Silk & Sabotage

Chapter 2 : Day (-1)

The Night Before the wedding

"The Banquet of Shadows"

Evening draped over Sonhane like heavy velvet. The city looked beautiful, but it felt... off. Lights flickered everywhere. Laughter echoed through the narrow streets. But beneath it all was something else — something quieter, something tense.

For days, the whole city had been drenched in celebration. Music in every courtyard. Petals strewn along the walkways. Children dressed like nobles, throwing candy in the air. But tonight — the night before the wedding — things changed.

The perfume in the air was too strong. The music too polished. The smiles too wide. Like everyone was trying a bit too hard.

Inside the palace, the glow was unreal. Chandeliers flickered like fake stars. Ice sculptures held roses frozen inside, looking as if someone tried to trap beauty mid-death. The tables overflowed with gold-plated dishes and crystal glasses. It should have felt magical.

But it didn't.

It felt staged.

Mia Veyra arrived alone.

She didn't float in like some bride-to-be. She walked like someone who didn't owe anyone an explanation. Her gown — deep crimson, darker than any rose — moved with her like it had its own mood. Her hair was done like a crown, and around her neck hung a charm shaped like a blade.

She took her seat beside the empty chair meant for her fiancé. Fingers curled around a goblet of untouched wine. She didn't drink.

Lucas arrived five minutes later.

He looked sharp, official — dressed like a man built for war and used to it. His uniform was pitch black with streaks of deep blue running through, the steel crest of Rica catching the candlelight. He was unreadable, stiff, composed.

He didn't say anything. Neither did she.

They looked at each other just once. One glance — quick, sharp, enough to tell a whole story. And then they stared forward, like strangers sitting beside each other on a train they didn't want to be on.

Dinner came. And more dinner. Course after course. Delicate food so dressed up it barely looked edible. Orchids, gold leaf, meat carved into swans. Dancers drifted by like ghosts in silk. A lion, drugged and decorated, was led through the hall like peace could be paraded.

People clapped. People smiled.

But no one relaxed.

And watching from behind a screen carved with ivory roses, stood Mino Kael.

He wasn't dressed like a soldier. Or a spy. Just a man in a diplomat's robe, wine in hand, face calm. But his eyes never left the couple at the center of the room. Especially her.

Mia caught his gaze. For just a second. Her face didn't change. But her jaw clenched. Her fingers paused mid-movement. And then she looked away.

She had seen him. Of course she had.

She always saw him.

As the night wore on, guests began to wander. Toasts, laughter, the kind that makes your skin itch if you know what tension feels like.

Mia stood after the fifth course. No speech. No excuse. Just quiet grace as she walked toward the inner gardens — her crimson gown trailing behind her like a warning.

The garden was hushed, lit only by soft lanterns and moonlight. The trees glowed white. The air felt cooler. Her heels clicked softly on the stones.

She wasn't alone.

He was already there.

Standing beside the fountain like he belonged in the stillness. No guards. No mask. Just him.

Mino.

He didn't bow. Didn't speak first. He just looked at her — the way people look at memories they aren't ready to let go of.

"You're bold," Mia said.

"You're not surprised," he answered.

There was no emotion in his tone. Not because he didn't feel — but because he knew she'd understand anyway. And she did.

"Did you enjoy the show?" she asked lightly, watching him the way someone watches a flame.

"Not as much as I used to."

She didn't smile. Didn't frown either. Just... paused. Her fingers twitched slightly, instinctively — a habit, maybe. She didn't go for her weapon. She didn't need to.

Mino moved past her without touching her. But it still felt like contact.

She could smell him. The same mix — smoke, salt, something like the ocean after a storm. It stayed with her.

He didn't turn back.

Neither did she.

---

Later that night, while the palace still buzzed with music and wine, Lucas Drax stood at his window, the glass fogged with his breath. He hadn't spoken in hours. Not since Mia left the table. His hands were tight around the windowsill. His eyes locked on the dark garden beyond.

He heard the door open behind him.

He didn't move.

"You think she'll come to you?" a voice said.

Lucas exhaled. "No."

Mino.

He stepped in casually. Gloves half-off, his steps soft. He knew the room well. Too well.

Lucas didn't turn.

He didn't have to.

Mino walked slowly, stopping only when he was close enough that Lucas could feel his breath.

"Tell me you're not in love with her," Mino said quietly.

Lucas didn't answer at first.

"Tell me," Mino repeated.

"...I'm not."

Lucas's tone was dry. Defensive. But his hands betrayed him — knuckles white on the sill.

"And you?" Lucas asked, not looking.

"You seem... more intrigued by her than I ever was," Mino said, with a half-smile that didn't reach his eyes.

Lucas turned then, suddenly, and pulled him in.

Their kiss was rough. Hungry. Familiar in all the wrong ways.

It wasn't love.

It was punishment.

It was history.

They fell into the bed, mouths pressed too tightly, hands moving with the kind of muscle memory that doesn't come from affection — but from ache. There was nothing romantic about it. Just need. Power. The kind of intimacy forged in betrayal.

When it ended, they lay beside each other in silence. No touching. No conversation.

Lucas stared at the ceiling. Mino at the wall.

"You're her ghost," Lucas said softly.

"And you," Mino whispered, voice almost bitter, "are mine."