Page 100 of Smoke, Mirrors, & Misdemeanours

“Your house sits third-highest among the demon Echelons,” Ark replied. “You’re hardly in need of my support.”

“Where is the pride in being third when the path to the top is barred by a man who treats his throne like garbage?” Alderrath stepped around his desk. “You think you’re above it all. Your refusal to obey the rules makes you dangerous. You destabilize the system our ancestors built over four centuries.”

“Perhaps,” Ark said. “But it makes me free.”

Alderrath laughed scathingly. “Free? We were not born for freedom, Arkenoth. We were born to be leaders. It’s a privilege you treat as a joke—and you make the rest of us the punchline.”

Ark held his gaze. To Alderrath, the world was a structure of pillars and foundations—each person in their place, each duty inherited, nothing ever changing. But Ark had never wanted to be a pillar. He wanted to stand where he stood because he chose to.

Alderrath would never understand that. He couldn’t. Because understanding it would mean admitting the pillars were optional.

“We’re done here,” Ark said, his voice dead calm.

“On that, we are in agreement.” Alderrath straightened his jacket, the composure snapping back into place, more brittle than before. “Get out. Starlight’s new Certificate of Ownership is being spell-inked as we speak. Your little witch’s rebellion is coming to an end.”

That stopped Ark cold. A spell-inked certificate wasn’t just paperwork—it was ritual. The High Registrar’s office would bind Alderrath’s magical signature to Starlight’s very foundations, fusing owner to property through the Registry’s master ledger. Once sealed, breaking that bond would require untangling three layers of magic at once—Alderrath’s, Starlight’s, and the Registry’s own. That required unanimous Council consent. It would mean weeks of bureaucratic warfare, at minimum. Months, if Alderrath made it difficult.

And Alderrath would make it difficult.

Ark’s jaw tightened. If the ink had already touched parchment, Cassia’s chances of reclaiming Starlight were vanishing by the minute.

Damn it. He’d hoped there was still time.

He didn’t say another word. Just turned and walked out, his boots striking the polished marble with a clipped rhythm that echoed through the empty hallway. Outside, the morning light was a relief—dimmer and gentler than the enchanted blaze of Alderrath’s office. The city carried on as though nothing had shifted.

Except, everything had.

Alderrath had moved further than Ark had anticipated, sealing the matter shut with ritual and ink and the full weight of a system built to serve men exactly like him. For anyone else, that would be the end.

Ark wasn’t anyone else.

And he wasn’t done fighting.

24

CASSIA

The Corvina Atelier sat a few doors down from The Witching Flour—an old townhouse turned dress shop with tall windows and a narrow teal door painted with a soft, iridescent glaze. The golden sign above the entrance read ‘Madam Corvina, Couturier—Genuine Elvish Artistry’ in a looping script.

Inside, it was quiet and cool. Pale light streamed through the windows and fell across bolts of silk and lace arranged like a colour wheel along the walls. Dresses on display stood on mannequins in perfect rows—elegant, but not ostentatious. No music played; no magic hummed, just the occasional whisper of pins in fabric and the rustle of cloth being smoothed.

Cassia stood still on the fitting platform while Opalina meticulously adjusted the bodice of her gown. Her friends had dragged her here after she’d closed The Witching Flour for the day. This dress was important, yes, but she’d hoped to get to Starlight before the younger children went to bed. Imogen had been struggling with the water magic module recently, and she’d been hoping to give the little half-elf girl some one-on-one tutoring.

“I don’t know why you’re both making such a fuss,” Cassia muttered, not for the first time, tugging at the fabric. “It’s only a party.”

“You’re going to the Daemaris’s Yulefrost Ball,” Lilibeth pointed out. She was perched nearby with a chocolate truffle between her fingers. She certainly wouldn’t be touching any silk today. “There’s nothing ‘only’ about it.”

“It’s not my ball. I’m not being introduced to society. I’m just Ark’s⁠—”

“Fake Chosen?” Opalina deadpanned, smoothing the ice-blue silk over Cassia’s waist. “Which means everyone will be watching you even more closely, looking for cracks in the performance. Might as well give them something gorgeous to gawk at.”

Cassia sighed and gestured to the dress draped over her. “But this is too much.”

The dress was exquisite; she couldn’t deny that, but it brought back memories she’d rather forget. The last time she’d stood on a fitting platform like this, she’d been younger, stupider, certain of a future that had never existed in the first place. She’d spent weeks planning that dress with Opalina. So proud of it, so in love with him. Then he’d looked at her with pitying eyes and told her she didn’t belong.

He’d made sure she understood that.

And here she was, standing in another beautiful gown, fussing. Again.