Tales of Neglected ones

The Imperial Banquet Hall glittered beneath crystal chandeliers, each light reflected across the polished marble floor like scattered stars. Nobles in elegant finery swayed through the grand space, exchanging pleasantries and calculating glances in equal measure.

For most, it was a celebration.

For Seraphina, it was a performance.

She moved with grace, her pale-blue gown flowing behind her like water. Her expression was calm, her movements light—but as she passed the central fountain, something made her slow.

A strange, invisible pressure pressed against her back.

Like she was being watched.

Closely.

Deliberately.

Her violet eyes drifted across the crowd—no one met her gaze. Everyone around her was laughing, clinking glasses, conversing about territory disputes or the newest academy rumors.

Yet the sensation remained.

Her heart gave a single uneasy beat.

She hesitated for only a breath, then calmly turned away and continued walking. The feeling didn't leave, but she had no name to give it. No direction. No evidence. Just instinct.

So she did what felt natural.

She walked toward him.

Sylas.

He stood in the shadows of a silver-carved column, dressed in dark formal wear that did nothing to soften his presence. His black hair fell across his forehead slightly, and his posture—relaxed, but observant—gave the impression of someone who saw far more than he ever said aloud.

She stepped beside him without a word.

He glanced at her, then offered a faint nod.

That was enough.

Her breath settled.

Then came the shift.

The towering doors opened once more at the far end of the hall.

The Imperial Family entered.

A hush swept through the room like a wave crashing upon the shore. Every noble bowed slightly. The golden-robed knights flanked the Emperor and Empress, their son walking between them with proud, practiced steps.

The Emperor raised a hand. Silence followed.

"Tonight," he declared, his voice rich and resonant, "we gather not only for celebration—but for legacy. My son's twelfth birthday marks more than his coming of age. It is a reminder that the future of our Empire lies in young hands… your hands."

Seraphina's eyes fixed on the dais, her hands gently clasped, her presence serene as the speech continued.

Unaware.

Unshaken.

But she didn't see the boy watching her from above.

Lucien Valeburne stood in the shadows of the upper balcony, one hand resting on the cold marble railing. His attire—crimson and silver—gleamed faintly in the light, but his gaze was sharp, focused, and unwavering.

On her.

She hadn't looked his way once. Hadn't noticed him. Hadn't acknowledged him.

That didn't matter.

He saw enough.

From the moment she entered, he felt it—something about her commanded his attention. Not loud. Not flashy. But real. Pure.

And then…

She went to him.

That boy.

That dark-haired nobody who stood beside her like he belonged there.

Sylas.

Lucien's golden eyes narrowed.

He has no title. No seat in court. No blood that matters.

Yet Seraphina had chosen to stand beside him. Not the sons of dukes. Not the daughters of esteemed houses. Him.

Lucien's fingers curled against the marble ledge.

He doesn't deserve to stand beside her.

It wasn't anger. Not yet.

But it was something close.

The desire to correct a mistake.

To remove what shouldn't be there.

Does he even understand who he's standing next to? Does he know what she is? What she will become?

Lucien inhaled slowly, then exhaled in silence.

Perhaps he's forgotten his place.

And if he had…

Lucien would remind him.

Not with noise.

Not with drama.

But with the same precision he always applied—quiet, efficient, inevitable.

His gaze shifted once more to Seraphina.

She'll know me soon enough.

And when she does... there won't be room for anyone else.

Not even Sylas.

End of chapter