Lila had stared at the invitation for nearly an hour. It rested on her writing desk like a thorned rose—beautiful, deliberate, and undeniably dangerous.
The parchment was heavy, the ink a shade of midnight black that shimmered faintly in the right light. Lady Evelyne's handwriting was pristine, the kind that had been trained into perfection at expensive academies meant to churn out future queens and duchesses.
It was an invitation to a winter soirée.
Elegant. Harmless on the surface.
But Lila knew better than to mistake silk for softness. Especially when it came from a woman like Evelyne Merrow.
She read the line again:
"It would delight me to have your company, dear Lila, as you are a cherished daughter of the realm and a gem long hidden in shadows."
Lila snorted. "A gem she'd like to bury again, more like."
Behind her, the door creaked open, and Cedric's familiar voice drifted in.
"You're still reading that thing?"
Lila turned, gesturing toward the letter. "You think this is a trap, don't you?"
Her father leaned on the doorframe, exhaustion carved into the lines around his mouth. "Every word from that woman's pen is a trap. But this one... this one you'll have to walk into."
"Why?"
"Because if you don't show up, it's surrender. You'll have confirmed that you're afraid, that your house is weak, and that you're no threat to her. And believe me, Lila—she wants you to be a threat. It justifies what she's planning."
Lila pressed her lips together. "What is she planning?"
Cedric's eyes flicked toward the window. Snow was falling again, quiet and slow.
"I don't know," he admitted. "But it's never just a party."
Preparations began that evening.
Lila had precious few gowns left that hadn't faded or frayed. The ones that remained had been worn too often, too plainly.
The winter fête at Castle Merrow would be opulent, teeming with nobles who'd spent the better part of their lives curating the right silks, the sharpest words, the most lethal smiles. Lila wouldn't just be underdressed.
She'd be devoured.
In the corner of her room sat a trunk her mother once used. It held what little was left of her wardrobe from better days. Lila opened it with care, digging past old gloves, tattered shawls—
And then she found it.
A gown.
A deep indigo velvet with silver stitching like constellations. It had been her mother's.
Faintly enchanted to shimmer like starlight when caught under moon or chandelier.
Lila drew in a breath.
She had always been afraid to wear it. Afraid it would be a betrayal. That the memory of her mother would feel too heavy on her shoulders.
But this wasn't about memories anymore. This was survival. And maybe, just maybe, a chance to fight back. The following morning, she found Adrian in the greenhouse—of all places.
He was standing beside a cluster of frost-kissed glass, staring out at the garden below. A strange quiet hung over him, but he didn't look surprised to see her.
"I need to speak to you," she said.
"I know," he replied.
That was... unsettling.
Lila stepped closer, folding her arms. "How do you know?"
Adrian turned to face her. "Because I've already arranged for us to attend."
She blinked. "What?"
"The soirée," he said calmly. "Lady Evelyne's invitation. I received my own this morning."
Lila's stomach twisted. "You're going?"
He tilted his head slightly. "We're going."
Her breath hitched. "You're coming... with me?"
"As your guest. Your date, if you prefer."
Lila stared at him, trying to gauge if he was mocking her. But there was no trace of amusement in his voice. No smirk.
Only certainty.
And that made it worse.
"You can't just—Adrian, if you go with me, it'll stir the court into a frenzy. People will think we're…"
"Good," he interrupted.
She scowled. "Why?"
"Because then no one will see what we're really doing."
She stared at him. "And what are we really doing?"
He didn't answer right away. Instead, he stepped toward her, slowly, deliberately. He wasn't intimidating—not exactly—but he was overwhelming. His presence always had weight, like walking into a storm that hadn't broken yet.
"Lady Evelyne is not simply scheming for social power," he said. "She's trying to control the balance of bloodlines, alliances, magical inheritance. The Hart name is a threat because of what you carry, not just who you are."
Lila felt cold.
"You think she'll attack me?"
"I think she already has," Adrian said. "Every whisper, every discredited alliance, every missing record. She's been dismantling your reputation before you even knew the game had started."
Lila took a shaky breath.
"And now?"
"Now she's watching to see if you'll bite."
He reached into his coat and pulled out a small velvet box. When he opened it, Lila gasped.
Inside lay a silver circlet. Thin, delicate, and wrought with filigree shaped like ivy and stars.
A Hart heirloom.
"My mother's," Adrian said softly. "It'll match the gown you plan to wear."
Lila's chest ached.
"You... knew I'd wear it."
"I hoped you would."
She didn't take it from him. Not yet. It felt like a line—once crossed, she wouldn't be able to step back.
"Why are you helping me?" she asked, voice barely above a whisper. "Really."
Adrian held her gaze.
Because I owe your mother.
Because I made a mistake years ago.
Because I… find myself drawn to you, the current you. Just that scares me, a lot…
He didn't say any of that aloud. Instead, he said, "Because I believe in what you're becoming."
Lila looked away, eyes burning.
That night, as the manor buzzed with silent preparation, Lila found herself standing before her mirror, the gown fitted perfectly to her form, the circlet now resting like moonlight across her brow.
She didn't look like a crumbling noble's daughter.
She looked like something older.
Something powerful.
And for the first time in years, she allowed herself a dangerous thought:
Maybe Lady Evelyne should be afraid.