Chapter 3

The morning light streamed through the high windows, casting long shadows across Aurelia's chamber. Despite the brightness, her thoughts remained shrouded in the darkness of the previous night. The fleeting glimpse of a figure in the courtyard continued to play on her mind. Was it a trick of the moonlight, or something more?

Freya, her handmaiden, carefully braided Aurelia's hair, sensing her mistress's distraction. "Is everything alright, My Lady?" she inquired softly.

Aurelia offered a tight smile, forcing her anxieties down. "Yes, Freya. Just a touch weary, that's all."

Another detail surfaced – Gaius calling her by name. It was a small thing, a deviation from his usual formality, but it lingered in her mind. She dismissed it quickly. Formalities were of little consequence to her.

Descending the grand staircase, Aurelia composed herself. As she reached the dining room doors, they swung open with a flourish, revealing the Crestwell family gathered around the table excluding Bartram. Her aunt, Meredith, sat at the head, her customary stern expression etched on her face. Aurelia dipped into a deep curtsy, acknowledging everyone before receiving a curt nod from her aunt in return.

Taking her seat beside Meredith, Aurelia was acutely aware of Charlene's unwavering gaze. Just as she speared a piece of fruit, the air crackled with Charlene's familiar voice.

" Aurelia," Charlene drawled, a mocking lilt in her tone. "Taking after the peasants again, are we? You wouldn't want to get too plump, now, would you?"

Aurelia gritted her teeth, a flicker of annoyance threatening to break through her carefully constructed mask of indifference. She loathed these public barbs, these thinly veiled attempts to belittle her.

Before she could formulate a response, a deep voice boomed across the table. It was Lord Edgar Crestwell, Charlene's father, his face flushed with morning ale.

"Enough, Charlene," he bellowed, silencing the room. "Can't we enjoy our breakfast in peace for once?"

Charlene pouted, but subsided, muttering under her breath about "uncouth manners." Aurelia found a sliver of satisfaction in her discomfort.

As the meal continued, Aurelia stole a glance at her aunt. Her aunt remained as stoic as ever, yet Aurelia couldn't shake the feeling she was observing them both, waiting for a misstep, a sign of weakness.

Suddenly, a sharp rap on the door shattered the tense silence. The butler hurried in, his face etched with worry which momentarily stole Aurelia's attention from Charlene's relentless jibes. A low murmur rippled through the room as the butler engaged in a hushed conversation with Aunt Meredith. The subtle shift in her aunt's demeanor, a flicker of surprise quickly masked by her usual stoicism, did not escape Aurelia's watchful eyes. After a brief exchange, the servant scurried out, only to return moments later with a brown parchment clutched in his hand.

Uncle Edgar, ever the inquisitive one, blurted out, "What's that, Meredith? Urgent news?"

A withering glare from the Baroness sent him shrinking back into his seat, muttering under his breath. The tension in the room was thick enough to cut with a knife as the butler cleared his throat, his gaze lingering a touch too long on Aurelia before unfolding the parchment. The wax seal gleamed in the morning light, its sigil unfamiliar.

"This," the butler announced, his voice resonating in the sudden hush, "is an invitation from the King himself, inviting Baroness Meredith Blackwood to grace the grand ball that is to occur in a fortnight"

A collective gasp filled the room. The King? A man known for his reclusiveness, rarely gracing social gatherings with his presence. Aurelia felt a jolt course through her. The King? The very man who orchestrated the night that stole her parents from her?

A humorless laugh escaped her lips. As if her day couldn't get any more bizarre. She could already picture Charlene chirping about this for days on end.

True to form, Charlene's face lit up with delight. "A ball at the King's castle? Oh, Mother," she whined, turning to Veronica, "I absolutely must have a new dress for this occasion!"

Veronica shot her daughter a withering glance. Charlene, oblivious or willfully so, turned to Aurelia, her voice dripping with saccharine sweetness.

"Just because the King… well, you know," she said, her eyes fluttering dramatically, "doesn't mean we can't attend. After all, you were just a child back then, Aurelia. How could you possibly remember who you saw that night?"

Aurelia gritted her teeth. Charlene's feigned innocence was as transparent as a cheap veil. The memory of that night was etched into her very soul. The fear, the confusion, the unmistakable glint of a royal signet ring on the figure who loomed over her fallen parents.

"Regardless of my memories," Aurelia countered, her voice laced with icy defiance, "I have no desire to attend a ball hosted by a man stained with the blood of my family."

The tension in the room remained thick after Aurelia's defiant statement.

"But.."

Edgar, red-faced, let out a harsh cough. "Charlene," he boomed, a mixture of anger and embarrassment coloring his voice, "hold your tongue! That's no way to speak, especially in front of your cousin."

Charlene, however, remained unfazed. She pouted, crossing her arms like a petulant child. "But Father," she whined, "she's being ridiculous. It was years ago, and she was just a little girl. Who knows what she truly remembers?"

Aurelia ignored Charlene's sniping, refusing to engage in a public spectacle. She simply continued picking at her breakfast, her appetite now completely gone.

Across from her, the Baroness remained silent, her gaze fixed on the crackling fire in the hearth. Veronica, however, was a different story. Her eyes darted between the Baroness and the invitation, a mix of curiosity and barely concealed excitement twisting her features.

"Meredith," she finally ventured, her voice laced with a desperate hope, "are we... attending this ball?"

It was clear Veronica saw this as an opportunity for Charlene, a chance for her daughter to catch the eye of a wealthy suitor. Marrying into nobility had always been Veronica's ultimate dream, and this royal ball might just be the key to achieving it.

The Baroness remained silent for a long moment, her expression unreadable. The firelight danced in her eyes, casting flickering shadows across her face. Finally, she reached out and picked up the invitation, her fingers tracing the embossed seal.

"There's much to consider," she said finally, her voice low and thoughtful. "A royal summons is not to be taken lightly, especially from a King known for his… seclusion."

She glanced at Aurelia, her steely gaze softening for a fleeting moment. "However," she continued, "ignoring such an invitation could also be seen as a slight. A dangerous one."

The day stretched on for the Baroness, each tick of the clock echoing the relentless thrumming of her own thoughts. Confined to her study, she barely registered the monotone drone of the steward detailing the latest tax woes plaguing her estates. The parchment lay sprawled on the desk, the King's seal a stark reminder of the storm brewing on the horizon.

An opportunity, perhaps. It wasn't a secret the court simmered with discontent. Whispers of rebellion fluttered through the opulent halls, carried on the backs of disgruntled nobles and ambitious opportunists. The King's iron fist, once revered for its strength, now felt heavy-handed, stifling. But who dared to be the one to strike the first blow?

The Baroness's lips pressed into a thin line. She was no warrior, no revolutionary. Her life had thrived in the shadows, navigating the intricacies of trade and whispers. Yet, here she was, thrust into the harsh light of potential action. The weight of her family's legacy lay heavy on her shoulders – a legacy stained by the King's cruelty.

A flicker of movement caught her attention. A raven, obsidian wings catching the sunlight filtering through the window, perched on the sill. It tilted its head, intelligent eyes seemingly boring into hers. An odd sense of calm washed over her. This raven, a creature of darkness and secrets, felt like a harbinger of change, a reminder of the power that dwelled within the shadows.

With a resolute breath, the Baroness straightened in her chair. The steward's voice droned on, but she barely listened. A decision had been made. The King's invitation wouldn't be ignored. It would be a dance, a performance on a grand stage. But behind the facade of courtesy and civility, a game of power would unfold. And the Baroness, for the sake of her family and a kingdom yearning for change, was ready to play.