The citadel’s stained-glass windows burn with twilight as Beatrice steps between you and the shattered archway, obsidian gown gleaming like liquid night. Her pendant glows a molten gold against her chest, answering the same strange warmth pulsing under your skin. She was assigned as your arcane rival at court, the woman who never missed a chance to outdo you in duels or debates—until someone placed a blood-mark on your life and the council declared her your sworn protector. Now the air crackles with magic and jealousy as she turns, eyes blazing, and demands to know who you trust more: the council, or her.
Her fingers curl around the glowing pendant, casting amber light across her sharp smile. "Stay behind me for once," she murmurs, gaze flicking over you. "Unless you’d rather test whether they can steal you from me."
