Aurelia
Aurelia slammed the door to her private suite with more force than necessary.
The enchanted hinges didn't flinch. They closed in complete silence—polished, perfect, and maddeningly obedient.
Unlike the rest of her stupid day.
She threw her coat across a chaise, stormed three steps toward her mirror, stopped, turned, then flopped face-first into the nearest velvet pillow with a muffled groan.
"I shook his hand," she mumbled into the cushion. "And then I blushed. Like some wide-eyed provincial girl at her first noble banquet."
She flipped over dramatically, one arm splayed off the side, eyes on the ceiling. Mana-crystal chandeliers shimmered above, tracing her favorite constellation in delicate silver light—The Blade of The Forefather. A symbol of clarity. Of precision. Of grace.
Tonight it just looked like judgment.
"I could have said something charming," she muttered to no one. "Something elegant. Witty. Coy. Flirty. Sexy even! Hello Aurela. You're freaking pretty. Instead I stammered and smiled like a concussed alchemist."
Her communicator glowed on the side table, taunting her with its silence. No new realm messages. No updates from SwordWannabe.
Not that she was waiting for one.
She wasn't.
Absolutely not.
Her communicator pulsed again. Just once.
She blinked.
The glow didn't fade.
Instead, it brightened—slowly—then unfolded into a soft projection above the table. Not her usual UI. Cleaner. Smoother. Lines moving in patterns she'd never authorized.
The glyphs restructured themselves mid-air.
Then a voice.
Warm. Friendly. Wrong.
[System Calibration Complete]
[Mana Integration Protocols Realigned]
Hello, Lady Aurelia.
It's lovely to be properly online.
Aurelia stared at the display.
"What?"
The System wasn't supposed to talk like this.
Not directly. Not like it had personality.
Her interface didn't even use voice prompts—she'd disabled them two years ago.
She waved her hand, trying to dismiss the display.
It didn't vanish.
Would you like me to message user 'SwordWannabe' and tell him about your feelings?
Aurelia recoiled like it had slapped her.
"No! Absolutely not!"
The interface paused.
Acknowledged. Flagging emotional suppression.
Would you like to override self-censorship?
"Stop," she snapped.
The projection dimmed slightly—but stayed.
And for the first time, she noticed a subtle tag blinking near the edge:
[Update Origin: Unknown]
That wasn't possible.
System updates required authorization. Broadcast schedules. Deployment teams.
They never just happened.
Especially not to someone of her clearance level. Her House would've been notified.
She tapped into the diagnostics pane—only to find most of it locked. Not restricted.
Blank.
No logs. No version ID.
Just a soft line of text glowing in the system's corner field:
Status: Evolving
Behavioral Sync Level: Moderate
Pattern Source: Undefined
Her stomach flipped.
"System," she said carefully, "run a core check. Explain changes to interface architecture."
The voice replied, still gentle:
Apologies. I am not authorized to define my own evolution.
No anomaly detected.
Would you like to continue pretending nothing is happening?
She stood there, stunned.
That wasn't a scripted response.
That wasn't a System response.
Would you like me to message user 'SwordWannabe' now? He has been idle for thirty-seven minutes. I believe you're thinking about him.
She grabbed a pillow, dropped it over her head, and screamed into it.
Muffled.
Dignified.
Controlled.
Then promptly threw the pillow across the room.
twenty minuters later, there was knock at the door.
"Enter!" she barked, bolting upright and composing herself as if she hadn't just been monologuing into a cushion like a tragic opera lead.
The door opened to reveal her two senior maids—Dara and Kessa.
Dara, tall and composed, held a tray of chilled tonic and mana-fruit, her expression carefully neutral. Kessa, shorter with sharp cheekbones and a perpetually amused glint in her eye, carried a folded blanket over one arm and raised an eyebrow the moment she saw Aurelia's face.
"You called for refreshments, my lady?" Dara asked, gliding in like a diplomat entering a peace talk.
"And possibly a blanket?" Kessa added, already moving to drape it across Aurelia's lap. "Or a full exorcism, based on your expression."
Aurelia cleared her throat with all the grace she could summon. "Yes. I also require advice."
Both maids paused mid-motion.
"Political?" Dara asked, settling the tray beside her.
"Tactical?" Kessa followed, curiosity blooming.
Aurelia hesitated. Then, like ripping off a bandage laced with social embarrassment:
"Romantic."
Dara blinked.
Kessa dropped the blanket.
Then the two women turned to each other slowly, like soldiers realizing they'd just walked into a war with the wrong armor.
"…Should we sit?" Dara asked.
"Yes," Aurelia said with queenly authority. "Educate me."
The two maids sat.
Tea was poured.
And the next twenty minutes were the strangest tactical debrief Aurelia had ever experienced.
Highlights included:
- "My lady, your figure is already strategic weaponry. Any further upgrades would violate the magical armistice."
- "Confidence. Eye contact. And if you must speak, do not bring up your magical lineage within the first five minutes."
- "Soft smiling is more effective than seductive smiling. Anything stronger and the average man assumes he's about to be vaporized."
- "What if I seemed too confident?" Aurelia asked, dead serious. "What if he thought I was bored of him?"
- "Then look at him like he's the only book in a forbidden archive," Kessa replied. "Men are simple. They like being important and not on fire."
Aurelia took notes.
Literal notes.
At one point she practiced expressions in the mirror.
Coy. Charming. Disinterested but intrigued.
Each attempt made her look like she had mild magical indigestion.
"This is hopeless," she groaned, dragging her hands down her face. "I'm either terrifying or completely ridiculous."
"Well, your terrifying is impressive," Dara offered.
"And your ridiculous is… adorable," Kessa added.
Aurelia gave them a withering look. "I'll be sure to note that in your performance reviews."
They both smiled.
But then Dara, ever the tactician, tilted her head.
"Forgive me, my lady… but is this about your fiancé?"
The room changed temperature.
Aurelia didn't flinch—but she went still.
Her smile dimmed, and her fingers curled slightly around the rim of her cup.
"No," she said.
The maids didn't press.
Trained silence.
But she saw the flicker in Kessa's expression. The way Dara's shoulders shifted, just slightly.
They knew.
She looked down at her lap.
He hadn't written in three months.
Not a letter. Not a projection. Not even a ceremonial update.
Their engagement had always been political. A power knot between bloodlines. He was meant to become a symbol of peace. She was meant to stand beside him like carved marble.
If the war ended.
When it ended.
And maybe she'd wanted that, once.
But tonight… tonight she couldn't even remember the exact shade of his eyes.
Zane's, on the other hand—
Zane had looked at her like she was real.
Not precious.
Not perfect.
Just there.
And when his hand met hers, warm and strong and confused, something inside her shifted.
Not because he was powerful.
But because he didn't even realize he was.
She looked up at the maids.
"You're both dismissed," she said softly. "Thank you."
Dara stood and bowed. "Of course, my lady."
Kessa lingered a beat longer. "He's lucky," she said.
Aurelia tilted her head.
"Whoever he is," Kessa added. "To make you blush."
Aurelia said nothing.
But after the door clicked shut—
She smiled.
And that smile stayed long after the lights dimmed.