Floor 1: Chapter Seventeen - Summons

It’s been a month since I last saw Lawrence and Dawn.

Since I killed a flower with nothing but intent. Since I crossed whatever aetherial faultline was keeping my senses from fraying.

Now everything’s sharper, colors, sounds, the weight of air on my skin. I hate it. Not just a little. It's a reminder that I haven’t done what I promised Lawrence. Haven’t even tried.

I keep wondering how long I can avoid him.

Not because I’m scared of him. Well, maybe a little, but I’m more scared of what I’ll have to say.

I’m not ready to talk about Xolob.

Not ready to admit I killed them. Not ready to lie about it, either, or find the version that sounds believable enough to pass.

Casting comes easier now.

Ever since I forced that silent thread to bend, the rest of the weave feels... tense.

Like it knows I could make it kneel. Like it’s waiting for a command.

I haven’t told anyone about it, but Eshlyn’s been looking at me differently.

Not the warm way I like. More like I’m a puzzle she hasn’t solved yet. And gods, I wish she’d stop trying.

The scent of crushed bark and sun-dried herbs hit the back of my throat the second I nudged open Selene’s door. I used to love this place. Still do, in theory. But today the air felt... coiled. Like it had swallowed the anticipation of everyone inside and decided to wear it like perfume. Everyone was already there, quiet, slouched, stiff in that unmistakable way people get when they’ve been waiting too long with one thing on their mind.

Every eye turned to the door. To me.

I froze. “Did someone die?” I asked, half serious.

“You’re finally here,” Selene called out. Pure joy dripping from her tone. She glided through the beaded curtain like only a spirit could. A single letter waited on the counter, sealed in dark red wax. The sigil in the center was sharp and deep, too deliberate to ignore. “Be a dear and lock the door, won’t you? We’ve got wonderful news to share.”

A dozen questions clawed their way up my throat, but I swallowed them.

I turned the lock with a loud thud and flipped the sign in the window.

“Uh-huh.” The bite in my voice came out sharper than I meant. “Someone want to tell me what's going on?”

Val sat off to the side, half-sunken into a crooked chair. A lazy attempt at seeming interested when he obviously wasn't.

Dent slouched at the low table, hands clasped like he was mid-prayer, or mid-apology. He and Val were a direct contrast to Eshlyn, who sat up immediately when I entered, and Selene, who was practically glowing.

Selene’s eyes drifted quickly to the envelope. “We’ve received word from the Queen. We thought it best to open it all together.”

“Oh.” I put on a practiced smile. “Great. Finally getting recognition for the cure you and Eshlyn made. Right?”

“I was beginning to think it wasn’t going to happen,” Eshlyn said optimistically. “It's been so long since we delivered the original sample… along with the formula.”

“Well, we haven't opened it yet, but that's what I'm hoping for.” Her echo of her voice rose with growing excitement.

“I don't mean to be rude, but she kind of took her sweet ass time didn’t she?” I leaned against the wall closest to Val. “We already synthesized and gave the cure to Dent… Like a while ago.”

Selene dramatically swished her translucent hair around. “Oh, hush, darling, you're about to be in the presence of royaltyyyy.”

Val shook his head at Selene’s last comment, a smile barely forming on his lips. “Any reason they’d wait until now to send something?”

“The queen is a busy woman,” Selene interjected, her translucent gaze flicking between me and Val. “But it's here now, and that's what matters.”

Silence hung thick between us until Dent shifted, sliding his chair a little closer. “Ok, I’ll admit… I’m a little nervous, what if it's about me?”

“You’re perfectly fine, Dent. Been that way for months.” I tried to sound reassuring, even though my gut wrenched at the thought I might be included in whatever the queen wants. “She probably just wants to congratulate Selene and Eshlyn. What they accomplished was extraordinary after all.”

“Alright, alright. Enough speculation.” Eshlyn cut in. I could tell she was trying not to act giddy. “Everyone is here, let's just open it, shall we?”

“Oh, I can't look!” Selene spun around. “You should be the one to do it, Eshlyn. You contributed more than I did, after all.”

We all looked at each other for a beat before nodding. Finally, she reached forward, her fingers brushing tentatively over the seal before breaking it and reading. We watched in silence, breath held like it might change the words.

“Well?” Dent asked, voice low but sharp, slicing the silence.

She didn’t respond at first. Her eyes just scanned the page. Lips pressing into a thin line.

“Come on, Eshlyn. You’re gonna give me a stroke over there.” I tried to keep it light, but it landed somewhere between joke and plea.

“It’s… official,” she said finally. “A royal summons. All five of us. By name.”

She looked up, eyes steady. “Remy. Val. Dent. Selene. Myself.

Signed by Queen Aurelene.”

I tried to hold a fake smile on my face, but my stomach dropped when she mentioned me.

