The arrival of summer heralded the Magic Tower's most anticipated event: the Annual Creative Fair.
A month into the season, the Tower opened its grand halls and sprawling courtyards to welcome all corners of the Kingdom—nobles, scholars, merchants, and commoners alike. Each came eager to marvel at the Tower's latest wonders, unveiled beneath banners of glowing sigils and sky-scribed constellations.
Enchanted lanterns bobbed through the air like golden fireflies, casting warm halos over polished marble floors. The halls pulsed with color and motion—stalls overflowing with magical inventions, laughter curling like music through the air. The scent of spiced wine and sugared citrus mingled with trails of sparkling enchantments that danced above the crowd.
Amid it all, Delphia walked beside Zypher.
Her gown shimmered with deep sapphire tones, catching the flicker of floating lights like water catching moonlight. At her side, Zypher moved with effortless command, the subtle glint of the Magic Tower's crest pinned at his lapel.
Wherever they went, people stepped aside. Not out of deference—but curiosity. Maybe awe. Maybe fear.
"She carries herself differently now…"
"That's no longer the girl who used to follow behind the crown prince."
"And with the Magic Tower's heir? That's no small thing."
The murmurs weren't loud, but they were consistent. Not whispered in corners—spoken just loud enough to be caught. Observed. Tracked.
Zypher leaned toward her as they passed beneath a high archway lined with star-shaped glyphs. "They're trying to decide," he murmured, "whether to be impressed… or afraid."
Delphia plucked a glass of honeyed wine from a passing tray that floated beside her shoulder, its crystal stem perfectly chilled. "They'll figure it out," she said coolly, "after they stop staring."
He chuckled low under his breath, his fingers brushing against hers for the briefest moment as they walked.
The Kingdom had come to marvel at magic. But tonight, it was Delphia who drew the wonder.
Across the grand exhibition hall, Calista Faremont watched.
Draped in flowing gold and silk embroidered with starburst threads, she looked every bit the picture of poise and perfection. Her hair had been styled to catch the light just so, and the fan in her hand flicked rhythmically—measured, practiced, precise.
She smiled as if amused. But behind that smile brewed a quiet, simmering irritation.
Calista had spent months sculpting her place in court—patiently curating favor, reputation, and influence. High society had always responded to her with admiration, sometimes even reverence. And yet tonight… the current shifted.
The murmurs weren't about her. They were about Delphia Vosswell.
And that was a problem.
Delphia had become something else entirely—no longer the misstep clinging to Alaric's shadow, but a presence in her own right. Elevated. Empowered. Dangerous.
Calista's smile didn't falter, but her gaze sharpened.
That won't do.
She moved through the crowd with the elegance of a seasoned courtier, every motion calculated, every glance drawing attention. Conversations paused subtly as she passed. By the time she reached Delphia and Zypher, all eyes near them had already begun to turn.
"Lady Vosswell," Calista greeted, her voice bright enough to carry, smooth as velvet. "What a lovely surprise. I wasn't sure this event would catch your interest."
Delphia turned with effortless grace, her expression unreadable. "Lady Faremont."
Calista's attention flicked toward Zypher. "And of course, Lord Thorne. The two of you have become… rather inseparable, haven't you? The court is talking."
Zypher's smile was sharp, but polite. "Isn't it always?"
She gave a soft laugh, deliberately light. "Indeed. Some have even started calling you quite the pair. It's charming, really. Though I imagine the attention must be overwhelming for someone… unaccustomed to such scrutiny."
A jab in silk.
Delphia caught it, of course. But instead of bristling, she lifted her wineglass and took a slow sip, letting the moment stretch between them.
Then she tilted her head just slightly. "Attention is nothing new to me, Lady Faremont. Though I admit, it's always entertaining how quickly the court changes its tune. People do love a good redemption story."
The flicker in Calista's gaze was barely perceptible—just the faintest tension behind the eyes—but it was enough.
"Of course," Calista replied smoothly. "The court adores novelty."
Zypher smiled, this time with open amusement. "And yet, some stories last longer than a season."
The fan in Calista's hand stopped its gentle movement, held still for the briefest beat. She didn't reply. Because she didn't need to. The conversation had turned, and not in her favor.
Before the tension could fray further, a new presence interrupted.
"Lady Vosswell. Lord Thorne."
Alaric's voice was calm, measured—every syllable steeped in regal restraint. He stepped beside Calista with effortless composure, a picture of princely decorum. And yet, his eyes lingered on Delphia.
Not cold. Not warm.
Simply… assessing.
