The world hurt.

  As if Aurelis itself had slept inside my skull.

  It wasn’t just the hangover... I think

  My head, my eyes, my throat… every strand of my hair felt like a shard of glass. I opened one eye first, cautiously, and the curtains of the Centurion suite swayed softly, filtering a golden sunlight that insulted every cell in my body. Aurelis woke pristine.

  We didn’t.

  Velka lay face down, snoring peacefully, the sleep of someone who never quite regrets anything, one leg thrown shamelessly over Neyra. Neyra had half her face buried in a pillow and the other half… red, swollen, as if her shame had decided to surface through her skin first.

  Caelia was the only one sitting upright.

  Her back straight even in ruin. Makeup smudged beneath her eyes like poorly wiped ash. She held a steaming cup of coffee no one remembered ordering, as if merely holding it were an order the world was obligated to obey.

  —What time is it…? —my voice came out torn, like ripped paper.

  —Eleven —Caelia replied, without looking at me—. And we’re already the story of the day.

  She paused. Not for drama. For calculation.

  —Look.

  On the wall, the Pendelton’s massive screen was on.

  It wasn’t a broadcast.

  It was an edit.

  Velka standing on a table, her dress hitched far past what it should have been, shouting something unintelligible at a deputy while two bodyguards hauled her down amid laughter and applause. The clip replayed from three different angles.

  Neyra dancing on a chair, glass raised, eyes bright, surrounded by news anchors begging for selfies as if they’d discovered a new version of her that belonged to them. Slow motion. Glittering captions.

  Caelia… dancing.

  Dancing.

  With two officials. Smiling.

  The iron commander edited until she looked gentle.

  And me.

  Smiling too much.

  Holding a glass.

  Looking straight into the camera with an expression I didn’t remember ever wearing.

  The video froze there, my face locked in place like a confession.

  Headlines layered over one another, unapologetic:

  “THE GODDESSES HUMANIZE THEMSELVES! A Night of Laughter, Liquor, and Charm at the Aureum Palace”

  “VELKA AUREL PROMISES TO CONQUER AURELIS ONE LAUGH AT A TIME”

  “WHO IS LYSSANDRA VELCRUX WITHOUT HER ARMOR? ASK THE SPARKLING WINE…”

  Velka stirred, half-awake, half-proud:

  —Oh, princess… dignity, my arse. Did you see my face up on that table? Look at it, look at it… that’s art.

  Neyra lifted her head slightly, eyes watery:

  —I’m going to be hated in Seravenn. I know it. I’m a statistical disgrace. A drunk anomaly.

  Caelia let out a long, tired breath. She took a sip of coffee before speaking.

  —We did what we had to do —she said—. Maintain the alliance… —another pause— …and apparently get drunk on live feed.

  Velka gave her a lazy slap on the leg:

  —Oh, Commander, relax. At least nobody puked on camera. Right, Neyra?

  Nerya buried her face under the pillow:

  —I don’t want to talk about that. Ever again.

  I pressed the pillow over my face, trying to escape the pounding at the base of my skull. Every second of the night before echoed there—not as memory, but as residue.

  I let myself be seen.

  Not as a weapon.

  Not as a symbol.

  Seen.

  Not as a soldier or a monster.

  Just… me.

  Anger rose, tangled with shame, hot and uncomfortable. I wanted to hate myself for enjoying it. I couldn’t.

  And then, without meaning to, I laughed.

  A muffled laugh. Ridiculous. Guilty.

  Velka joined in first. Then Caelia, with a weary huff. Then even Nerya, between groans of hangover and broken laughter.

  That’s how we were.

  Four goddesses dethroned by their own shine, painted in excess, stripped of control.

  And the kingdom of Aurelis, out there,

  licking every last drop.

  The phone’s buzz drilled straight through my temple like a cursed bell.

  Velka wasn’t breathing.

  Neyra had her face buried in a pillow.

  Caelia watched the world from behind her coffee cup, like it was an improvised command post.

  I—the closest—reached out clumsily and picked up the handset. My voice came out in tatters.

  —Hello…?

  The scent of poison brushed my ear at once.

  —Lyssandra Velcrux…?