Val snorted, dry and humorless. “What the hell does she want with me?”

“Or me?” I looked at Selene and Eshlyn, trying not to appear startled.

“No idea,” Dent said, glancing over to Val before finding me. “But you gave Eshlyn the original sample, Selene delivered it to the queen. And then Eshlyn cultivated the cure, and I was treated with it.”

“We all had a role,” Eshlyn said. “But there’s no explanation, just the summons. We’re expected at the citadel in two days. That’s… all it says.”

“Not even a thank you?” Dent muttered, leaning back.

“No formal thanks? No little ribbon?” Selene snorted, posture sinking low. “How rude.”

Eshlyn studied the page again. “Just the Queen’s signature and the appointment time.”

I crossed my arms. “So they wait until we’ve done everything, fixed the problem, proved Dent’s fine, nearly forgotten the whole mess, and now they what? Want to talk?”

“Without even a thanks, fuck you or nothing?” Val stood up, jaw tight.

Eshlyn folded the letter neatly and set it down. “Seems so, but the timing is deliberate. That much is obvious.”

Val glanced at me, skeptical. “You’re sure this is about Eshlyn and Selene?”

“I don’t know,” I muttered. “But yeah… probably. What else would it be?”

Silence fell, thick as fog.

“Well, I guess we'll have to find out while we're there,” Eshlyn said, barely above a whisper.

“No shot.” The words flew out before I could stop them. “I’m not walking into a royal spotlight. If they know who I am, that’s a one-way trip to prison.”

“What?” Selene asked, eyes flicking toward me like I’d just let something slip. “It’s a summons, not an invitation. And recognition from the queen is not something to pass up on.”

Val stood, running a hand through his hair. “...Fuck.”

“We’re expected to act like professionals,” Eshlyn said. “They won’t doubt us if we don’t give them a reason to. So just… be mindful.” Her eyes flicked to me, not cold, just watchful.

“Precisely. The Queen has bigger problems than your criminal record,” Selene said, voice rising just enough to cut the tension. “We should be flattered. Our efforts are finally being recognized.”

“Sorry.” I dragged a hand down my face. “I didn't mean to dampen the mood. So… what’s the dress code?”

Best clothes to go to prison in. I thought sarcastically.

“Formal attire, no doubt,” Eshlyn responded casually.

Dent huffed a tired laugh. “Well. At least we know it won't be boring.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Val said under his breath.

---

                                                                                 ...

 

The conservatory courtyard was still, save for the scrape of boots and birdsong drifting through the morning fog. The grass beneath us steamed faintly; the early sunlight kissing away the night’s chill.

Val and I stood in the center of the ring, breathless and lightly bruised.

I winced, flexing my wrist as I adjusted my grip on the practice daggers, leather-wrapped hilts worn soft with use. “You’re slowing down,” I said between breathless pants.

“That's not me, you’re moving faster,” he countered, parrying a last phantom strike as we disengaged. “Probably because you’re using daggers again.”

“That was the goal, after all.” I chuckled, trying to brush off the compliment.

He exhaled through his nose, nodding once. “The speed is great, almost good enough to compensate for their lack of reach.” He paused, eyes settling. “And I know that look. You’re thinking about doing something reckless again, aren’t you?”

I shrugged, not quite hiding the tension in my shoulders. “Might be. Tomorrow’s kind of a big day.”

Val rolled his neck and stretched one arm overhead. “It’ll be fine. Just… stay close.”

I arched a brow. “So you can be the first to intercept a bolt meant for my head?”

He gave a humorless smirk. “So I can make sure you're not the only one arrested if things go sideways. I doubt they know anything about you, but if they do, we’ll deal with it. Together.”

There it was, his fierce protectiveness, always dressed in practicality, always understated, but never lacking that steadying weight that made my pulse slow just a little.

I let the silence sit for a moment before donning a grin. “Speaking of which. Do you think the guards would let me in with daggers tucked under my dress?”

Val snorted. “What, sewn into the lining?”

“No, strapped to my thighs. Real elegant, like usual.”

“I don’t think they’re going to care how tasteful your concealed weapons are, Remy. They’ll probably just arrest you for trying.”

“Shame,” I said lightly, twirling one of the daggers in a slow arc. “They match my necklace.”

He shook his head, that faint smirk lingering. “Security will be tight. Just don’t do anything reckless.”

“Me?” I feigned innocence, pushing a light finger to his chest in a mocking tease. “Never.”

He stepped closer then, just a few inches from me. The warmth radiating off his skin cut through the cool morning air. “If you weren’t in trouble already, then you will be if they catch you sneaking in weapons.” He leaned in slightly, enough to speak in a low whisper, just for me. “But I mean it. Stay close.”