Delphia inclined her head in polite acknowledgment. "Your Highness."
Calista recovered quickly, sliding her arm through his as if he'd always been part of the conversation. "We were just remarking on how the court seems to be changing these days," she said breezily.
Alaric's gaze didn't shift. "It has, indeed."
Something unspoken passed between him and Delphia—an undercurrent neither of them voiced. For the first time, perhaps, he wasn't looking at the girl he once knew… but at the woman who had taken shape in her place.
And it unnerved him.
Calista felt it, even if she couldn't articulate it. Her fingers tightened subtly around his arm, her smile stretched a fraction too wide.
Delphia remained composed, untouched by the tension threading through the air. "The court adapts," she said, voice smooth as ever. "As do we all."
With that, she gave a parting nod and turned, drifting away with Zypher at her side. The hem of her sapphire gown swept elegantly behind her as they slipped back into the pulse of the fair.
Murmurs followed them like a tide.
Alaric watched them go, a strange quiet settling in his expression.
Calista followed his gaze—then looked away, jaw tight.
As they moved deeper into the fair, the hum of voices and music washed over them. The confrontation faded behind them like a ripple smoothing out on water.
Zypher plucked a caramel-dipped fig from a passing tray and held it out with a crooked smile. "Consider this your reward—for not dismantling Calista in public."
Delphia took the offering, her expression amused. "Is that how we're measuring diplomacy now?"
"Only when dessert is involved."
She bit into the fig, savoring the warmth of caramel against the sweet fruit. "Bribery through desserts is a dangerous game."
Zypher took one for himself, eyes crinkling at the corners. "You're worth the risk."
They passed stall after stall, each one stranger than the last. A mage demonstrated teacups that stirred themselves with a whisper. Nearby, an alchemist handed out crystalline sweets that sparkled in the palm and offered a minute of levitation to anyone daring enough to try.
Delphia took one, her eyes flickering with curiosity. The moment she popped it into her mouth, her feet lifted an inch from the polished marble. She hovered for a breathless second, suspended just above the ground, the weight of courtly burdens falling away.
Then, gently, she touched back down.
Zypher watched with open admiration. "And here I thought you were past being impressed."
She looked at him, lips parting in a smile. "This world still has its wonders. You just have to be willing to notice them."
The soft strains of music drifted through the courtyard ahead—a lilting melody carried by violins and lutes. Lanterns floated above an open pavilion, their golden glow swaying like fireflies against the deep blue of the night.
Zypher turned toward her and extended a hand. "Dance with me?"
Her answer was simple, but warm. "I'd love to."
Beneath the canopy of lantern-light, the pavilion glowed with quiet elegance. Strings of music floated through the warm summer air as guests twirled in time with the melody, gowns and cloaks catching the golden gleam of enchantment.
Zypher guided Delphia into the center of it all, their hands finding each other with practiced ease. The moment he drew her into the first turn, the world around them narrowed—just motion, music, and breath.
Delphia hadn't danced for the simple pleasure of it in a long time. Not for spectacle. Not for politics. Just… for herself.
And for him.
Zypher's grip was steady, every movement fluid, attuned to her rhythm as if he had danced with her through a thousand lifetimes. "Enjoying yourself?" he asked, his voice low, edged with playfulness.
Her lips curved into a soft smile. "Maybe just a little."
He twirled her effortlessly, catching her as she returned to his arms. "Careful. You might start enjoying court events."
"I said I liked dancing," she countered, teasing. "Not politics in disguise."
He chuckled, the sound rumbling warmly between them. The moment hovered—unspoiled, untouched.
Until a voice cut through the music like a thread pulled taut.
"Lady Vosswell, may I have this next dance?"
The atmosphere shifted. Delphia turned to find Alaric standing at the edge of the floor, his posture composed, his tone polite—too polite. Beside him stood Calista, her smile poised with silken perfection, eyes gleaming with something colder.
Zypher's jaw tightened, his hand at Delphia's waist growing rigid. "I don't believe she—"
Delphia gently laid her hand over his, calming the storm with a touch. He looked down at her, exhaled slowly. Reluctantly, he stepped back.
Her gaze met Alaric's with cool precision. "Only one dance, Crown Prince. I much prefer my Zypher to anyone else."
For a flicker of a second, Alaric's expression faltered—an emotion she couldn't quite place passing behind his eyes—but he recovered quickly. "Of course."
Zypher's smile thinned to a razor's edge. "Fine," he muttered. "But only one." He glanced past Alaric, barely acknowledging Calista. "I'll be getting another drink," he said curtly before striding toward the refreshment tables, his cloak snapping lightly behind him.
