A southern witch princess, walking into a hall full of vampires.
Kestrel's posture was steady, unbothered, as if this were the most natural thing in the world. Elissa kept her chin level, shoulders square, letting her steps be slow and even. Her heart hammered, but she refused to let her hands shake.
Whispers brushed the edges of the room, too low to catch, but she felt them.
At the high end of the table, Alistair sat on the right side of the empty head chair, the king's place. His eyes found her quickly, assessing—and then there was the slightest nod, approval flickering in his gaze. She had chosen to come.
Kestrel led her forward. She took her own seat directly opposite Alistair, on the left of the king's chair. Then, with a quiet, reassuring touch to Elissa's arm, she guided her into the chair beside her, between Kestrel and Vane.
Vane lounged on Elissa's other side, expression lazy and curious, eyes sharper than his posture suggested.
Further down, on Alistair's right side, Prince Rael Theophilus , the western clan prince, sat fourth from the king's chair. He studied Elissa openly as she took her place—measuring, thoughtful, some private calculation moving behind his eyes.
Beside Prince Rael , Prince Lucius lifted his gaze at the movement.
When Lucius's eyes met hers, he gave her a small, polite smile. It wasn't mocking, nor overly warm—just a quiet acknowledgement. Elissa hesitated, then returned it with a faint, careful smile of her own.
Up by the king's chair, Alistair saw the exchange. His jaw tightened, barely a movement, but enough for anyone watching him closely to notice.
Dante, seated beside Alistair, didn't miss it. His gaze shifted to Elissa, taking in the way she sat straight-backed between Kestrel and Vane, every inch the guest in foreign land but refusing to shrink. He gave her a firm, approving nod.
Elissa's shoulders loosened a fraction. She offered him a small, grateful smile in return.
Further down the table, Endora's attention had been on Alistair from the moment he entered. She saw where his eyes went, saw the tension in his jaw, and her own eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of irritation—or calculation—passing through them.
Beside her, Mack spotted Elissa and brightened immediately, his whole face opening up in a wide, unguarded grin. When she glanced his way, he lifted a hand a little in a half-wave before remembering where he was and dropping it again. Elissa couldn't help it; her smile grew a touch warmer for him than it had for the others.
Princess Veloria, seated near Endora, leaned in and murmured, "looks like she grabbed more attention then ... You". she said under her breath in a tone that sounded amused, possibly unkind. Endora cut her a sharp, warning look.
Veloria only lifted one perfect shoulder in a tiny shrug and looked away, ignoring the rebuke.
On Elissa's other side, Vane shifted slightly, lowering his voice so only she could hear.
"Comfortable, princess?" he asked softly, the hint of a smile playing at his mouth. "No one's tried to bite you yet. That's a good start." He humoured her.
Elissa drew a breath, about to answer—she wasn't comfortable, not really, but she also refused to show it—when the great doors at the far end of the hall swung open.
Conversation dimmed as the king entered, flanked by one of his ministers. The rustle of cloth and the scrape of chairs settling were the only sounds as everyone rose—or straightened—to acknowledge his presence.
After King Valen D'Veltheron took his seat at the head of the table, the hall fell fully silent.
"My lords, ladies, and honored guests," he said, his voice carrying easily to every corner. "Welcome to my hall, and to my castle. May your stay be warm, even if the North is not."
A low ripple of polite laughter moved through the room. Chairs creaked as everyone settled again.
Servants began to move, filling goblets, setting down platters of roasted meat, dark bread, and steaming vegetables. The hall slowly filled with the sounds of cutlery, voices, and fire.
King Valen lifted his cup slightly. "If any of you find yourselves in need of anything during your stay," he added, "you may bring it to Dante or to Vane. They'll see it handled."
Dante inclined his head. "We're at your service," he said to the table at large.
Vane offered an easy, charming half-smile. "Within reason," he drawled lightly, earning a few scattered smirks.
A soft murmur of polite agreement circled the table as guests nodded, thanked the king, and turned back to their plates.
The gossip, however, had not forgotten its favorite subject.
