The night of the gala arrived like a storm behind silks and silver.
Vaelthra's palace glittered like a jeweled beast. Lanterns glowed with magefire in crimson and gold, casting shifting reflections across the polished marble of the courtyard. Nobles arrived in a cascade of carriages, silks flowing like water, laughter trailing behind perfume and powdered egos.
Cael adjusted the his suit, then glanced at Rhosyn. She was radiant in crimson and obsidian, her usual rough outfit replaced by a sweeping velvet dress and a choker that glittered like a knife's edge. Confidence was armor on her, and she wore it well.
"I think the suit is a bit tight around my butt" Cael tries to adjust his pants.
"Don't talk," she whispered, looping her arm around his. "You're my hired blade and lover-boy. Stick to being my obedient servant and let me do the lying."
He grunted his reply, eyes scanning the guards along the walls. No gaps in patrols. No sloppy rookies. The place was locked tighter than a fortress, despite its festive façade.
The two approach the gate where a guard inspected the invitations. Rhosyn hands over two forged invitations and the guard looks at Cael.
"Who is your companion?" The guard asked while looking at Cael
"He's my lover and I will not have him be disrespected by a mere castle guard"
"I'm sorry ma'am please go on in"
Their forged invitation passed inspection.
Inside, the palace was a hive of opulence—gold chandeliers, string quartets, and enough wine to drown a village. Rhosyn immediately began weaving through the crowd, smiling, laughing, whispering into ears, brushing hands with people who carried secrets in their pockets.
Cael drifted along the edges. Watching. Waiting.
And he felt it again.
That thrum.
Closer now. Sharper. Like something brushing against his soul.
The shardbearers were here. Somewhere in this palace. Behind some mask, in some private room or maybe a high balcony.
His gaze moved across the crowd.
"Who?"
Was it the noble with the feathered mask and the sly smirk? The armored man who stood too still, too poised for a mere guest? The young woman who kept to the edges, eyes always searching?
He couldn't tell. The fragments of the World Heart weren't loud—they were subtle, like a whisper just below hearing.
But they were close.
Cael didn't speak. He didn't draw attention. Instead, he watched for patterns. For signs.
Rhosyn returned to him after nearly half an hour, whispering, "There's a treasury room below the main hall. We could make a play for it after the second round of wine."
Cael barely reacted.
"You're not listening," she said.
"I am," he murmured. Then his eyes scanned the chandeliers, the guard rotations. "The we do this quick."
Rhosyn blinked. "Good"
Cael moved beneath silk and chandeliers, trailing behind the murmurs of nobles and the tinkling of laughter over wine. Every few steps, his fingers brushed past a coin pouch or an unattended satchel—an art he hadn't quite mastered. Once, a noble glanced his way, but Cael faded back into the crowd before suspicion could bloom.
The results were meager. A few silver pieces. A small brooch. A folded note he didn't have time to read.
Across the hall, Rhosyn was a different story.
She flowed through the crowd like crimson smoke, her fingers moving faster than most could blink. Rings, coins, loose earrings—gone before their owners felt the shift of weight. She twirled, laughed, curtsied, and all the while tucked treasure after treasure into the hidden folds beneath her dress.
She'd made enough in one hour to vanish for a decade if she chose.
Cael glanced at her with quiet admiration—and a little unease.
She was too good at this.
Then it happened.
Rhosyn reached toward a woman in a dress like frost-spun moonlight, her white hair cascading like fresh snow. The woman didn't flinch or react like the others had.
She moved.
With speed and precision, the white-haired woman caught Rhosyn's wrist mid-motion.
There was no fear in her eyes.
Only recognition.
"You're either very brave," the woman said, voice like cold steel, "or very stupid."
Rhosyn blinked, caught off guard—for the first time that night. She tried to tug her arm free, but the woman's grip was unyielding.
Cael was already moving.
"Maire?" Cael moved through the crowd. He stepped in between them, placing a hand on the woman's wrist—not threatening, just enough to draw her eyes to him.
"Wait," he said quietly.