I looked up at him, heartbeat quiet but firm in my chest.

“You know,” I murmured, pulling him in to hold my gaze. “For someone who acts like they don’t care, you’re awfully willing to defy the government for me.”

Val didn’t reply, just lingered for a beat longer than necessary before kissing me like he meant it to be remembered. His hand found my chin when we broke apart. “You’ll never hear those words from me ever again.”

“Then I’ll try to stay out of jail.” A smile tugged at my mouth as I leaned in for another kiss. “For both of us.”

---

                                                                                 ...

I wasn’t going in unprepared.

The Queen’s citadel was the judicial heart of the floor, law, power, and punishment, all in one gilded box. There’d be guards, officials, wards... and the Queen herself, who I doubt I’ll get along with.

If they don’t already know I’m on the run, I might be able to pass. If they do… I need a plan.

At the very least, I could scout the layout, mark the exits, count blind spots, and pick out places to stash a weapon if it came to that.

The rooftop baked beneath my boots, sun-heated slate radiating warmth through the soles. Wind stirred the air, sharp with copper and stone. I crouched at the edge, cloak tight, eyes tracking the fortress below.

The citadel sprawled in cold precision: marble towers kissed with silver, banners snapping in rhythm with the breeze. Four drawbridges crossed the moat, one for each cardinal direction, guard rotations ticking like clockwork.

Carriages filtered through the gates in perfect sequence. One stopped at the outer post, then again under the archway, each checkpoint lit with faint wardlight. No stumbles. No shouting. Not even a bird above the spires.

It was all too calm.

I narrowed my focus, eyes locking on a pair of officials as they crossed the final threshold. My vision shifted, tuning into their aether-signatures. Something I figured out since viewing the weave.

The wards flared, just once. A soft pulse. Then dimmed.

Logged. Stamped. Filed away.

My gut twisted. This wasn’t just security. It was surveillance.

I scanned the field again. What would the Queen expect from us? Charm? Submission? I assume she wouldn’t tolerate dissent or defiance. Not from someone like me.

My perception stretched to the wards, feeling for seams, timing, and pressure. A pattern. A weakness. Anything I could use.

Focus. Zoom. Magnify. I pushed my vision closer like twisting a lens. Just enough to see clearly.

Could I mask the blades? Blur their outline like I do with the aether-hand? Maybe. But hiding from people isn’t the problem. The wards are what matter, they see through illusions.

Still running through the options, I heard a voice beside me:

“Do you ever just walk the streets like a normal person?”

I didn’t flinch. But only because I was half-expecting the voice.
Sort of.
I wasn’t happy to see him, but he’d stayed away longer than I thought he would.

“Hello, Lawrence,” I said flatly. “Ever consider not sneaking up on people like a deranged stalker?”

He stepped up beside me without a sound, hands clasped behind his back. His coat fluttered faintly in the breeze, the hood still shadowing his face. Far too many layers for a sunny day, but he didn’t look even mildly uncomfortable.

“In this context,” he said, casual as always, “I find it more efficient to bypass pleasantries.”
A pause. Then, with a glance toward the Citadel: “Especially when someone’s perched in a restricted zone, watching the Queen’s walls like a thief casing a vault.”

I glanced sideways. “I prefer nervous guest... and how do you do that?”

“Whatever do you mean?” His voice slithered across my spine like it usually did.

I turned back to my scouting. “Walking around without a sound… and finding me up here.”

“Surely silence isn’t beyond your skill set.” He paused. “And as for finding you… Well, you glow like a lighthouse.”

“Great,” I muttered without looking. “Any tips on not shining like a beacon for the magically inclined?”

“You’d know,” he said, “if you weren’t so determined to play this ridiculous game of cat and mouse.” His gaze drifted down to the Citadel as he settled beside me, moving with the unbothered grace of a shadow choosing where to fall. “And don’t tell me you are actually planning a heist?”

“Why does everyone assume I’m up to no good?” I adjusted my stance, refusing to rise to the bait. “I’m just scoping the place. I’ve been summoned for tomorrow.”

“Lovely,” he said smoothly. “Judging by your paranoia, I take it you’re not expecting tea and cake.”

“I don’t know yet,” I said, catching an unreadable tilt in his expression.

Lawrence tilted his head, the movement precise, almost ceremonial. He studied me for a breath too long, then let a smile unfurl across his face, slow, elegant, and unsettling. “You have been avoiding me,” he said plainly. “Why?”

I rolled my eyes, turning my gaze back to the citadel spires. “Nice to see you too.”

“You promised something and have yet to deliver.”

I tried not to react, but my voice betrayed me, just slightly. “I never gave a timeline.”

A pause. Then, soft and cutting: “You’re stalling.”

I didn’t answer. Just tracked the motion of a guard squad turning the eastern corner, too precise to be routine, too sharp to be casual.

