Chapter 190 - 189: The Banquet of Shattered Hopes

Caelestis turns to her, and for a moment he simply looks at her, as though weighing how much of the weight in his chest he intends to hand over. "The spy was sent by Raiden Thornberry." His voice is even, controlled in the way it always was when he was working through something methodically rather than emotionally. "He’s been watching us, hoping to seize control of Lancaster. He may or may not have a connection to the black magician as well."

"Thornberry," Eleanore repeats slowly, something cold settling into her stomach, an unpleasant recognition dawning before her mind has even fully caught up to why. "That’s—" She stops herself, rising abruptly, already moving toward her desk.

"What is it?" Caelestis looks up at her, sitting up straighter, his tea forgotten on the low table between them.

"A letter arrived from Crown Prince Alastor not long ago," she says, retrieving it from beneath the pile she’d only just buried it under and handing it to him without preamble. "He’s announcing his engagement — to Lauriel Thornberry."

Caelestis’s jaw tightens as he scans the letter, his eyes moving quickly down the page, the implications settling in with uncomfortable weight long before he reaches the final line. He reads it twice, the same way she had, though for entirely different reasons. "If her father is already maneuvering against me while positioning his daughter to marry into the crown itself—"

"Then this isn’t just about you, or just about strengthening his own family," Eleanore finishes, coming to stand behind him, one hand resting on his shoulder. "It’s about power. Real power. A crown prince’s father-in-law would have influence over nearly everything — the treasury, the council seats, the succession itself, should anything happen to Alastor before an heir is born."

"And a man willing to send spies and poison against a Grand Duke," Caelestis adds grimly, setting the letter down atop the tea tray, "is not a man who will stop simply because his daughter wears a crown."

They sit with that for a long, tense moment, the fire crackling quietly in the hearth as the full scope of it begins to take shape between them — not merely a personal grievance, not merely an old rivalry finally come to a head, but something reaching far beyond either of them, threading its way toward the very throne itself. Eleanore paces slowly toward the window, arms wrapped around herself against a chill that has nothing to do with the temperature of the room, watching the dark shapes of the garden hedges beyond the glass.

"Lauriel is innocent in this," she says quietly, almost to herself. "Whatever her father intends, I don’t believe she knows a fraction of it."

"No," Caelestis agrees, coming to stand beside her, his reflection joining hers in the window glass. "Which makes this all the more delicate. We can hardly expose her father without destroying her happiness in the process — and Alastor’s, for that matter."

"We have to tell Alastor," she says finally, turning to face him fully. "He’s being deceived. Whatever love he feels for her — and I believe it’s real, Caelestis, I could hear it in every line of that letter — he deserves to know what he’s marrying into before Thornberry’s ambitions become the crown’s problem to inherit."

Caelestis studies her for a moment, something unreadable passing behind his eyes before it softens into something closer to resolve. "Then we tell him. Carefully. And soon — before that banquet in two days makes the announcement impossible to unmake."

The palace ballroom glittered under a hundred chandeliers, the crown prince’s birthday celebration drawing every notable family in the capital into one glittering, overcrowded room. Eleanore had dressed carefully that evening, choosing deep green over her usual blues at Caelestis’s quiet suggestion, and the two of them had arrived fashionably late, Caelestis’s hand steady at the small of her back as they navigated the crush of guests already filling the hall.

"You look like you’re calculating something," he murmured as they made their way toward the refreshment tables.

"I am," she admitted. "I’m trying to work out where Thornberry’s standing, so I know exactly how far away to keep us."

"Practical."

"I try."

Eleanore stood near the refreshment tables with Stella and Flora, the three of them watching the swirl of dancers with idle amusement, though Eleanore’s attention kept drifting toward the far side of the room where Caelestis stood in conversation with Hael and Alastor himself. Flora, freshly returned from wherever her latest travels had taken her, looked faintly out of place in her formal gown, tugging occasionally at the unfamiliar fit of it with visible discomfort.

"I forgot how much I hate these things," Flora muttered, accepting a glass of wine from a passing servant. "Everyone is smiling at everyone else while quietly calculating who’s worth speaking to."

"How have you been, Flora?" Stella said dryly, turning to Eleanore.

"You look distracted," Stella observed, following her gaze.

"I have a lot on my mind," Eleanore admitted quietly.

"Care to share, or is this one of those things you’ll only tell me after it’s already resolved itself into a crisis?" Flora asked dryly, though there was real concern beneath the teasing.

"The second one, unfortunately," Eleanore said. "You will know it tonight, hopefully."

Whatever else she might have added was cut short by the sudden swell of trumpets, the crowd’s chatter quieting as Alastor stepped toward the center of the room, resplendent in ceremonial blue, his expression carrying the easy, practiced warmth of a man well accustomed to public attention.

"Thank you all for joining me tonight," Alastor began, voice carrying easily across the hushed ballroom. "I have an announcement I’ve been eager to share for some time now."

Eleanore felt Caelestis’s eyes find hers across the room, a silent question passing between them. Now?

Not yet, she signaled back, the smallest shake of her head.

"It is my honor," Alastor continued, "to announce my engagement to Lady Lauriel Thornberry."

The crowd erupted into polite, delighted applause as Lauriel stepped forward to join him at the center of the room, pale, composed, though Eleanore didn’t miss the faint tension in her shoulders, the careful, practiced smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. It confirmed something Eleanore had suspected for days now: whatever her father was orchestrating, Lauriel herself carried none of the confidence of someone complicit in it.

Beside her, Stella squeezed her arm gently. "Is that her? The one you’ve been asking after?"

"That’s her," Eleanore murmured, watching Lauriel’s careful, unpracticed smile falter for just a moment before smoothing back into place. "Watch her hands, Stella. She’s gripping her own skirts so tightly her knuckles have gone white."

"Nervous bride, or something else?"

"Something else," Eleanore said quietly. "I’d stake quite a lot on it."