The Maire's gaze slid to him. Sharp. Studying. And then her grip relaxed.
Recognition flickered in her eyes.
"You," she said softly. "The new one. From the hold."
Cael didn't reply. Not yet. Not with so many ears around them.
Rhosyn looked between them, rubbing her wrist. "Okay… you two know each other?"
Maire said nothing. But her expression said everything.
She knew exactly why he was here.
"Looks like you survived long enough to get here" Maire looks at Cael with a cold look.
Cael looks at her confidently and looks back to Rhosyn.
"This here is Rhosyn, she's a friend and Rhosyn meet Maire, she's uhhh"
"An acquaintance by chance" Maire said coldly
"Hi I'm Rhosyn the girl whose wrists you almost crushed"
Before Cael or Maire could speak, a sudden hush swept through the grand hall like a wave smothering a flame.
A trumpet call echoed.
"All rise," the herald's voice rang. "His Grace, King Alric the Fourth. Her Majesty, Queen Elenya of Vaelthra. And Her Radiance, Princess Thalia."
The ballroom stood still—glittering nobles and veiled schemers all frozen like painted statues.
Cael turned.
Maire turned.
Rhosyn turned—but not in reverence.
From the twin marble staircases above the thrones, three figures emerged.
The king wore a ceremonial blade. The queen, tall and regal, moved with practiced grace. But it was the princess that commanded all attention.
Thalia.
Youthful, delicate, beautiful—but with eyes far too old for her face. Her gown shimmered like dawn caught in crystal, and around her neck—
A necklace.
Gold and sapphire.
Rhosyn stared at it, lips pressing tight. Her gaze hardened not with awe, but with hate. Her fingers twitched near her waist, where one of her hidden blades was tucked.
But to Cael and Maire, the sight was something else entirely.
It was confirmation.
A wave pulsed through them both. Faint, like the echo of thunder in a distant canyon—but undeniable.
The pull of the Heart.
The shard.
Cael didn't even need to look at Maire to know she felt it too. The Princess... she was one of the Twelve Shardbearers.
And she had no idea what was inside her.
Or who had just walked into her court.
Rhosyn notices Cael having an odd look.
"You okay honey?"
"Yeah I'm fine… and don't call me that, it's weird"
Rhosyn grabs Cael's arm.
"Awww I do adore you being shy honey"
Maire stares at the two with a cold look and slight disgust
"I'm going after the princess"
Cael looks to Maire while covering Rhosyn's ears.
"Cael?" Rhosyn looking at him hearing muffled. Cael looks to Maire.
"So how are we doing this?"
"No… she's my mark, you find the other shard bearer"
Cael looks with a look of confusion.
"What? Shouldn't we be working together? And how are you even gonna convince her to come with us?"
"I'm not, I'm going to kidnap her"
Cael's mouth gapes wide open.
"Kidnap? The princess of an entire kingdom? Are you somehow insane"
"The longer we delay the higher the chance the false flame will take her"
Cael gave Maire a sidelong glance, his brows furrowed. "False flame?" he said, voice low beneath the thrum of music and nobles' laughter.
"I don't even know what that is. I just heard it the first time when that bird talked about it when I just woke up. You act like this is all common knowledge."
Maire's eyes stayed locked on the princess—on Thalia—standing radiant near the throne, flanked by guards and nobility. "Ardan should've briefed you," she muttered, her voice like steel wrapped in silk. "But then again, Ardan's idea of training is letting fire teach you not to burn."
She finally turned to look at Cael. "The false flame is the corruption. It mimics the world heart's power. It twists shardbearers. Makes them unstable, violent, broken. The longer we wait, the more it festers. You think we have time to talk them into coming with us?"
Cael tensed. "So you're just going to take her? A princess. In a palace. Surrounded by guards."
Maire smirked, not amused, but resigned. "Yes. Because we don't have the luxury of diplomacy. You don't know what happens when they break, Cael. I've seen it."
There was silence between them as Thalia laughed softly at something her mother whispered. The glow of the chandelier lit her necklace—the shard—like a second sun.
