Golden light filled the grand banquet hall of Gravewood estate. Soft music played, harps and violins weaving a melody meant to celebrate joy. The tables overflowed with wine, crystal glasses, and exquisite dishes prepared to honor the union of two powerful families.

This was the celebration after the wedding.

The patriarchs of two great clans of the Dravaryn Kingdom were present, Rowel Bloomward of House Bloomward and Zareth Vilethorn of House Vilethorn. They sat among high-ranking figures and wealthy merchants.

People laughed, glasses touched, and warm greetings were exchanged all around.

Yet at the center of it all—

Evandria Gravewood sat still.

She wore a ceremonial blue gown, more elegant than anything she had ever worn before. Her blue hair was adorned with silver ornaments, her beauty drawing countless glances. But her eyes were empty.

Beside her sat her husband.

Elion Goldleaf.

He wore a crisp black shirt with a high collar. A long black coat draped over his shoulders, adorned with delicate golden embroidery that shimmered beneath the chandeliers. A jeweled brooch rested at his collar, while his perfectly pressed trousers, polished boots, and black gloves completed his dignified presence.

He sat straight and composed, his posture flawless. His black hair fell neatly over his forehead, his cold blue eyes calmly observing the hall. He spoke only when someone spoke to him, and even then his replies were short and measured.

The nobles admired his dignity, merchants respected his power, and to some… he was unsettling in a way they couldn’t explain.

A nobleman leaned closer to his companion, and said, “So that’s him. The man from Aurelith.”

The other nodded slowly, his eyes still on Elion. “The head of the Goldleaf family. They say even Dravaryn thinks twice before crossing him.”

Evandria heard none of it. Her hands rested in her lap, fingers tightly clasped together. So this is it, she thought. A celebration for a marriage I never wanted.

She glanced sideways. Elion hadn't looked at her even once since they entered the hall. Does he even see me as a person? Or am I just another alliance… another advantage to him?

A servant approached, bowing slightly. “My Lord, My Lady—wine.”

Elion nodded once. “Leave it.” His voice was calm.

The servant placed the glasses and retreated.

Evandria stared into the red liquid in her glass. Its surface trembled slightly, perhaps from the music… or maybe from her own unsteady breath.

Across the hall, Balthar Gravewood laughed loudly with the visiting nobles, his voice proud. “The Gravewood and the Goldleaf are now bound,” he declared. “This marriage marks a new era.”

The sound of applause echoed throughout the hall, and Evandria flinched at this unexpected noise. She could feel the weight of someone's gaze on her. She slowly lifted her eyes and found Elion watching her. Not with cruelty, but with a quiet, unreadable stillness, as though he were observing something far too fragile to touch.

Their eyes met, and for one brief moment, the noise of the hall faded. Then Elion looked away. Evandria's chest tightened, as if something had slipped through her fingers. Before she could stop herself, she turned toward him. Her voice was low, sharp, meant only for him.

“Congratulations,” she said quietly. “You got what you paid for.”

Elion’s eyes flicked toward her.

“You probably think you own me now,” she continued, her voice trembling with restrained fury. “But remember this. I will never love you.”

Her fingers clenched the fabric of her dress. Her gaze hardened. “You’re an evil person,” she added bitterly. “And I bet no one has ever loved you either.”

For a moment, Elion said nothing. Then, a soft sound escaped him.

“Tch.”

“It doesn't matter to me," he said coldly, his voice flat. "Whether you love me or not.”

Hearing that, Evandria felt something sink deep inside her chest.

***

Elsewhere in the Hall,

At a quieter corner of the banquet hall, three men stood together, partially hidden by towering pillars and flowing curtains. They were the patriarchs of three of the six great clans of the Dravaryn Kingdom.

Balthar Gravewood.

Zareth Vilethorn.

Rowel Bloomward.

A smirk played at the corner of Zareth Vilethorn's lips, his green eyes sharp and calculating. His long green hair swept neatly to one side, just brushing his brow; the rest was pulled back, clean and controlled.

“Your fortune is truly remarkable,” he said smoothly. “To think, you gained a son-in-law from the Aurelith Kingdom. And not just any… but one with such a reputation.”

He paused, then added casually, “But tell me something, Balthar. I heard you were planning to marry your daughter into House Usher.”

He tilted his head slightly, feigning curiosity. “So why did you suddenly choose the Goldleaf family from Aurelith instead?”

Balthar met his gaze without hesitation. “We are noble families,” he replied evenly. “We must always think about what is good for us, and what is not. Besides… he was the one who came here and asked for this alliance.”

Zareth’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“He placed conditions,” Balthar continued. “Terms so calculated… that I could not refuse.”

Zareth let out a quiet chuckle. “Yeah, yeah,” he said lightly, though his tone carried a subtle edge. “And it’s also good for you, isn’t it?” The way he said it felt deliberate, as if he were pointing at something unspoken, trying to provoke Balthar into revealing more.

But Balthar said nothing. His silence and the cold gleam in his blue eyes alone answered Zareth.

Rowel Bloomward stood with his hands folded behind his back, his posture calm but watchful. His grey hair was neatly combed back, and the years had left quiet lines across his face. His eyes, pale pink with a faint trace of red, were the symbol of House Bloomward.

“Well,” he finally spoke, changing the topic. “I also heard that the Goldleaf name is the most reputable in all of Aurelith. But…”

He lowered his voice.

“…I heard some rumors about him. That his first wife bore the weight of his fury daily. That she never knew a day without pain.”

A wide smile spread across Zareth's lips.

“Not only that,” Rowel said, lowering his voice further. “They also say that he is the one who killed her.”

Balthar did not respond at once. He simply listened, his expression unreadable. “Well,” Balthar finally said, his voice calm yet oddly distant, “no one ever saw her face. No one truly knows what she looked like.”

“Don't you think that's exactly why the rumors might be true?” Rowel Bloomward added. “Because he kept her hidden. He did not even let her step outside.”

Balthar turned his gaze toward the distant glow of the hall. “They are only rumors. And whether they are true or not… it doesn't matter.”

Zareth raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing at his lips. “Really?” he asked. “It doesn't matter to you… even after you lost your first daughter?”

Balthar met his gaze slowly. “Yes,” he replied, his voice cold. “It was unfortunate that I lost her.” He stayed silent for a moment, then added quietly, “But I won't fail this time.”

Silence settled between them. The three patriarchs stood facing one another, their expressions unreadable. Only ambition… and secrets heavy enough to suffocate the air remained between them.