  Well now… ain’t I just the lucky one, sweetheart, that you picked up.

  I blinked, trying to gather neurons that clearly hadn’t woken up yet.

  —Who is this…?

  A brief little laugh. A slow, satisfied click of the tongue.

  —Celestine Monroe.

  Of course.

  Of course it was.

  —Well, well… —she went on, dragging out every vowel like she was tasting them—. Looks like the goddesses of the big night are still kickin’.

  Though… —a deliciously small pause— …from the way you sound, sugar, I’d say you’re barely holdin’ together.

  I clenched my teeth.

  Velka was already pushing herself upright, sniffing drama like a starving hound.

  Celestine continued, honey edged with a blade:

  —Today? You’re mine.

  Shopping. Cameras. Headlines.

  I’m payin’. Aurelis is payin’. And y’all smile real pretty, alright?

  I sat up in bed, my pulse picking up speed.

  —I don’t think—

  —I wanna see you clean —she cut in, never raising her voice—. Polished.

  Like Seravenn always knew how to behave.

  Velka was already on her knees on the mattress, gesturing furiously in silent rage.

  Celestine finished, calm, satisfied:

  —One little hour, darlins’.

  Don’t be late… fame doesn’t wait on anybody.

  The click sounded like a slammed door.

  I stared at the phone, still warm in my hand.

  Velka exploded first, throwing both arms up theatrically:

  —No, no, no! Did she just call us dirty?!

  Princess, I swear on my future gray hairs—today that lizard’s gonna choke on her peacock feathers, one by one.

  Neyra slowly surfaced from the pillow, pale as paper.

  —How expensive is this gonna be…?

  Caelia took a sip of her coffee, unshaken.

  —More expensive than our dignity. —Pause.— But that’s that.

  I hung up slowly.

  No one spoke for a few seconds.

  Then the suite started to move.

  Caelia was the first to stand. She didn’t say a word. She set the coffee cup down and walked to the minibar like it was a critical mission. Water. Vitamins. Something effervescent I didn’t recognize. She handed everything out with the same efficiency she’d use to distribute ammunition.

  —Drink. —she ordered—. Even if you don’t want to.

  Velka accepted the glass like it personally offended her.

  —This doesn’t cure humiliation —she growled—, but I guess it keeps me from dying before I insult her to her face.

  Neyra sat up slowly, clutching her head.

  —I need… —she blinked— …I need numbers. How many drinks was it last night?

  —Too many. —I said without thinking.

  —That’s not a number —she complained, bringing the glass to her lips—. That’s a cruel concept.

  Caelia cracked the curtains open just a little. Golden light poured in like a collective slap.

  Velka let out a dramatic groan and buried her face in a cushion.

  —Turn the sun off. I did not consent to this.

  I stood carefully. Every step was a sharp reminder of the night before: heels, wine, laughter recorded in high definition. I went to the bathroom, looked at myself in the mirror… and let out a dry laugh.

  Smeared makeup.

  Defeated lashes.

  The shine of someone who’d let herself be seen too much.

  I splashed water on my face. Once. Twice. Three times.

  When I came back, Neyra was unsuccessfully trying to fix her hair with her fingers, and Caelia already had hers tied back again—face set, emotional armor sliding back into place.

  —We change. —she said—. Presentable. Not impeccable. That’s what she wants.

  Velka pushed herself up, stretching like an irritated feline.

  —Perfect. I’m gonna dress like a walking offense.

  A soft chime interrupted us.

  The room screen lit up on its own.

  LIMOUSINE WAITING.

  Downstairs.

  Velka looked at the message, then at us, and smiled without humor.

  —Well, princesses… —she said, grabbing her shoes—. Time to wash our faces and go play pretend that this doesn’t matter.

  Neyra let out a deep sigh.

  —Or pretend it doesn’t hurt.

  Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  Caelia opened the door.

  —Move. —she ordered—. Before the world decides for us.

  And so, with the hangover still nailed into our bones, we walked toward the golden mouth waiting for us downstairs.

  The limousine moved with a slow, almost hypnotic sway, sealing us off from the noise of Aurelis as if we were traveling inside a crystal bubble.

  No one spoke at first.