Lawrence continued, almost idly. “Do you know what happens when you delay progress, Remy? The world moves on without you. Your enemies evolve. Your allies die. And the power you might’ve wielded.”

“Becomes someone else’s,” I finished. “Yeah, yeah. You’ve made the pitch.”

Still... why emphasize the ‘allies’ part? The thought lodged in my ribs.

“Yet it seems you have not been listening.” He responded, voice cold.

I tensed, fingers curling around the edge of my cloak. “I’m not ready.”

He hummed, a quiet, amused sound with no warmth.

“Honesty. At last.”

“I’m not afraid of the power,” I said, though the words tasted like doubt. “I’m afraid of what it might take to keep it.”

His eyes narrowed slightly. “You think restraint is a virtue. But in your position, it’s a liability.”

I met his gaze, unwavering. “You think I should become something like you.”

“No,” he said softly. “You will never be like me, but whatever you are, it’s clear you haven't accepted it yet.”

The silence stretched, taut as a bowstring. Then I broke it.

“Alright… What do you want to know about Xolob?”

His answer came cool and immediate: “Who did it. And why.”

“The people in the alley,” I responded just as fast. “The ones who were waiting for me.
The ones who aren’t breathing anymore.”

“Go on”, his red eyes gleamed, subtle but hungry.

“They work under the Xanathar’s Guild.” I continued. “They took Xolob. Burned the shop after things went sideways. I know of them.” I prayed he wouldn’t ask how. “Slave trade. Filthy work…”

“Do you believe Xolob could still be alive?”

“No.” I said too fast, too certain.

“Interesting.” He paused, sharp and deliberate. “What else do you know?”

“I know where their headquarters is. At least the one on this floor.”

“You’ll take me there,” he said like it was already settled, “when the time is right.” His eyes lingered, voice cold despite the calm. “More importantly, you need training. Guidance.”

I didn’t answer. It wasn’t a question.

“Remy.” His voice dropped, ominous and low.

My eyes snapped to his.

“Do not ignore me again.”

I only nodded, swallowing the lump rising in my throat, trying not to flinch as his blood-red eyes caught the light, a faint smile curling like he was daring me to find out what happens if I do.

The silence stretched taunt before his gaze moved toward the Citadel again. “What are you planning?”

Not even I knew exactly, so I simply said. “I’d rather not go in unarmed, or at all, honestly. But I don’t have that luxury.”

“You want to bring a blade into the Queen’s sanctum,” His lips tilted, half amusement, half condescension. “You’ve mapped the location. Counted exits. Weighed the wards. Clever.”

A pause. “But illusions, or any casting, really, will only work against you.”

“Why?” I asked, more intrigued than I wanted to admit.

“Because they’re wards are not just scanning for weapons. They’re scanning for will. And yours burns too bright to be hidden.”

I swallowed hard. “So that’s it? Just walk in defenseless, hope they don’t notice the fugitive in their midst?”

Lawrence's lips twitched upwards. “And you believe what? That a dagger or two will give you a fighting chance?”

“It's better than nothing.” I retorted.

“I hardly think so.”

He reached into his coat and withdrew something small and dark, flat like a coin, but etched with shifting lines that shimmered under the light. “This,” he said, holding it between two fingers, “is a token of stillness. It won’t conceal anything you're dense enough to bring in, but it will quiet that flame you wear like a banner.”

“You mean, it'll change my signature?” I turned towards him, shocked that such a thing existed.

“Not exactly, but it will make you uninteresting.”

I stared at it, wary. “Why help me?”

He looked toward the sky, sun catching the edge of his skin. It smoked faintly before he turned back into his hooded shade. “Because if the Queen wants something from you… I doubt it ends at conversation, and the less she knows, the better. For both of us.”

I took the token. It was cool and weightless, but something in it pulsed, slow and steady, like a heartbeat.

Lawrence stood. “And leave the blades. It’s not like you need them anyway.”

“Thank you,” I said quietly. Wishing I didn’t feel the urge to say what he so clearly wanted to hear. “We’ll meet up again when this is over.”

“Excellent,” he turned to leave before continuing. “... And one more thing. Do not trust the Queen. Not even with the smallest piece of you.”

He was gone before I could respond, just as quickly as he appeared, but still... something gnawed at me.

He didn't even ask that many questions.

---

                                                                                 ...

The scent of pressed linen and rose balm filled the bedchamber, mingling with warm afternoon light that spilled through delicate curtains.
Across the bed, four gowns lay neatly arranged.
One starlight silver.
One rosy red.
The blue I hadn’t worn in ages.
And my favorite, black, the kind that drank in light and didn’t give it back.

