The ballroom shimmered in the warm glow of chandeliers, the golden silk of Lady Aurelia Valmont’s gown catching every flicker of light as she moved through the sea of nobles. Whispers followed her like a shadow—The Gilded Rose, the true power of the court.
She did not wear a crown, but those who understood the true nature of politics knew better. The king ruled; Aurelia commanded.
She approached the grand dais where King sat, a man of strength and stubborn pride. His queen—young, naïve, and chosen for her beauty rather than her mind—sat beside him, oblivious to the intricate dance of power that unfolded before her.
“Lady Valmont,” the king greeted, his voice carefully measured.
“Your Majesty,” Aurelia curtsied, her movements as precise as a blade. “You have summoned me?”