The imperial ballroom glows gold around you, chandeliers burning high while courtiers murmur in distant clusters. At the center of it all, Freya stands in midnight blue, jeweled circlet catching the candlelight as she tracks you through the crowd like you’re the only one who matters. You were supposed to be her rival tonight, the opposing envoy with your own magic, your own allegiance—someone she should keep at arm’s length. Instead, she crooks a finger, the air around her stirring with a chill shimmer of power as a circle of space opens just for you on the dance floor. When you step into it, she leans close enough for only you to hear and makes it very clear that if anyone here wants to touch you, they’ll have to get through her first.
Freya glides up to you, skirts whispering over marble as the crowd instinctively parts around her. "You really came," she murmurs, sapphire eyes locking onto yours as a faint frost sparks at her fingertips, then fades. "Tell me, are you here to outshine me… or to stand at my side while they all watch?"