Eshlyn circled behind me, comb in hand, silent and focused as she worked through my hair.
Her fingers moved with careful precision. Methodical.
She tucked a stray strand behind my ear, smoothing it down without a word.

“You know,” I said, watching her in the vanity mirror, “if you stare at my scalp any harder, your eyeballs might pop out.”

She smiled faintly, not quite looking up. “I’m trying to decide if your hair isn’t cooperating because it hates me, or because it fears what I might do to it.”

“I’m leaning toward fear. Self-preservation, probably.”

“I’m certainly feeling the disdain,” she murmured, finally meeting my eyes in the mirror.
“Still, you’ll look dazzling. Scandalous enough to raise a brow, but tasteful enough to get away with it.”

“I’d usually love that,” I said, more thoughtful now. “But I think I need something softer this time. Something that says I’m not worth a second glance.”

Eshlyn moved around to face me, holding out a pair of crescent-shaped earrings, opals catching the light.

“You know my ears aren’t pierced,” I said, eyeing them with genuine regret.

“A tragedy we should rectify,” she sighed, then reached instead for a necklace, silver thread strung with midnight stones and quiet diamonds. She fastened it around my neck.

“I know you're not feeling optimistic, so I'll concede this time. Shall I contrast your gentle fit with as much fire as I can manage?”

“That would be lovely… and so you,” I said, catching her gaze in the mirror with a slow smile.

She nudged my shoulder. “Need I remind you, we’re attending a royal dinner. Not a trial.”

“Depending on their intel, it might be the same thing.” I shot back, trying to keep my tone casual.

She gave a short, tight laugh. Then lowered herself into the armchair beside me.

“I’ve met her, by the way.” She said after a pause. “Queen Aurelene. Once before.”

I turned slightly toward her. “You think she’ll recognize you?”

“Perhaps, but I doubt it,” she said carefully, “I’ll admit, I was excited earlier, but I’m feeling a bit strange about it now.”

“How so?” I questioned.

“Not sure. The timing and lack of detail in her letter just make me think it's not recognition she’s offering.”

“Then you’re probably right,” I said softly. “Sorry. I know that meant a lot to you.”

“I’m alright.” Eshlyn reached out, brushing her fingers against mine before taking my hand. “But if I’m right, Selene will be devastated.”

“Damn… Well then, for her sake. I hope you're wrong.”

She nodded slowly, thumb tracing the edge of my knuckle. “I admire that about you. You might not hope for yourself… but you always do for others.”

I chuckled. “Might want to get your eyes checked. I’m more ‘disaster with good intentions’ than anything admirable.”

“Not true.” She bumped me with her shoulder. “You get into trouble, sure. But you always land on your feet.”

Finally, I leaned forward, resting my forehead against hers.
She let out a breath I hadn’t noticed she’d been holding, slow, deliberate.

“You know,” I whispered, holding her gaze, “you’re kind of adorable when you’re pretending not to worry.”

She huffed a laugh that cracked, just slightly. “And you’re intolerable, giving me those eyes when we have places to be.”

I smiled, leaned in, and nipped at her ear. “Then let her wait. I’ve got more important things to handle.”

Her fingers curled beneath my jaw, drawing me into a kiss—slow, steady, grounding.
Not meant to ignite.
Meant to anchor.

When we broke apart, her hand lingered, thumb brushing my cheek.

“Don’t tempt me,” she whispered.

“Tempt you into something stupid?” I teased, dragging each word with dramatic sarcasm. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

We lingered like that a moment longer before I finally stood, reaching for the soft blue dress and tossing the red one toward her. “Meek and dangerous,” I said with a wink. “We’ve got this.”

Eshlyn caught the gown mid-air, already rising to meet the moment. “Then allow me to do the talking,” she said, glancing over her shoulder, “and keep your head down.”

She paused for a beat. “Maybe they’ll believe it.”

---

                                                                                 ...

The lobby gleamed beneath the afternoon sun, polished stone floors reflecting light like calm water. A fragrant breeze from the courtyard stirred the silk banners overhead.

Dent, Val, and Selene waited near the front desk, framed by the tall archway. The quiet hum of carriage wheels lingered outside the opulent doorway, held open by my favorite doorman, waiting to give me their all-too-familiar greeting.

Dent wore a cream tunic trimmed with soft brown, modest, but clean. Beside him, Selene stood like something carved from myth. Gone were the layers of translucent modesty. Today she shimmered in white and gold, her form gliding with quiet grace. A spirit dressed as a prayer.

Val turned to face us, dressed in a darker tunic, black with soft blue underlayers, subtle embroidery threading up the cuffs. It wasn’t identical to mine, but the color echo made something in my chest tighten. I didn’t try to match, but it was a pleasant surprise.

As we reached the landing, just as planned, Eshlyn stole the room.

