The castle was properly awake now. Servants hurried past with trays and linens, the air alive with low conversation, the clink of crockery, the distant echo of orders called across courtyards. The faint smell of flowers and something pleasant drifted through the corridors.
As they neared the main hall, the murmur of noble voices grew clearer. Laughter here, a too-loud question there.
Just before the last turn, Kestrel appeared from a side passage, boots soft on the stone. Her eyes skimmed over Elissa once and her brows lifted.
"Yellow," Kestrel said. "You're going to give the old ones a fright. They've probably forgotten what that color looks like."
"That seems to be a recurring theme," Elissa said. "Me scaring people by existing."
Kestrel's mouth quirked. "If you're going to haunt a place, you might as well look good doing it."
Martha sniffed. "She looks fine. And if anyone says otherwise, they can speak to me."
"I'd pay to see that," Kestrel murmured.
"Don't encourage her," Elissa said.
Kestrel linked her arm lightly through Elissa's. "Come on, then. Before Martha talks you out of this."
"I tried," Martha muttered. "She's stubborn."
"Good," Kestrel said. "She'll need it."
They stepped through the doors into the dining hall.
The room was bright with morning light, pouring in through tall windows and catching on polished silver, pale stone, and dark wood. The long tables were less crowded than the night before—fewer jewels, fewer heavy cloaks—but the eyes were the same.
Conversations faltered for a heartbeat as Elissa and Kestrel crossed the threshold. Some gazes slid away quickly, pretending disinterest. Others lingered openly.
"Elissa," Kestrel said softly, without looking at her. "Breathe."
"I am," Elissa murmured back. "I think."
Vane lounged near the center of the main table, one arm draped casually along the back of his chair as he chatted with a cluster of nobles. He broke off mid-sentence when he saw them and lifted his hand in greeting, lips curving.
"Princess. Kestrel," he called easily. "You're early. The hall looks better for it."
The nobles near him fell quiet, watching.
Elissa and Kestrel reached their seats. Elissa inclined her head. "Good morning, Lord Vane."
"Don't look so tense," Vane said lightly, his gaze flicking over the table as if daring anyone to comment. "They bite less at breakfast. Usually."
A few of the nobles chuckled, uncertain whether it was a joke at their expense.
"If anyone gives you trouble," he added, voice just loud enough to carry to the nearest listeners, "tell me. I'm in the mood to be unreasonable."
Kestrel snorted as she took her chair. "Careful. If you keep defending her like that, they'll start saying you've gone soft."
Vane smiled lazily. "Let them talk. It gives them something to do besides stare."
Elissa settled into her seat. The bench felt less threatening than it had the night before, but only just.
From her opposite side on the fifth chair , Prince Lucius sat with a cup of something dark cradled between his hands. His posture was relaxed, as if breakfast in an unfamiliar vampire court was the most natural thing in the world.
As Elissa looked up, his gaze was already on her.
"Good morning, Princess Elissa," he said warmly. "I hope the night treated you kindly."
"It didn't bite," she said. "I'll count that as kindness."
Lucius's smile deepened. "In this castle, that is remarkable restraint."
He nodded toward her dress. "You bring color to the table. We may start charging you for the decoration."
"I'll send you a bill," Kestrel snorted with narrow eyes.
Lucius laughed quietly and lifted his cup in a small, appreciative gesture before taking a sip.
Elissa let her gaze move on, careful not to linger on anyone long enough to invite more conversation.
Across the table, Princess Endora watched her with that smooth, polished smile again. In the bright light of morning, Elissa could see more clearly: the angle of her head a little too precise, the warmth in her expression not quite reaching the eyes. No doubt ..she is beautiful, she thought.
"Princess Elissa," Endora said, inclining her head just enough. "You grace our mornings now as well as our evenings."
"Your Highness," Elissa replied, dipping her head in a small bow from where she sat. "It seemed better not to hide."
A few nearby nobles chuckled at that.
Endora's smile remained, but something flickered in her gaze—measuring, weighing. "Courageous," she said softly. "Or very well-trained."
