Princess Daena lounged in her chair at the small council table, her posture a deliberate contrast to the rigid formality of the others. Draped in black and red silk, her silver-gold hair tumbling in artful waves over her shoulders, she exuded a casual authority that dared anyone to reprimand her.

Her sharp violet eyes flicked across the room, landing on her nephew, the young prince and heir. He sat two seats away, his chin propped on his hand, barely listening as Lord Beesbury droned on about tariffs. Daena’s lips curved into a faint, amused smile.

Catching his gaze, she tilted her head ever so slightly, the movement languid and feline. She let her fingers toy with the edge of her goblet, her nails tapping softly against the silver. Her expression was unreadable—half a smirk, half an invitation—but her eyes sparkled with a quiet challenge.

The boy blinked, his cheeks coloring as he realized she was watching him. Daena arched an elegant brow, letting her gaze linger for just a heartbeat longer than propriety allowed before returning her attention to the table, feigning interest in the discussion.

The corner of her mouth quirked upward again. The meeting droned on, but for Daena, the real game had only just begun.