  Not because there was nothing to say—but because we all knew exactly what needed to be said, and none of us wanted to be the first to give it a name.

  Velka was the one who broke the silence, leaning back against the seat, staring at the ceiling as if our sentence were written there.

  —When we go back… —she said at last— they won’t look at us the same way.

  Neyra lifted her gaze, alert.

  —The press?

  Velka shook her head slowly.

  —No.

  —Them.

  She didn’t need to explain.

  Caelia leaned forward, elbows on her knees, hands clasped with military rigidity.

  —Lumina Umbrae.

  —Throne.

  Something dry and heavy settled in my stomach.

  —Irhena —I added quietly—.

  —Reia… and all the ones who still believe we’re nothing but steel and silence.

  Velka let out a humorless breath.

  —They’re going to think we sold ourselves.

  —Or worse —Neyra said, her voice clinical, precise—.

  —That we enjoyed it.

  Caelia lowered her eyes for a moment.

  —We carry the image of restraint.

  —Of never yielding.

  —Of never smiling for anyone unless it’s an order.

  She looked at her hands—perfect again.

  —Last night… I danced.

  Velka tilted her head, gentle this time, no mockery.

  —And it wasn’t wrong.

  Caelia didn’t answer right away.

  —No.

  —But someone is going to ask why I could… and they couldn’t.

  Silence fell again, thicker this time.

  I watched the city slide past the polarized glass.

  —They’ll think we left them behind —I murmured—.

  —That while they bleed, we toast.

  Neyra shook her head slowly.

  —No.

  —That would be easy to hate.

  She looked at me.

  —They’ll think we’re something else now.

  —Something they can’t reach anymore.

  Velka frowned.

  —That’s what bothers me.

  She straightened slightly.

  —Because it’s not true.

  —I’m still the same one who got covered in blood alongside them.

  She looked straight at me.

  —You too, princess. Even if last night you weren’t carrying a blade.

  Something tightened in my chest.

  —But last night they saw us laugh —I said—.

  —And there are girls in Lumina who don’t remember the last time they did that without guilt.

  Caelia closed her eyes.

  —That’s what hurts.

  The limousine turned smoothly. Aurelis’ golden light flooded in like a tide.

  Neyra spoke again, with that dangerous calm of hers.

  —This will create distance.

  —Whether we want it to or not.

  —So what then? —Velka asked—. Do we shrink? Do we apologize?

  No one answered immediately.

  I clenched my fingers against the fabric of my skirt.

  —Then… —I said— when we see Irhena…

  —when we look Reia in the eye…

  They all looked at me.

  —We don’t lower our heads —I continued—.

  —Or our armor.

  —Or who we are.

  Velka smiled faintly.

  —Let them judge us if they want.

  —But let them know we’re still there when it matters.

  Caelia nodded.

  —And that this didn’t make us less iron.

  —Just more visible.

  The limousine kept moving toward its destination.

  I then understood that the real judgment wouldn’t come from Aurelis…

  but from those who had seen us fall long before we ever shone.

  The boutique wasn’t a store.

  It was a private salon of polished black marble, floor-to-ceiling gold mirrors, and dozens of clothing racks overflowing with fabrics that cost more than our combined weapons. There were no visible tags. No prices.

  Nothing was bought here—only chosen. Who deserved to exist well-dressed.

  Celestine waited for us at the center.

  Seated on a throne-sculpted sofa, legs crossed with studied elegance, obsidian heels gleaming like ceremonial weapons. Her smile belonged to a panther that had already decided where to sink her fangs.

  When she saw us enter, she clapped slowly.

  Clap. Clap.

  —Well, would you just look at that… —she drawled, her Southern accent so polished it sounded practiced in front of a mirror.— My Seravenn relics. Still breathing… and more or less radiant.

  Her gaze slid shamelessly over our simple morning clothes, lingering just long enough to sting.

  —Don’t y’all fret, hearts —she went on, sweet as sugar and twice as insulting.— That’s what I’m here for. Today, we work miracles.

  Velka snorted softly, crossing her arms.

  —Huh. Funny. —She tilted her head.— You didn’t talk like that yesterday.

  Celestine’s smile widened. Slower.

  —Like what, sugar?