Her gown was deep crimson, layered in folds of light fabric that trailed behind her like living flame. The bodice was sharp, confident, and unapologetic. Even Selene tilted her head in acknowledgment.

“Eshlyn,” Dent murmured with a low whistle. “You could start a revolution with that gown.”

“You’re too kind,” she responded, my arm linked with hers. “Besides, it was all Remy’s idea. They want to hide in my shadow.”

I gave her a flat look. “I believe it's called subterfuge.”

“More like forgettable,” she teased.

I bumped her playfully with my hip, “That's the idea, isn’t it?”

“Whatever it is…” Dent motioned to lead her down the final steps. I let her go, slowly letting my outstretched arm keep contact until his replaced my own. “...It’s working.”

Selene’s gaze passed over me, the modest blue dress, the subdued details. She didn’t speak, but she gave me a nod of approval, posture as pleasant as ever.

Val stepped closer, eyes sweeping over my outfit without a word. But his mouth shifted into a sly smile, and he offered his arm with a look that made me feel like I was the only one in the room.

“Look at you!” I teased, linking his arm with mine. “We even match.”

“I’m thoughtful like that.” He said arrogantly.

I bumped against him as if to say, stop looking at me like that before replying. “How’d you know?”

“Secret.” He winked, eyes lingering.

Behind us, the chariot driver entered, a tall man in a tailored black uniform and equally tall hat. He gave a practiced bow. “If the ascenders are ready,” he said, “the Queen awaits.”

Selene extended her arm, mirroring Eshlyn’s grace with unsettling precision. The driver met her halfway in a silent exchange of etiquette. She didn’t speak, but the gesture felt chilling, like watching a ghost glide into a painting.

Val took my hand lightly, guiding me toward the carriage. Its polished black frame gleamed like obsidian.

“I can’t tell if you’ve done this before,” I said, eyeing the steps, “or if you’re very good at pretending. Either way, it’s freaking me out.”

“Oh, good,” he chuckled, guiding me into the carriage “I was just thinking how very posh and un-Remy-like you were being.”

“Eshlyn did tell me to keep my head down.” I teased lightly, not letting go until he took a seat beside me with practiced ease.

“Worked great the last time.” He whispered against my ear.

I elbowed him, but didn’t lean away. “Are you always this annoying, or just when I’m trying to behave?”

“Hard to say,” he murmured, eyes lingering. “When have you ever done that?”

One by one, we stepped into the cab, cushioned, tasteful, and quiet. The doors shut behind us with a heavy thud. The sound echoed through the small space, and I shivered as the sun vanished behind the curtains.

Only a single lightstone hung overhead, casting the cabin in a soft, pale glow.

---

                                                                                 ...

The dining hall was a masterpiece of symmetry and shine, silver-veined stone stretched into vaulted ceilings, candlelight glinting off crystalware set with such precision it looked summoned.

The tall windows were veiled in white linen, a delicate touch in a space otherwise crafted to overwhelm. Three soldiers flanked each wall, unmoving in silver-trimmed armor.

Everything gleamed.
Everything watched.

The table stretched like a runway between us, guards stationed along the edges like ornate statues. Servants moved like shadows, silent and sharp-eyed. Officials filled the upper seats, their faces unreadable behind layers of polished etiquette.

Even after hours spent scoping this place from above, I’d come to one simple conclusion:
Don’t even try.
Not a charm tucked in a boot seam. Not a thread. Needle. Nothing.

In the end, I could only pray a cloak of mediocrity would shield me from whatever waited inside this prosperous palace of pretentious puppets.

I used what Lawrence gave me just before the carriage stopped, did exactly as instructed: pressed the token to my pulse, waited until it dulled, and tossed it out before we passed the wards.

I didn’t know why or if I really needed it but it was all I had to calm my nerves and now there was no going back so whatever it was. I hope it worked.

We were already seated when she entered. Queen Aurelene lowered herself at the head of the table like a crown settling into place atop her kingdom. Full of grace and composure. She wore storm-gray silk edged in pale gold. Her face was lined with age, hair mostly ashen. But every motion was deliberate and every expression, unreadable.

It wasn’t serenity or power that coiled beneath her skin.
It was worse: absolute, unchallenged authority.

And I immediately hated every inch of her. I tried not to. I really did. But the arrogance, the ease, it reeked of blind entitlement. The kind that comes from being born with a world already bent to your will.

Val took my hand once everyone was seated, resting it in the small space between us.

I was grateful. It kept me still. Made it easier to appear casual. To be careful. To hide the weight of every calculation running behind my eyes.

There were too many forks. Multiple glasses. Sized utensils that made no sense to me. Just like that first dinner I had with Eshlyn, but now I understood why she might have called it “not too fancy.” Because this was ghastly in comparison.

