The grand hall glittered with gold and candlelight, alive with the hum of noble voics. Velvet drapes framed the stage, jeweled lanterns casting dazzling light across silks and velvets. The fashio show had begun.
Backstage, Alex drew a steady breath, his hands smoothing the front of his design. Every stitch, every line, bore his vision. He was nervous, yes—but not for himself. His thoughts flickered to Kael and Edrin, slipping into danger even now.
"Breathe, Cupcake," Riven murmured beside him, adjusting his own collar with a lopsided grin. "They're going to eat this up."
Alex's lips twitched despite himself. "I know. Let's give them something they won't forget."
---
Far from the laughter and applause, silence ruled the marble corridors of the Hall of Bonding.
Edrin pressed his palm against the wall, feeling the tremor of earth mana woven into the wards. Kael exhaled slowly, air mana curling like mist to soften the locks of the gate.
The massive doors eased open without a sound. Together, they slipped inside.
---
On stage, Lady Marriane's voice carried, commanding and crisp: "Presenting the Rosetta Collection—unrivaled in elegance, crafted for history itself."
Gasps rippled through the audience as the first models glided forward.
Then Alex stepped into the light. Draped in midnight blue embroidered with silver thread, he moved with measured confidence. Applause swelled, nobles leaning forward to catch every detail.
Among the sea of eyes, one gaze lingered longer than most. The Crown Prince's. His expression was unreadable, but intent. Lady Marriane noticed, her fan twitching in the slightest motion, though Alex remained unaware.
---
In the Hall of Bonding, Kael and Edrin passed rows of towering shelves, parchment and leather tomes stretching into shadow.
"This way," Kael whispered, guiding them to the right aisle, the air wards parting at his touch.
Edrin's fingers skimmed spines until one, deep green leather stamped with Veymore's crest, caught his eye. He tugged it free, setting it on the table.
The pages opened with a dry crack. Together they scanned the entries—marriages, adoptions, dates etched in neat script.
Their eyes stopped on one line.
Duke Alaric of Veymore. Consort: Lord Darius. Adopted Heir: Callen Dareth.
Next to the names of the Duke and his son was a single word in bold, black ink.
Deceased.
Edrin's jaw tightened. "But that name—Callen Dareth—"
"—is too close to Callum Dareth to ignore," Kael finished, voice taut.
---
Back in the grand hall, Riven stepped onto the runway in a fitted dark ensemble, his smirk earning ripples of whispering from the crowd. Alex joined him midway, their movements confident, steady, purposeful.
Applause thundered. For the first time, Alex let himself stand tall, pride glinting in his eyes. This was his stage, his work, his plan coming alive.
At the edge of the crowd, Lady Marriane's gaze flicked again to the Crown Prince—still watching, still quiet, his attention too precise to dismiss. Her lips pressed thin, but she said nothing.
---
Deep in the archives, Kael slid the tome back into place, both of them moving with deliberate care. The discovery pressed heavy between them.
"Dead or not," Edrin muttered, "that name means something."
Kael's eyes were hard. "We bring it back. Alex will know what to make of it."
---
The fashion show swelled to its finale—a cascade of cloaks unfurling like wings under jeweled lanterns, the crowd rising to their feet in thunderous applause.
Alex stood at the center of it, chest rising with steady breaths. He didn't shrink. He didn't hide. He met the nobles' eyes, calm and sure, even as a faint unease lingered at the back of his mind—for Kael and Edrin, for what their mission might uncover.
The gamble was working. But in shadows and silence, truths had stirred that would not stay buried for long.