Chapter 20 – The Ball Before the Storm
815 Words
The ballroom had not been used in years.
Its marble floors had been dulled by dust and silence, its chandeliers forgotten above faded banners. But tonight, it blazed.
Servants polished every surface until the palace shimmered.
Musicians tuned instruments with shaking fingers.
Wine flowed. Gold glinted. And rumors ran faster than wolves.
The King and Seer were hosting a royal ball.
Invitation-only.
Noble houses required.
Loyalty... not.
Kaelen stood at the entrance dressed in black with silver detailing, his crown braided into his hair like flame threaded through frost. On his left hand, he wore no ring.
Because the only one who could place it there hadn’t yet.
And on cue—she entered.
Aurelia.
Not in war leathers. Not in prophetic white.
But a gown of deep crimson, cut in the shape of a rising moon, with silver thread wrapping her arms like armor. Her hair flowed loose behind her, and on her wrist—
The moon-dagger glinted.
Every head turned.
Every whisper sharpened.
And she didn’t flinch.
She walked straight to Kaelen.
They did not kiss.
They didn’t need to.
He offered his hand.
She took it.
They stepped into the ballroom together.
A king and a seer.
A question and its answer.
---
Music spilled through the hall as nobles gathered in clusters, pretending to enjoy the wine while measuring every word.
Councilor Varn was notably absent.
But Malric’s envoys were not.
One in particular—a woman in green satin with a veil over half her face—moved like smoke through the crowd.
Rael watched her from the shadows.
He’d been tracking her for days.
She never spoke.
But her presence always preceded... disappearance.
He followed.
---
On the balcony overlooking the ballroom, Kaelen poured Aurelia a glass of wine.
“Not drinking?” she asked.
“Never during a battle.”
She smirked. “So that’s what this is?”
He turned, gaze heavy. “Of course it is. Just silk-wrapped.”
She sipped. “You’re doing well.”
“Lying to nobles is easier than leading them.”
A beat.
He looked at her.
“You’re beautiful tonight.”
She blinked. “You’ve seen me bleed on battlefields.”
“And yet this is what steals my breath.”
Her lips parted, but before she could answer—
A crash echoed from beyond the corridor.
Kaelen was moving before the guards reached the door.
---
In the side wing, Rael had cornered the veiled woman in the library.
She stood still, one hand tucked into her sleeve.
“I know who you are,” Rael said, blade drawn. “One of Malric’s shadows. I watched you pass messages through the servants’ quarters.”
She said nothing.
He stepped closer.
“You won’t leave here.”
Then she moved.
Fast.
A flick of her wrist and three blades came flying.
Rael deflected two. The third grazed his cheek.
But he didn’t falter.
He lunged.
They clashed, quiet and brutal, between shelves of ancient prophecy scrolls.
And when it ended, the woman lay bleeding, the veil fallen.
She was no servant.
She bore the Seer’s mark on her neck.
A traitor.
---
Kaelen arrived seconds later, sword in hand.
Rael looked up. “She was here to kill someone.”
Aurelia entered behind him and froze.
She recognized the mark on the woman's neck.
“She was one of ours,” she whispered.
Kaelen looked at her.
Then at the blood.
Then at the moon-dagger that pulsed on her wrist.
“They’ve infiltrated everything,” he said. “Even your sacred order.”
Aurelia’s voice cracked. “The Seer is playing a long game.”
Rael wiped the blood from his blade. “Then it’s time we stop playing altogether.”
---
Back in the ballroom, nobles danced obliviously.
But by midnight, whispers had shifted.
A fire had been lit in the outer village—no casualties, just smoke. A warning.
From Malric.
> I see your ball. Let’s see if you can dance when the music turns to war.
---
Kaelen found Aurelia alone in the upper tower as the final guests departed.
She didn’t look at him when he entered.
He stood beside her, the night quiet.
“She was one of the Seer’s acolytes,” Aurelia said. “I remember her voice from the temple. She used to sing over the scrying pool.”
Kaelen said nothing.
“I thought we were gaining ground,” she whispered.
“We are. But the roots of this kingdom are rotten, Aurelia. It will take more than fire to cleanse it.”
She turned to him.
“You still want to do this with me?”
His voice was quiet. Fierce.
“There is no ‘this’ without you.”
And this time—he kissed her.
Not soft.
Not tender.
But like a vow.
One of love.
And war.
- Writer