"Perhaps both," Elissa answered, her tone polite but cool.
There was something in Endora's look that made her skin itch, as if she were a specimen on a scholar's table. Unsettling. She forced herself not to fidget under it.
She dropped her gaze, then lifted it again—and met Prince Rael's eyes as he entered the hall.
The western heir paused just inside, scanning the room with that quick assessment of someone used to foreign courts. His gaze flicked past the northern nobles, his fellow guests, the empty king's seat—and then landed on her.
The faintest hint of a smile touched his mouth.
He bowed his head in her direction, not deeply, but unmistakably. "Princess," he called lightly as he moved toward his place. "You've braved our hall again. I'm relieved. It would have been a pity if last night had scared you away before the ball."
"Good morning, Prince Rael," Elissa replied, giving him a small, seated bow. "I've decided to be scared after breakfast, not before."
That won a little wave of soft laughter from some who were listening. Rael's eyes glinted.
"A wise order of priorities," he said, and took his seat.
Martha, from her post along the wall with the attendants, watched all of this with narrowed eyes. Every glance at Elissa she catalogued, every too-bright smile, every too-long look.
Her hands itched for a wooden spoon to whack a few heads with.
A few minutes later, Dante entered with Prince Alistair at his side.
In the clearer daylight, Alistair looked less like a shadow at the king's shoulder and more like what he was: the living spine of the North. His dark hair was tied back, his clothes simpler than the guests', but the quiet authority in him filled the space around him more surely than any jewels could.
The hum of conversation dipped as they crossed to the high table.
Dante broke away first, dropping into his chair not far from Elissa with an ease born of long familiarity with these walls.
He glanced at her, brow creasing just a little. "Princess," he said in a low voice meant only for her. "You look…better than I expected."
"That sounds like an insult," she said.
"It isn't," he replied. "You held up well last night. Not everyone does. I wanted to be sure you weren't going to faint into your porridge."
"I'll try to disappoint you," Elissa said dryly.
Dante huffed a quiet laugh. "Good."
He gave a small nod, a tiny, almost awkward sign of approval, then turned his attention to something Vane was saying.
Alistair didn't sit immediately.
He paused at the head of the table, standing in the thin shaft of light that cut across the hall. His gaze slid over the room, taking in guests and family, noting absences, cataloguing who sat closer to whom.
When his eyes reached Elissa, they lingered.
He took in the yellow, the steady line of her back, the fact that she was here at all and not hiding upstairs. She felt the weight of that look and, for a moment, forgot how to breathe.
Their eyes met.
There was something there—approval, maybe. Or simple scrutiny. Or a question she didn't yet understand.
By the time she tried to read it, whatever it was had smoothed away. Alistair shifted his attention to the rest of the hall.
"My father is occupied this morning," he said, his voice carrying clearly without needing to be raised. "There are matters that require his attention before tonight's ball. He sends his regrets that he can't share this meal with you, and his thanks for your presence in his home."
A few of the older nobles murmured politely. Some of the guests exchanged brief glances, measuring the meaning behind "occupied."
"In the meantime," Alistair went on, "you will have to suffer breakfast without him. If there is anything you lack, bring it to Lord Dante, and he will see to it."
"Delegated already," Vane murmured under his breath. "Efficient."
Dante shot him a look that said he'd heard that perfectly.
Alistair gave the tables a final, small nod. Then he sat, the subtle tension in the room easing as cutlery lifted and conversations resumed.
At Elissa's place, Martha's hand brushed briefly against her arm as she poured tea—a tiny, grounding touch.
"Head up," Martha murmured so only she could hear. "You're doing fine."
Elissa wrapped her fingers around her cup, letting the warmth soak into her hands. The hall was still full of eyes and whispers and hidden barbs.
But she was here. In yellow. Not running. Not hiding.
She took a breath that felt a little like claiming space in a room that did not want to give it.
Whatever the ball brought tonight, at least this morning she had met the day on her feet.