[House Veyrhold—Aelira's Chamber—Late Night]
The candles burned low.
Golden light flickered across polished mirrors and silk drapes, casting shifting shadows that stretched and curled like living things along the walls.
Aelira stood before her reflection, still and unmoving. Her fingers traced lightly along the edge of her collarbone, following the line of her own perfection with quiet familiarity.
"…He did not look at me."
The words were soft and measured, but beneath them something sharp stirred. Her gaze lifted slowly to meet her own reflection.
Composed, flawless, and unchallenged, and yet ignored.
A faint smile touched her lips, wicked and colder.
"…No," she murmured, tilting her head slightly. "That is not rejection."
Her eyes narrowed.
"It is… defiance."
A pause, then her hand lowered.
"…And defiance," she whispered, her voice dropping, "is meant to be corrected."
