful patrons; proud, competitive men who sought only glory and would hardly think to share prize winnings with someone as obscure as her. And even if she could find an eager young knight, how many would be willing to keep their arrangement a secret? “He might…”

“Hmm?” Myelia chirped, but Riven had already jumped out of her bed, quickly slipping out of her gown and into one of her simple dresses. The National Tournament had ended a few weeks before the spring debut, but the next season was about to start. To qualify for the final round, a knight had to compete in all four previous tournaments and win. If she wanted any chance of earning as much as possible, she had no time to waste.

As soon as she was dressed, Riven took a deep breath, throwing the cloak around her shoulders as she gave Myelia a bright smile. “I wish I was at the knight’s barracks at the Taren Duchy.”

The cat’s eyes began to glow brightly as Riven was enveloped in bright silver light, and, in a blink, the familiar shadows of her room melted away. She felt a faint shimmer of energy settle over her, followed by a cool, gentle breeze as the light faded. Riven found herself standing just outside a small cluster of stone buildings on the Taren estate. It was quieter here, the soft glow of twilight allowing Myelia’s stars to twinkle above.

The faint clang of steel caught her attention, guiding her down a narrow, winding path flanked by hedges and lined with scattered torches. She slipped into the shadows near the edge of the practice field, where the soft sound of swords clashing grew more distinct.

In the clearing, Elias was sparring with another knight, his movements quick and fluid, marked by a precision that made Riven pause. His strikes held a restrained elegance, a combination of power and control that suggested years of rigorous training. He parried each blow from his opponent with a calculated ease, his expression focused and unbothered, as if this were simply an exercise rather than a full match.

Riven watched in quiet awe. It was one thing to catch glimpses of knights sparring during tournaments or in training circles, but another to see someone skilled at his level up close. She hadn’t expected him to be this adept, and it lent her more confidence in the plan taking shape in her mind. Even if he couldn’t beat Calia, he would definitely be able to win enough matches to earn her the funds she needed.

The match ended with a low murmur of approval from a few nearby onlookers, and Riven slipped a little further back into the shadows, considering how best to approach him. She wanted this proposal to sound enticing yet innocuous; for all he knew, she was still just another young lady of Vassoria’s court, caught up in the grandeur of the tournament without the kind of stakes she was privately placing on it.

But before she could move from her hidden spot, Elias glanced in her direction, his gaze sharp and unerring even in the dim light.

“You can come out, Lady Riven,” he called, voice steady, though a hint of amusement tugged at his lips. “If you mean to keep watching, you might as well do so up close.”

“Forgive me,” she said, doing her best to muster an innocent expression. “I only came to see if the rumors were true about the talent of the knights here.

“So curious that you would sneak onto the land of a duke?” Elias didn’t even try to hide his disbelief as he sheathed his sword, his gray eyes glinting with something between amusement and mild reproach. Riven straightened, doing her best to adopt an air of polite defiance rather than guilt. “I’d appreciate it if you were simply honest.”

“And here I thought a subtle approach would be more appropriate,” Riven chuckled, noting the slight way Elias’s lips twitched at her throwing his words back at him. He bowed his head as she reached him, before motioning that they move from the courtyard. They only walked a short way to a more private space between the buildings, where the distant hum of practice and voices faded to a quiet backdrop.

“I have a rather... unorthodox proposal for you,” Riven began, keeping her tone light but steady as she regarded him. “As you know, nobles are allowed to sponsor knights for the grand tournaments and registration will soon close for the first set of matches.”

“And?”

“And, I’m proposing that I sponsor you,” she said simply. A flicker of surprise crossed Elias's face, but he remained silent, studying her with those cool gray eyes that seemed to assess more than her words alone. His brows lifted slightly, skepticism shadowing his expression as he processed her proposal.

“Sponsoring a knight is no small matter, Lady Riven,” he said cautiously, folding his arms across his chest. “It’s a costly endeavor, and unless your family holds particular expectations in the tournament's outcome, they might not support the expense.”

Riven gave a small nod, anticipating his objection. She was prepared for this line of questioning; it was part of why she’d chosen him. She needed someone capable of winning without a traditional noble sponsorship and who might not care much for the usual courtly entanglements.

“That’s precisely why I chose you,” she replied, keeping her tone level and matter-of-fact. “In fact, I’m hoping to avoid my family’s involvement. I’ll provide you with an initial sponsorship amount, and you will keep the earnings. I ask only for a small portion of the winnings for each victory. Enough to cover my sponsorship and… a modest return.”

“Are you planning to run away, Lady Riven?” Elias’s blunt question caught Riven off guard and she could tell from his expression that lying would not get her the answer she needed. Riven hesitated, finally sighing heavily. Surely a partial truth would do?

“Her Imperial Highness is planning to return,” Riven whispered, doing her best to appear nervous as she spoke. She didn’t dare to look back up to see Elias’s expression, hoping to sell herself as scared and worried. “My father won’t listen to me, but I know my cousin won’t be happy that my family didn’t do anything to stop her father’s death. I just… want to live.”

Silence filled the early night air, and she knew Elias was considering the weight of her words. If she was telling the truth, then her reasoning made sense and Elias would also be ensuring himself a way out if he was caught up in Calia’s revenge. But–

“How do you know?” That simple question made Riven freeze, and she felt her pulse quicken. She’d anticipated curiosity, even skepticism, but not this level of direct scrutiny. Lying would only invite further questions, and so, exhaling softly, she carefully chose her words.

“I will admit they are little more than rumors, but I have reason to believe them more than most,” Riven admitted quietly, folding her hands in front of her to project a calm she didn’t quite feel. She finally chanced a look up, almost immediately wishing she hadn’t.

Elias was watching her with an intense look, but she couldn’t deny that he looked… intrigued. There was a flicker in his steely gaze that suggested he wasn’t entirely skeptical. He seemed, if anything, quietly fascinated, as though he were turning over her words in his mind, weighing them with a patience she hadn’t expected.

“Find proof and I’ll help you.”