"She doesn't look broken," Cael murmured.
"Not yet," Maire said, her expression hardening. "But the cracks always come."
Then she added, almost under her breath, "If Ardan doesn't start telling you more, it'll be your grave you walk back to next."
"I'll make sure he does next time I see him."
"The other shard bearer is still here, you deal with that"
She melted into the crowd, already stalking the edge of the ballroom with silent intention.
Cael was left staring at Thalia, unsure whether he was about to become a rescuer… or an accomplice to a royal abduction.
Cael let's go of Rhosyn's ears.
"What was that for?"
"A private talk with an acquaintance"
"Well change of plans we're not going to the treasure room anymore"
Cael looks at Rhosyn confused again.
"I'm going to steal the princess's necklace"
Cael stares at her unresponsive.
"Cael? hello? Sal Helios to Cael?"
Cael looks down at the floor then back to Rhosyn.
"I need a drink"
The music was soft and regal, lilting across the marble floors like wind brushing the surface of a still lake. Golden chandeliers bathed the palace hall in a gentle glow, and nobles in silk and velvet twirled in slow spirals as if untouched by the weight of the world outside the gilded gates.
Cael stood, posture relaxed but eyes scanning with sharp intent. His clothes, though fitting for the occasion thanks to Rhosyn's fast fingers and faster connections, still felt unnatural. They clung to him wrong, too clean, too ornamental for a man used to wearing purpose.
Then it happened. A servant passed by—a girl, perhaps no older than twenty. She carried herself with trained grace, her tray balanced effortlessly, the weight of a dozen wine glasses seeming insignificant in her hands. She offered one to him with a nod, eyes lowered in practiced deference. He reached out—
Their hands brushed.
In that brief instant, a pulse ran through Cael's arm and into his chest. Something primal stirred in the deepest part of him. It wasn't pain, nor heat. It was resonance—like a tuning fork struck against his soul. Time seemed to slow. His heart didn't skip a beat, but rather changed rhythm.
She was a Shardbearer.
The realization struck him silently, violently. His gaze snapped to her face, but she was already walking away, as if nothing had happened. She glided past a knot of chatting aristocrats, offering drinks to a fat baron whose rings glittered more than his teeth. Not once did she look back.
A quiet voice broke his trance.
"So…" Rhosyn drawled beside him, eyebrow raised. "That your type?"
Cael blinked. "What?"
"Cute brunettes with tray skills and good posture." She leaned casually against the pillar next to him, swirling her own drink lazily. "Should I be worried?"
He exhaled, masking the sudden surge of adrenaline. "Be serious, Rhosyn."
Rhosyn's teasing grin faded into something more serious, but she kept her tone light. "And she just so happened to offer you a drink." She took a slow sip from her glass. "Sounds like fate. Or bad writing."
Cael gave her a side glance. "Guess redheads who smell like sewer water just don't have the same charm."
Rhosyn gasped theatrically, clutching her chest. "You wound me. I drag you through the underbelly of the city, show you how to steal, even let you share my bath—and this is how you repay me?"
He smiled faintly despite the tension in his shoulders. "You forgot the part where you tried to stab me when we first met."
"I stab a lot of people. You were just skilled that you caught me… and I liked your eyes."
Their banter faded into silence as they both looked across the ballroom. Cael's eyes drifted again to the servant girl—now gone, lost in the sea of nobles, guards, and musicians. He felt the lingering echo of her presence like a heartbeat beneath the floor.
Two Shardbearers. One radiant, seated beneath a golden crown. The other a phantom, hiding in plain sight.
He glanced toward the throne again, where the princess—Thalia—still sat, her necklace catching the light like a flare. And now this girl, the servant, the brunette…
Too many pieces on the board. Too many unknowns.
Cael brought the glass to his lips and drank, but the taste barely registered.
The city had seemed like a place to start over. Now it was clear: this was a battlefield, dressed in perfume and silk.
And war had a funny way of finding him, even when he wasn't looking for it.
"It's either the princess or the servant girl..." Cael sighs as if he had enough.
"Here we go then"