Even after Circe left, his words churned in her mind. She had no desire to surround herself with strangers, but she understood the necessity of forming alliances if she was to be queen.

That same afternoon she sat at a desk

and carefully wrote ten letters. Each one was brief, polite, and addressed to the most prominent families who had sent gifts. She invited their daughters or nieces—the women of suitable age and standing—to tea the following day.

The replies came back before sunset, every one of them eager.

By the following afternoon, the parlour in the queen’s wing had been prepared for the gathering.

The room overlooked the southern gardens through wide arched windows that allowed the afternoon light to spill across polished floors. Velvet cushioned chairs had been arranged around several low tables decorated with silver trays of pastries, sliced fruits, and steaming pots of tea.

Ten noblewomen occupied the room.

Despite the elegant spread before them, none had touched the food. Etiquette demanded that they wait until the queen herself arrived, though several of the women occasionally glanced longingly toward the honey pastries cooling nearest the center table.

Soft conversation drifted through the chamber instead.

Some of the ladies spoke politely to one another. A few exchanged carefully concealed observations about one another, each woman quietly attempting to determine who among them posed the greatest competition for the coveted positions beside the queen.

At the very center of those conversations sat Avarine Caelorth.

Beautiful, poised, and immaculately dressed in deep blue silk embroidered with silver thread, she looked every inch the perfect noble daughter. She smiled when spoken to. Laughed softly at appropriate moments. Offered graceful responses when addressed.

No one present would have guessed she despised being there.

Avarine’s fingers clenched, bunching the fabric of her dress in her fist as her gaze swept once more across the lavish chamber.

Every detail around her felt like mockery.

The palace. The luxury. The servants standing attentively near the walls.

All of it should have belonged to her.

Her mother had spent years assuring her to remain patient. Lady Taryn had always spoken as though Ragnar eventually becoming Avarine’s husband was merely a matter of time and careful strategy. Yet somehow that human woman had ruined everything.

Circe.

Even thinking the name left bitterness burning in Avarine’s chest.

Ragnar should have been hers. She should have stood beside him during the coronation. She should have worn the crown now resting upon Circe’s head.

Instead, she had been forced to stand among the crowd and watch another woman claim the life she had always envisioned for herself.

Avarine hid the flare of resentment behind another practiced smile as one of the ladies beside her spoke.

"It was surprisingly thoughtful of the queen to invite all of us personally," the woman said.

Several others murmured their agreement.

"She could have simply chosen without meeting anyone."

"I heard she wrote every invitation herself."

"She must value forming genuine connections."

Avarine nearly scoffed aloud at that.

Genuine.

There was nothing genuine about any of this. The noble families only cared about influence and Circe was foolish if she believed otherwise.

Still, Avarine had come because her mother demanded it.

Become close to the queen, Lady Taryn had instructed her repeatedly. Earn her trust. Gain access to the palace. Through Circe, proximity to Ragnar would become easier.

But standing here now surrounded by everything she wanted, Avarine found herself caring very little for her mother’s careful plans.

Patience had accomplished nothing.

Another ripple of conversation moved through the room before suddenly quieting altogether.

The doors had opened.

Every woman in the chamber rose immediately to their feet.

Circe entered accompanied by a single maid trailing several steps behind her.

Unlike most queens, she wore no extravagant gown dripping with jewels. Her dress was elegant but simple by royal standards, fashioned from dark green fabric with subtle gold embroidery near the sleeves.

She carried herself differently from most royals Avarine had known. Circe walked into the room with calm self-assurance that felt entirely natural, and somehow that irritated Avarine even more.

The women bowed respectfully as Circe approached.

"Your Majesty."

Circe greeted them with a small nod. "Please sit."

Only once she lowered herself into the empty chair prepared at the center did the others carefully resume their seats.

A servant immediately stepped forward to pour tea.

Circe’s gaze moved quietly across the gathered women, studying them curiously.

For a moment, her eyes landed on Avarine.

Avarine smiled instantly. It was practiced to perfection. Warm. Pleasant. Respectful. The exact opposite of what she was feeling at that moment.

Her gaze still carried a faint trace of the hatred she felt. No matter how hard she tried, she could not fully conceal the fact that she loathed Circe for having the life she had always wanted for herself.

Circe looked away without comment.

"I appreciate all of you accepting my invitation," Circe said after the tea had been poured. "And for the gifts your families sent yesterday."

A few women smiled brightly at that.

"The bird was particularly memorable," Circe added dryly.

Soft laughter spread through the chamber almost instantly.

Avarine felt heat crawl up her neck.

"It was my mother’s idea, Your Majesty. She thought you might like it." Avarine said smoothly before anyone else could speak. "Though admittedly, I was also uncertain what kind of bird it actually was."

Circe looked mildly amused. "I have asked others and none of them seem to know as well."

"I believe the merchant called it exotic." Avarine said. "That usually means expensive and difficult to care for."

The atmosphere loosened considerably after that.

Conversation began to flow more naturally as the women introduced themselves properly one by one. Some spoke eagerly about court life while others described their interests and accomplishments.

Circe listened more to each of them.

Avarine noted her behavior keenly. The queen watched people closely. She paid attention to small things like a person’s tone and their expressions. Which women tried too hard to impress and which remained quieter in the background.

She found it infuriating.

Avarine had expected someone easier to manipulate.

"And what about you, Miss Avarine?" Circe asked eventually.

Several gazes shifted toward her.

Avarine met the queen’s eyes easily despite the resentment simmering beneath her skin.

"I enjoy music," she answered gracefully. "And literature. Though my mother insists I spend more time learning politics and diplomacy."

"That sounds exhausting," Circe said.

One of the women sucked in a sharp breath before she could stop herself.

Even Avarine blinked.

Circe sipped her tea calmly afterward as though she had said nothing unusual.

One of the younger women smiled nervously. "Diplomacy is considered a necessary skill for women at court, Your Majesty."

"I know," Circe replied. "That does not make it less exhausting."

Her deadpan statement caught several of them off guard again.

Avarine studied her carefully now.

Circe did not behave like most queens.

There was very little artificial sweetness in her words. No desperate attempt to charm everyone in the room. Yet somehow, the other women already seemed captivated and more relaxed around her than they had been when the gathering began.

This only made jealousy coil tighter in Avarine’s stomach..