"She screamed once. That's what I remember most. Just once."
Eloise didn't know who whispered it, but the words clung to the corridors like cobwebs, trailing after every passing servant and bride.
No one spoke above a hush that morning... Even the laughter in the west wing sounded brittle, forced. Too careful. Like the castle itself was listening.
The news came not with trumpets, not with warning—but with the silence of an empty chair at breakfast.
Bride Number Five. Serana. Gone.
Her place at the table remained untouched, a silver goblet of bloodwine sweating gently beside a still-warm plate.
There was no announcement. No explanation. No ceremony.
But everyone knew.
They always know.
Eloise sat with her spine straight and her mask off. No one was wearing them now, not this early. Still, she felt bare. Naked under the heavy gaze of the court. She reached for a spoon and missed. Her hand was trembling.
Across from her, Lysandra watched.
"Eat," she said, voice low, deliberate. "Don't give them the satisfaction."
Eloise blinked. "What?"
"Don't look shaken," Lysandra muttered. "Not here. Not now."
The table was too long. The air too still. The moment far too heavy for the morning sun filtering lazily through the stained glass.
"She spoke out," Cecilia said under her breath, leaning from Eloise's left. "Serana. Last night. I saw her shouting at one of the guards. Said she was leaving. Said she didn't care what the Rite meant."
"And now she's just… gone?"
"Gone," Cecilia confirmed.
"Was there blood?" Eloise asked before she could stop herself.
Lysandra's spoon paused mid-air.
"You ask dangerous questions," she said.
"I just—I want to understand the rules."
"There are no rules," Lysandra said. "There are only consequences."
Eloise stared at her plate. The food smelled of warm spice and citrus, but her appetite had vanished.
Someone was murdered.
No one called it that, of course. No one said the word.
But Serana had screamed. Just once.
They were escorted into the atrium later that morning—a grand circular hall with glass ceilings and flowering vines curling down the stone like veins. Too beautiful for the dread that lingered underfoot.
The Prince didn't appear.
Instead, his steward—a pale man with eyes the color of frozen water—announced the day's activities.
"A garden stroll. Unattended. Within the inner grounds only," he said.
No one questioned it. No one cheered.
They were being watched. Tested.
Eloise wandered toward the southern hedge maze, not because she was curious, but because she needed air. Something to remind her the world was still turning outside this golden prison.
Footsteps trailed her.
She turned and nearly ran into Lysandra.
"I'm not going to kill you," the older girl said dryly.
"I didn't say anything."
"You looked like prey."
Eloise folded her arms. "And you look like someone who enjoys circling."
Lysandra gave the ghost of a smirk. "You're not as dumb as you pretend to be."
"Thanks. I think."
They walked together in silence for a stretch. A breeze stirred the maze hedges. Somewhere nearby, a fountain burbled lazily.
"She was stupid," Lysandra said finally. "Serana. Brave, but stupid."
"She just wanted to leave."
"No one leaves. That's the point."
"You sound like you've accepted that."
Lysandra stopped walking. Her expression shifted—something too quick to name, before it smoothed over again.
"Do you know what they did to the first girls?" she asked.
Eloise shook her head.
"They brought peasant daughters at first. Daughters of traitors. Women no one would miss. The court called it tradition, but it was punishment. And over time, it became performance."
Her voice dropped lower.
"And now? Now they want a queen. But they still want her obedient. Entertaining. Soft enough to mold, strong enough not to crack. It's a contradiction. And a trap."
"You sound like you've seen it before."
"I've survived it before."
"Why are you telling me this now?"
Lysandra looked at her then—really looked. Her voice wasn't sharp when she said, "Because you made the altar glow. Because you don't know what that means. And because if you die in the next round, it's a waste."
Eloise's chest tightened. "You're not afraid they'll hear you?"
"I hope they do," she said. "Let them wonder who I'm backing."
That night, the court changed again.
Not the tapestries or the furnishings, but the air.
It was thicker. Waiting. A kind of tension that hummed beneath the velvet, behind the laughter.
Eloise walked the halls like a woman inside a lion's mouth—careful not to touch the teeth.
Even the servants looked different. Their movements sharper. Their glances lingered longer.
In the mirror of her room, she saw it in herself too.
The red silk nightdress didn't make her look soft. It made her look marked.
She touched her finger—still bandaged from the Rite. Still sore.
She hadn't cried. Not for Serana. Not yet.
But the sound of that single scream haunted her.
It was the absence of more that chilled her the most. No fight. No echo. Just that one, pure note of terror—cut short.
A knock.
Soft. Precise.
Eloise opened the door slowly.
It was Dorian.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. His silver mask was gone. He looked… tired. Pale in a way that wasn't just his blood. Dark curls fell into his eyes, and there was something unreadable in his expression.
"May I?" he asked.
She stepped aside.
He entered with the grace of someone used to dangerous spaces. She noticed he scanned the room—walls, corners, ceiling—as if memorizing its vulnerabilities.
"Serana is dead," Eloise said. Not a question.
"Yes."
"You let them—"
"I didn't let anything," he said.
"You were there."
"I was," he said. "And that's all I'm permitted to say."
She turned away, fury rising. "You could've stopped it."
"Then I'd be the one who disappeared."
His voice was low. Sharp.
Eloise looked back at him.
He stepped closer. "This place feeds on the illusion of control. You fight it openly, it swallows you. But there are other ways."
"Like what? Glowing blood? Cryptic threats?"
He almost smiled. "Like alliances."
She raised an eyebrow. "You want to ally with me?"
"I want you alive," he said simply. "Because if you die… I think the Court burns."
The words stunned her.
"Why me?"
"I don't know yet," Dorian admitted. "But the altar does. And I trust the old gods more than I trust the throne."
He turned to leave.
At the door, he paused. "Tomorrow is the first test. Real one. Choreographed, public, meant to look like a game."
"What kind of test?"
"The kind designed to show who bleeds easiest."
He met her eyes. "Don't be the one who plays by their rules."
Then he was gone.
Eloise stood alone in the candlelight.
The walls of her chamber glittered with embroidered stars and golden ivy.
She had never seen anything more beautiful.
And never felt more trapped.