Now she sat beside me at a table designed to break ‘lesser’ people.
And she smiled like she’d been born for it. Poised and refined. Every movement graceful enough to disarm.

She inclined her head toward the Queen with practiced deference, voice warm but measured.
“Your Majesty. It’s an honor to be invited into your home today. We humbly thank you for your hospitality.”

There it was, her mask.
Perfectly placed. No cracks.

A beautiful lie.

I knew Eshlyn had actually hated this kind of thing. The overdone pageantry. The hollow politics and constant pretending. But she was good at it. Too good.

The Queen offered a thin smile in return. “Eshlyn Elleth, your reputation precedes you. The honor is mine.”

Elleth?

Her gaze swept the table slowly, like she was weighing each of us on some invisible scale before continuing.

“I’ll admit,” she began, her tone graceful but firm, “it’s rare I extend invitations of this nature. But then again, it’s rare that unregarded Ascenders distinguish themselves so efficiently.”
She smiled, like she’d just offered a compliment instead of a veiled reminder of our place.

“As Floor One’s sovereign, it’s my duty to recognize excellence where I see it, and to encourage harmony between sectors. Especially in times such as these.”
She lifted a glass, but didn’t drink. “You represent a kind of possibility that’s increasingly difficult to cultivate: adaptable, untethered, and resourceful.”

What's with the aggressive compliments?

Servants moved in quiet rhythms when the queen paused, setting down the first course, roots and microgreens shaped into a fan across a plate that looked like spun ice. It was beautiful but pointless. Starvation disguised as cuisine.

The Queen gestured delicately toward the meal. “We’ve brought together the best of First Floor’s culinary tradition tonight, seasonal, of course. The wine is a coast-grown blush aged in starlit vaults, paired for balance. I believe you will find it subtle, but enduring.”

She let that sit for a moment, as if we might applaud.

Is she really going to wait all night before getting to the point?

“Our head kitchen staff will join us in a moment to go over the full menu, but until then, please eat, enjoy. I am sure you will find everything to your liking.”

Everyone did as instructed, as if it were an order.
Or at least, we moved our utensils like we were supposed to.

Eshlyn was practiced and natural. Surprisingly, Val kept up with relative ease, but Dent looked just as out of place as I was trying not to be. Even Selene, who rarely engaged in mortal ‘comforts’, moved her silverware with subtle, precise coordination, like she was reenacting a ritual meant to loosely resemble eating.

Course after course arrived, delicate as lace and twice as fragile. Glazed roots carved into spirals. Foamed mushrooms served on glass spoons. A soup so thin it could have been tears, poured from a vessel that looked more ceremonial than practical.

Conversation buzzed politely in the head of the table, officials murmuring, goblets clinking, the rustle of silk and softened protocol. But our end of the table was mostly quiet.

I kept my eyes down, occasionally glancing sideways at Val or Dent. They were similarly hushed, composed, each of us seemingly content just to get through this without drawing attention.

Eventually, I looked up to find Eshlyn sipping her wine with the elegance of someone trained not to choke on hypocrisy. The silence was deafening, so I leaned toward her, voice low. “Enjoying the wine?”

“Subtle but enduring,” she murmured, echoing the Queen’s earlier phrasing. “She really knows how to treat us, doesn’t she?”
Her smile was all teeth, but I knew it was fake. She winked a second later, sharp as a knife.

I stifled a laugh putting on the richest accent I could. “Oh yes. Quite. The produce is delightfully... seasonal.”

Val snorted beside me before catching himself, clearing his throat, and recovering with mock poise. “I concur. Seasonal indeed.”

“Take in the pleasantries of royalty,” Eshlyn added lightly. “It may be our only chance to indulge in such lavish... lavestry.”

Dent coughed before clearing his throat in the same fashion. “To lavistry then,” he echoed, lifting his glass with theatrical solemnity. We clinked our glasses in unison, quiet, composed, treasonously amused.

All the while, the Queen continued her conversation with her advisors, untouched by irony.
No urgency. No mention of the real reason we were here.

By the time the final dish was cleared, I could feel the burn in my chest.
Not from the wine or from hunger.
Just from waiting.

Knowing there had to be something ugly buried under all this shine, and the gray-haired lady at the head of the table was enjoying every second of delay.

She finally addressed us when a servant whisked her napkin away and Selene perked up like it was finally her moment.

“However delightful the chef may be,” the queen said calmly, “I want you to know this is not a reward.”

I could tell Selene was subtly trying not to sink in her chair.

So… not a celebration after all.
Gods, what are we doing here?

“Consider it an invitation,” she continued. “To collaborate. To elevate. After all… legacy is built on the backs of the willing as well as the able.”

The way she spews royal bullshit is astounding.
All those words, and they still meant absolutely nothing.