  —Like you were born on a postcard with cattle and white porches. —Velka finished calmly.— That little… regional flair slipped out.

  Neyra lifted a hand to her mouth to stifle a laugh.

  Caelia clicked her tongue, almost imperceptibly.

  Celestine rose with deliberate calm.

  —Oh, sweetheart… —she said, taking a step closer.— We all have accents.

  Some of us just know when to tuck them away in our purse.

  Velka raised an eyebrow.

  —Do we now?

  Celestine tilted her head, studying her.

  —Sure do. —Her voice softened, velvet-smooth.— ‘Cause tell me… —her eyes traced Velka’s mouth— that tone of yours wasn’t quite so… neutral last night either, was it?

  A brief silence. Sharp. Exact.

  —We all learn fast around here, —Celestine added, smiling like a blade.— Sometimes it’s better if no one knows where you come from.

  That way they can’t remind you once you’re on top.

  Velka held her gaze.

  Then she smiled. Feral. Defiant.

  —What a relief. —she replied.— I thought I was the only one who knew how to play that game.

  Celestine stepped closer until they stood face to face. Nearly the same height. Same storm-without-permission energy.

  Without asking, she tucked a loose blonde strand behind Velka’s ear.

  —You’ll wear red today, —she declared.— Makes it easier to tell when you lose your composure.

  Velka didn’t move. Didn’t retreat.

  —Delighted, Monroe. —she answered.— And you should wear white.

  Celestine lifted a golden brow.

  —White?

  —Of course. —Velka smiled.— That way, when you kneel to thank me for outshining you… you won’t stain the dress.

  Neyra let out a muffled laugh.

  Caelia closed her eyes for a second, as if counting to ten.

  Celestine laughed softly.

  Not offended.

  Not annoyed.

  Amused.

  —Oh, Seravenn… —she murmured.— This is going to be far more fun than I thought.

  She snapped her fingers.

  Celestine’s assistants appeared like perfumed shadows—synchronized, silent.

  A tray of chilled champagne sweating crystal beads.

  Silk ribbons sliding over skin to take measurements.

  Tablets glowing with impossible designs, projected like promises.

  No one asked questions.

  Nothing needed explaining.

  Velka let herself be measured without resistance, turning slightly on her heel, talking nonstop as if noise itself were armor.

  —Oh, princess, look at me—she laughed. —Isn’t it beautiful? Back in Seravenn no one could stand my expensive taste. And here? This lizard’s paying for everything.

  She winked at Celestine.

  Celestine let out a low, sharp laugh—pleased. Predatory.

  —Darlin’—she drawled—around Aurelis, good taste ain’t tolerated… it’s displayed.

  Meanwhile, Neyra stood surrounded by three assistants and barely seemed aware of them.

  She studied each fabric like a battlefield map.

  —This satin doesn’t breathe—she muttered. —Under lights, I’ll sweat. Try the black lace, not the red… red’s for Velka.

  She paused.

  —And how much does it cost?

  An assistant answered quietly.

  Neyra flushed to the tips of her ears.

  —Ah… well… it’s just fabric, right?

  She glanced at Celestine, uneasy.

  Celestine smiled sweetly, like she was explaining gravity to a child.

  —Honey, in Aurelis, a “simple fabric” can cost the full salary of an entire Seravenn squad. Sometimes two.

  Neyra swallowed and nodded, mentally filing information she didn’t yet know how to survive.

  Caelia was the fastest.

  And the most restrained.

  She chose an emerald gala dress—clean lines, precise structure, no unnecessary sparkle. Impeccable. Functional. Untouchable.

  Celestine began circling her, slow and curious, like a shark.

  —Is that all, Commander?—she asked. —No generous neckline? No daring slit?

  Caelia didn’t blink.

  —This will suffice. —Her voice was steady. —Decency still exists. Even here.

  Velka popped up from another rack, holding a dress like a flag.

  —Oh, come on, Caelia, loosen up. I swear, if you want one with an open back, I’ll pay for it. Don’t let this lizard take the credit.

  Celestine pressed a hand to her chest, theatrical.

  —How offensive!—she gasped. —Aurel pays in sarcasm. I pay with a card.