Princess Elissa could feel it—the weight of eyes like a subtle pressure on her skin. Some didn't bother to hide it, staring openly, heads tilted, curiosity and suspicion mingling. Others glanced at her from the corners of their eyes, leaning toward their neighbors to whisper behind lifted hands.
"…so that's the witch from the South…"
"She looks…ordinary."
"That's the dangerous kind."
Elissa kept her gaze on her plate, cutting her food with more care than necessary. Every swallow felt a little heavy, like the food had to push its way past the tightness in her throat.
On her right, Vane lazily intercepted a too-loud whisper from farther down the table.
"I heard she turned a man's blood to—"
"Careful," Vane said smoothly, not even looking at the speaker, his tone pleasant but edged. "Rumors have teeth. They tend to bite the tongues that wag them."
A few chuckles broke out. The would-be gossip fell abruptly silent.
On Elissa's other side, Kestrel calmly fielded another.
"I thought she'd be older," a woman across from her said, eyes flicking over Elissa like she was a puzzle. "Or…stranger."
Kestrel cut a piece of meat with unhurried precision. "Strange is relative," she replied. "To her, we're the ones with fangs and a taste for blood."
The woman flushed and dropped her gaze to her plate.
Elissa hid a small, grateful breath and picked up her cup to give her hands something to do.
Further down, two courtiers pretended not to stare.
"Do you feel anything?" one murmured. "Magic? Power?"
The other shook his head the slightest bit. "Just nerves," he whispered back. "Like anyone standing on thin ice."
Elissa heard none of the words, but she felt the shape of them in the air around her. She focused on the warmth of the cup in her hands, the steady presence of Kestrel's shoulder beside hers, the occasional brush of Vane's sleeve when he reached for something.
On the other side of the table, King Valen spoke briefly with his minister, their voices low but clear enough to reach Alistair.
"The musicians are confirmed?" the king asked.
"Yes, Your Majesty," the minister replied. "They arrived this afternoon. The ballroom is prepared. All we lack are final security placements."
King Valen turned his head slightly. "Alistair."
Alistair looked up. "Your Majesty."
"The patrols for tomorrow night?"
"Already set," Alistair said. "Extra guards at the outer doors and balconies. No one enters without being seen."
King Valen made a small approving sound. "And the guests?"
"Comfortable enough," Alistair said, his gaze drifting briefly—very briefly—to Elissa before returning to the king. "Those who enjoy gossip are well-fed."
King Valen's mouth twitched, almost a smile. "Let them talk," he murmured. "By tomorrow night, they'll have new things to whisper about."
"As you wish," Alistair replied.
Across from him, Dante listened, adding quietly, "The southern delegates have given no trouble. They're curious. Nervous. But respectful."
"Good," king Valen said. "Respect is enough, for now. Trust can come later—or not at all."
The conversation at the high end of the table slid back into logistics: entrances, timing, who would be presented first at the ball. Their words washed past Elissa like a distant current.
She speared a piece of vegetable and forced herself to chew slowly, to breathe. Kestrel's voice drifted to her in a low aside.
"You're doing well," Kestrel murmured without looking at her. "They're loud tonight because they're afraid."
"Of me?" Elissa whispered back, startled.
Kestrel's lips curved faintly. "Of what you might mean."
On her other side, Vane leaned just close enough for his words to reach her alone, his tone light.
"Don't worry," he said softly. "They'll get bored of staring eventually."
"When?" she asked under her breath.
He considered. "Sometime after the ball," he said. "Or when someone does something more scandalous than simply existing." His eyes subtly drifted to opposite side and received a sharp glare.
Elissa huffed a small, unexpected laugh, the tightness in her chest easing by a fraction.
The dinner went on—dishes changed, wine refilled, laughter rising and falling in waves. The gazes didn't vanish, but little by little, they broke apart, drifted to other topics, other targets. Still, a few pairs of eyes kept returning to her.
Including Alistair, when he thought no one was watching.
Under all the talk of tomorrow's ball, beneath the polished surface of northern courtesy, something new was settling into place.