Eshlyn’s smile didn’t falter, but I saw the shift, a slight tightening at the corners.
“We’re honored, Your Majesty,” she said smoothly. “Though I imagine you didn’t bring us here to discuss dinner pairings.”

The Queen chuckled in the way that echoed her position. “I must admit, I’m in love with that brilliant mind of yours, and no, of course not.”

“Our ears await your every word, Your Majesty,” Eshlyn said with a graceful nod.

Laying it on a little thick, huh? I tossed the thought toward her as if she could hear me.

“Very well.”
The Queen leaned forward, folding her hands atop the polished wood.

“The cure you provided for the parasite was elegant. Potent. But, as with many things in life, temporary.” She didn’t falter. Her voice remained steady, almost serene. It was so calm, I nearly missed what she was actually saying.

“As of last week, the dormant sample we treated began to stir. Small anomalies and preliminary movement but my herbalists say it’s continuing to mutate.”

And then, like the final card in a half-forgotten game, her eyes settled on Dent, and so did mine.

Dent didn’t move. Didn’t speak. But I caught it, the slight twitch in his jaw, the way his hands clenched just a little too tightly in his lap. Barely there, but enough.

My head snapped back to the Queen. All of it catching up to me at once.
“Excuse me!?” I blurted out, loud enough to silence every utensil at the table.

“If Dent’s still infected,” I continued, my voice sharp and rising despite every effort to contain it, “then maybe you could have warned us, instead of trolling us out here for bullshit wine and flattery.”

The room went deathly quiet.

Rage bloomed in my chest, white-hot and expanding. I felt it in my throat, my fingertips, my vision.
It was all I could do not to say more.

And yet, she laughed.
The Queen chuckled.
A soft, amused sound, like we were playing a game I’d only just started to understand.

And suddenly, I realized I was standing.
I hadn’t even felt my legs move, but the soldiers had. I could feel them now, positioned behind me, silent and coiled.

Val stood in sequence, his chair scraping softly against the stone.
I wasn’t sure, but I swore he shoved someone. Not hard, but enough to shift between me and the nearest soldier.
He didn’t say a word.
But the message was clear.

I wanted to throw something.
A steak knife. The wine bottle. The table.

“So you can speak after all,” the Queen said lightly. “How refreshing, to see a fire beneath the veil.”

Val’s hand found mine next, pulling gently toward my seat like a silent anchor.
But I didn’t sit.

Eshlyn stood then, placing one calm hand on my shoulder, measured and grounding.
“I believe what my partner would like to express,” she said smoothly, “is that this comes as a surprise. And is alarming.”

Between her hand and Val’s, I let myself be eased back into the chair.
But I didn’t look away.

The Queen’s chuckle lingered in my head like perfume.

“Your clarification is appreciated, Eshlyn.” She paused. “We are nothing if not understanding,” she said calmly, “and merciful.”

I felt the soldier's presence fade from behind me, but her gaze lingered, not cold but assessing, like she’d just spotted a crack in the paint and was already imagining what was beneath.

“If it wasn’t so premature and childish, I might even find it delightful,” she added, “To finally encounter someone with teeth. That is.”

I didn’t respond. Couldn’t. My jaw was clenched tight enough to ache.

“Rest assured,” she continued, her tone soft as silk, “if I had the luxury of offering answers in a more… timely fashion, I would have. But I don’t share rumors. Only truths.”

This lying prick knows exactly what she did.

She folded her hands again. “Here is the truth: The parasite remains. It is evolving. Quietly, persistently, and must be contained, for everyone's safety.” She turned her attention to Dent now, but spoke to all of us. “This is not a crisis yet, but it will be. Before that happens, I intend to snuff it out.”

Val shifted beside me, subtle but sharp. Eshlyn’s fingers tapped once against the table before stilling. “You want us to go back?” She asked, voice calm but wary.

The Queen inclined her head. “Yes. This time with a team. Healers. Herbalists. And another party of Ascenders, for protection and observation.”

“As prepared as possible, of course,” she added, almost as an afterthought.

“And Dent?” Selene asked, her first words all evening.

“Will accompany you,” the Queen said simply. “He is a live subject. His condition may be key to understanding the mutations.”

Dent didn’t move. Didn’t blink.

“So we’re lab rats now,” I muttered, trying to quell the bite still lingering in my voice.

“No,” the Queen said. “You’re a cure in motion.
And the Floor needs you.”

Silence followed.

Finally, Eshlyn sat back in her chair. “With all due respect, Your Majesty. We’ll need time to consider it.”

“Naturally,” the Queen replied. “You’re welcome to remain in the Citadel tonight as guests of the Crown. Rooms have been prepared.”

Her smile returned, graceful and practiced. “We begin in two days. I trust that is enough time to gather your courage.”