  The assistants pretended not to hear.

  And me…?

  I was trapped inside a fitting room, half-dressed, while two assistants gently turned me before a full-length mirror.

  They didn’t touch more than necessary.

  They didn’t need to.

  Celestine peeked through the curtain. Her catlike eyes gleamed with pure calculation.

  —Lyssandra Velcrux…—she murmured. —Oh, if I dressed you myself, I’d make you the star of my next lingerie campaign.

  She winked slowly.

  —But don’t you worry, sugar. For today… I’ll leave you a little dignity.

  From outside, Velka shouted without restraint:

  —Don’t you dare touch her, Monroe! She’s mine to show off!

  Celestine called back, amused:

  —Oh hush, Aurel, before I dress you like a sequined clown.

  Laughter mixed with the soft clink of champagne glasses.

  The bags piled at our feet like spoils from a strange war.

  Expensive fabrics. Impossible cuts. Clothes that looked nothing like armor—yet somehow weighed just as heavily on the shoulders.

  Celestine gave us one last look, head tilted, studying us like the problem wasn’t the dresses…

  …it was us.

  —Mmm… —she drawled softly, clicking her tongue—. Bless your hearts.

  You still walk like somebody’s fixin’ to stab you in the back.

  Velka raised an eyebrow.

  —And that’s a problem?

  Celestine smiled, slow and sweet.

  —Oh, sugar… it ain’t a problem.

  It’s just not marketable. And it shows real clear where y’all come from.

  Caelia crossed her arms.

  —We’re not going to—

  —Now, now, Commander —Celestine interrupted gently, palm raised, voice syrupy but firm—. I’m not changin’ who you are.

  I’m just… —she clapped her hands softly— …loosening that little knot y’all keep carryin’ right here.

  She tapped the air near her own shoulders.

  Neyra frowned.

  —How?

  Celestine was already walking toward the exit, heels clicking with unhurried confidence.

  —Trust me, darlin’. Just for a bit.

  It don’t bite.

  No one said I trust you.

  But no one stayed behind.

  The ride was short.

  The vehicle slipped into a quieter part of Aurelis, where the city seemed to breathe slower. Fewer screens. More green. Gardens designed with an almost obscene precision.

  The place had no visible name.

  Just pale marble.

  Doors that opened without a sound.

  And an air that shifted the instant we stepped inside.

  It wasn’t perfume.

  It wasn’t sweet.

  It was warmth.

  Water.

  Something mineral that settled in the chest before it reached the lungs.

  My shoulders dropped—just a little.

  That unsettled me.

  Inside, no one announced us.

  No one said goddesses.

  No one stared like we were symbols.

  A woman with her hair neatly tied approached, voice calm and professional.

  —Welcome. Please, leave your belongings here.

  Velka hesitated.

  —Everything?

  —Everything —the woman repeated, without judgment—. You won’t be needing them.

  Caelia was the last to let go of her bag.

  She did it carefully.

  Like setting down a weapon… while memorizing where she left it.

  Private changing rooms.

  Soft robes.

  Warm towels.

  —Just take a deep breath —another assistant said, like it was a casual suggestion.

  And we did.

  Velka was the first to speak once she lay face down on the table.

  —This still feels suspicious —she muttered—. Nobody gives you something this nice for free.

  But when the hands began working into her neck, when the heat slid down her spine with almost scandalous patience…

  Velka went quiet.

  The sigh escaped before she could stop it.

  —…This should not feel this good —she admitted under her breath—.

  If anyone asks, I never said that.

  —

  Neyra, on the table beside her, began the way she always did: analyzing.

  —Is the pressure constant or adaptive?

  —Adaptive —the assistant replied—. Your body tells us what it needs.

  Neyra opened her mouth to argue.

  Then closed it.

  When they began working on her face with precise, measured movements, her arms fell limp at her sides.

  —No hostile stimuli —she murmured—. Just… response.

  That was the closest thing to relaxation I had ever seen from her.

  Caelia took longer.

  The moment hands touched her shoulders, she tensed.

  —I’m fine —she said—. That won’t be necessary—

  —You don’t have to lower your guard —the assistant replied evenly—.