Calista's fan stilled in her hand, the lace trembling slightly before she caught it with a tighter grip.
Delphia extended her hand to Alaric, her face unreadable. As he took it, his touch was cool, measured. Around them, whispers stirred like leaves on a breeze—curious, hopeful, hungry for scandal.
Let them watch, Delphia thought, stepping into the dance. Let them see exactly how little sway the past holds over her now.
The waltz shifted seamlessly as Delphia stepped into Alaric's hold. His grip was practiced, firm but formal, guiding her with the kind of precision that came from years of royal training. It was a dance meant to project grace and unity.
But Delphia had no intention of playing along with illusions.
Around them, the courtyard gleamed beneath moonlight and lanterns, the polished stone casting soft reflections of the swirling dancers. The scent of night-blooming flowers lingered in the warm air. Everything seemed still—except for the tension taut between them.
For several beats, they danced in silence.
Then Alaric said quietly, "You've changed."
Delphia's gaze didn't waver. "The Delphia you knew is gone."
A muscle in his jaw tensed, but he inclined his head. "So it seems." He hesitated. "Your conduct during the Summit and the Tournament—it was… impressive. Unexpected."
She arched a brow. "Unexpected? How flattering. I suppose you thought you had me all figured out."
"I thought I did." His voice was steady, but there was something brittle beneath it. "Now, it's like I'm dancing with a stranger."
Delphia gave a small, humorless smile. "And yet, here you are."
He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he studied her—the poise, the confidence, the elegance carved from fire. "I suppose I was curious."
Her expression didn't soften. "Curiosity is dangerous, Your Highness. It tends to lead people places they aren't preparedto go."
There was a flicker of discomfort in his eyes. For so long, she'd been a constant in his life, familiar and waiting. Now, she felt like a foreign force. And he had no map for this version of her.
"Is there truly nothing left of the woman I once knew?" He asked, his voice lower now, almost… uncertain.
Delphia met his gaze, unflinching. "People change, Alaric. Some of us simply grow faster than others."
The music began its descent toward the final notes. She glided through the last steps with effortless grace, the picture of composure.
As the final chord lingered in the air, she withdrew from his hold with a gentle curtsy. "Thank you for the dance," she said coolly.
And then she turned—no pause, no backward glance—and walked away.
Alaric remained where he stood, watching her return to Zypher with measured steps and unshaken poise. Around them, the court kept dancing, but something had undeniably shifted.
Once, he'd thought he knew exactly who Delphia Vosswell was.
Now, he wasn't sure he ever had.
Delphia stepped back into Zypher's orbit, the shadows of the dance with Alaric slipping off her shoulders like a discarded shawl. He offered her a drink without a word—something sparkling and violet-hued—and she accepted it with a grateful sip.
"Still in one piece?" He asked, voice low, with a half-smile that didn't quite hide his irritation.
Delphia gave a small nod, her gaze drifting toward the dance floor. There, Calista now stood in Alaric's arms, her golden gown catching the lantern-light, her smile flawlessly shaped. They moved with practiced elegance, a picture-perfect couple.
But there was something hollow in the scene—at least to Delphia's eyes. The connection that once felt inevitable between them now seemed… rehearsed. Familiar, yes, but lacking fire. Lacking truth.
"They look lovely," Zypher said, tone dry.
"They do," Delphia agreed. She took another sip of the drink. "But even well-polished gold can grow dull when the light shifts."
Zypher glanced at her sidelong, then offered her his arm. "Come on. I think you've earned something sweeter than court drama."
He guided her away from the music and the murmuring crowd, back into the Tower's winding exhibition halls. As they passed glowing displays of magical instruments and enchanted flora that pulsed with soft luminescence, Delphia felt the tension of the evening dissolve into a quiet hum of satisfaction.
A booth of delicately carved memory beads caught her eye—each orb storing a single cherished moment. Another showcased illusion-threaded embroidery that shimmered to life with movement, displaying fleeting images of imagined constellations across trailing sleeves.
Zypher reached for one of the floating crystal sweets they'd passed earlier and handed it to her. "No levitating this time," he warned with a wink.
She laughed softly, the sound unguarded. "I make no promises."
As they moved through the hall together—past magic, invention, and wonder—Delphia let her gaze drift forward. The night was not over. There were still mysteries to discover, alliances to weigh, and illusions to unweave.
But for now, with the soft lights above and Zypher at her side, she let herself breathe.
Whatever came next, she would face it on her own terms.