Silk & Sabotage

Part One: Day (-2)

"The Arrival of Empires".

The sun over Sonhane rose like a heraldic trumpet — not soft, but blazing. Golden rays struck against the pearl domes of the palace, ricocheting into a thousand shards of light that blinded the waking city below. From above, Sonhane did not look like a city preparing for war. It looked like a paradise sculpted for gods — where ruby and onyx danced in every spire, and the scent of saffron and smoked sandalwood floated on the air like an offering.

Two days before the wedding.

Two days before two nations who once tried to destroy each other would be bound by vows, velvet, and veiled intentions.

Two days before the world would change forever — and three lives would begin to unravel.

The Procession Begins

The first to arrive were the foreign dignitaries from the Republic of Rica — Lucas Drax's homeland. Their ships bore no color but steel. Sleek and sharp, they slid into the harbor like blades into a sheath.

From each deck unfurled banners of the Iron Flame — Rica's war seal — woven in deep obsidian and bronze thread.

Soldiers disembarked without a sound. No music. No flowers. Just the rhythm of boot against stone, as if war itself had marched ashore wearing a diplomatic mask.

In contrast, Mia Veyra's court had already taken its place inside the palace.

Irina sat among advisors. Mino Kael stood veiled in civilian garb, unseen and unspeaking.

They had arrived days ago.

They were not here to welcome Rica.

They were here to observe — and to test.

Mia Veyra Watches every move.

From the highest tower of Sonhane, Mia stood alone, barefoot on mosaic floors older than her country. Her wedding garments had not arrived yet. She wore only a long slip of silk — silver-blue, like the early dawn — her hair undone, her face unpainted.

A breeze swept through the open balcony, lifting the curtain. She didn't flinch.

She was watching.

Not the arrivals, not the parade, not even her own soldiers.

She was watching the man at Irina's side — the one who walked too straight to be a scribe, whose eyes lifted toward her balcony only once.

But that once was enough.

"Mino Kael," she whispered, not with fear, but with hunger. "So you came."

She didn't look away. Neither did he.

She had every reason to send soldiers to drag him into the dungeons. Every reason to raise alarms.

But she didn't.

Instead, she turned and walked back into the shadows of her room, letting the curtains fall behind her like a guillotine.

Lucas arrives to Sonhane

By mid-afternoon, the Rican procession entered the city gates. Where the Loasians once brought music, Rica brought steel. Their horses were clad in leather dyed black and copper. Their soldiers were silent, only the hooves echoing against the flagstone.

At the front rode Lucas Drax, the Iron Flame of Rica, the man Mia would marry.

He wore no crown, no jewels, no velvet. Only obsidian war armor, polished so finely it reflected faces. His eyes were as unreadable as ever — ocean grey and hard.

Citizens of Sonhane bowed low, but he didn't acknowledge them.

He had only one destination: the high chamber of diplomacy, where the betrothal rituals were to be reviewed.

But when he passed beneath the arch of temple bells, he glanced up — and caught the flicker of Mia's silhouette behind a silk-curtained window.

She was watching him. As if measuring him.

"I don't trust her," murmured his aide beside him.

"That's good," Lucas said flatly. "She doesn't trust me either."

The procession passed, but the weight lingered. Formalities gave way to stillness as dusk draped itself over Sonhane. The palace began to shift — from ceremony to silence, from spectacle to strategy.

Lanterns were lit. Courtyards swept. The diplomats changed their armor for robes, their words for wine. But beneath the golden glow of the Marble Garden, the game had only just begun.

The Marble Garden, a sacred neutral space between the two delegations' quarters, had been opened for informal mingling.

Most spoke in pleasantries. But beneath every compliment was a sharpened test.

Mino Kael stood beside Irina now — in full view, unmasked, unhidden.

This was the first time he appeared under his true name, no longer hiding behind diplomatic aliases or borrowed smiles. And yet, no one in Lina Loas recognized him. Not the generals. Not the aides. Not even the veterans who had once toasted Kael Venric's "sacrifice" in smoky corridors after the Dahlia mission.

His hair was shorter now, neater. His shoulders broader. The softness of his diplomat disguise had been replaced by the sharp lines of a Rican officer. Whatever lingered of the old mask had burned away — buried with the tunnel and the lies.

To them, Mino Kael was just another face in Rica's hardened vanguard.

But to Mia and Irina, he was the ghost who had come back wearing flesh.

Irina sat beneath the white fig tree, sipping dark tea. Mino stood behind her, eyes scanning the faces around them — diplomats, commanders, an assassin dressed like a priest.

"She saw you," Irina whispered without looking.

"I know."

"Did Lucas?"

"No. He was too focused on looking like a king."

She laughed quietly. "Careful. You almost sound like you care."

Mino didn't reply. But his eyes stopped on a shadowed hallway far beyond the garden — where a flicker of silver silk had just disappeared.