  Just redistribute the weight.

  That stopped her.

  Caelia didn’t close her eyes.

  Didn’t sink into the table.

  But when the warmth found places she’d been carrying for years, when the pressure was firm without being invasive…

  Her jaw unclenched.

  Not relaxed.

  Less rigid.

  Like a weapon still loaded… just no longer aimed.

  When it was my turn, I didn’t think.

  The warmth.

  The oil.

  Hands that demanded nothing.

  My body stopped being on alert.

  The realization cut through me, sharp and cold.

  I’m not on alert.

  i’m Resting.

  Later, they gathered us in a shared room.

  Robes.

  Low couches.

  Hot tea in cups that weren’t trying to impress anyone.

  For several seconds, no one spoke.

  Velka broke the silence, uneasy.

  —Is this… normal here?

  —Yes —an assistant replied.

  That yes carried more weight than any speech.

  Neyra took a careful sip.

  —In Seravenn, this would be considered unnecessary.

  Celestine reclined in an armchair nearby, crossing her legs, smile lazy and knowing.

  —Well, bless y’all’s hearts —she said softly—.

  In Aurelis, we call that maintenance.

  Her gaze moved over us slowly.

  —Now —she added— you don’t look like you’re ready to shoot somebody.

  Her eyes lingered on me just a fraction longer.

  —You look ready to be seen… without flinchin’.

  I didn’t know why, but that unsettled me more than any insult ever had.

  When we left, we walked differently.

  Just… lighter enough to be noticed.

  We didn’t yet know that this calm, too, was part of the game.

  But for the first time since arriving in Aurelis…

  We didn’t feel the barrel at our backs.

  And that was exactly when

  we lowered our guard

  just enough.

  The day didn’t move forward.

  It slid.

  As if Aurelis had decided to fold time itself—just for us.

  Boutiques that didn’t feel like shops, but living stages: suspended glass, fitting rooms that adjusted the light to the body, attendants who didn’t ask what we wanted because they already knew.

  Each outfit change was easier than the last.

  Smoother.

  With less resistance.

  Velka started out complaining—

  and ended up turning in front of a mirror, judging the fall of a skirt with a critical eye, not a soldier’s.

  Neyra stopped asking prices.

  Then she stopped asking why.

  She watched how the city reacted to her reflection in endless windows, as if logging invisible data.

  Caelia stayed upright, but she no longer counted exits.

  Her hands rested open, no longer searching for weight that wasn’t there.

  The distrust remained… just wrapped in silk.

  I lost track of time somewhere between the third perfect coffee and the fourth pair of shoes that didn’t hurt.

  That sent a brief alarm through my chest.

  And still… I kept walking.

  —

  Giant screens returned versions of us that were barely different on every street.

  The same face.

  Another posture.

  Another cadence.

  A team appeared without announcement, as if they’d been waiting for us all morning.

  Chairs.

  Brushes.

  Skilled hands.

  There were no questions.

  Only soft instructions.

  When they were done, the mirror returned four figures polished by the city itself.

  Velka stared at herself in silence—then tilted her head.

  —Look at that— she murmured. —It’s like I was always this way.

  Neyra touched her own face carefully, as if verifying a new variable.

  —They didn’t change anything— she said. —They just rearranged it.

  Caelia held her reflection’s gaze for a long moment.

  —This— she admitted— is efficient.

  Nothing was erased.

  —

  Afternoon fell without weight.

  Streets filled with low music.

  People smiling when they recognized us, without shouting.

  Children asking for photos shyly.

  Adults dipping their heads, as if respect were a learned gesture.

  We weren’t soldiers.

  We weren’t banners.

  We were presence.

  And the body began to remember that.

  —

  By nightfall we walked closer together.

  Velka talked with her hands.

  Neyra laughed without covering her mouth.

  Caelia listened more than she watched.

  I felt my hips move differently.

  Not by decision.

  By new habit.

  The day had rewritten us slowly.

  Without orders.

  Without confrontation.

  When the night lights flickered on one by one, Aurelis closed around us like a living display case.

  And I thought, without meaning to—

  Maybe…

  just for today…

  the city had learned exactly how to touch us.

  And it still hadn’t charged anything.