The frustration that had been banked after the spar with Kaelen had proven to be a smoldering ember, easily fanned back into a restless, consuming fire. Pacing the length of her opulent chambers within the Leclair estate, Eltreth felt the walls closing in. The mory of her defeat, followed by the infuriating stalemate with Khione, was a cycle of agitation she couldn’t break. She needed a distraction, a return to a world where she held sway, where things were simple and beautiful. She needed her friend.
A single, terse ssage was sent. Within the hour, Azalea stood at her door.
The contrast between them was always striking, but today it was a study in opposing moods. Eltreth had foregone her usual regal dresses for practical, high-waisted trousers and a silk tunic, her vibrant crimson hair pulled back into a severe, high ponytail that sharpened the lines of her face. Her orange eyes, usually blazing with arrogant confidence, were clouded, the fire within them a sullen, brooding thing.
Azalea, in contrast, was a vision of serene sumr. Her long, honey-blonde hair was left to cascade freely down her back, a river of gold catching the light. She wore a flowing robe of the finest silk, embroidered with delicate, climbing wisteria blossoms. Her erald eyes, wise and perceptive, took in her friend’s state with a single, sweeping glance. She knew the source of this turmoil—the human boy, Nero, and the ice queen who stood so defiantly beside him.
"You look like a stormcloud that doesn’t know whether to rain or spark a wildfire," Azalea said, her voice a gentle, lodic chiding. "The walls of this estate are too stifling for such turbulence. Co. The city awaits."
Eltreth didn’t need to be told twice. The offer was a lifeline.
"A change of scenery is... required," she conceded, the words clipped.
Their first stop was the Aethelgard Pronade, the most exclusive shopping district in Angel’s City. Here, the air itself slled of polished marble, rare perfus, and old money. They moved through flagship boutiques like visiting royalty, which, in a sense, they were. Eltreth, usually a voracious and discerning shopper, was listless. She ran her fingers over fabrics of impossible softness, examined jewels that caught fire under the lights, but her heart wasn’t in it. The conquest of a new gown felt hollow, a poor substitute for the conquest she truly desired.
Azalea calmly still wearing that smile guided her not with pity, but with purpose. "This color is too garish for you," she would state, pulling a vermilion dress from the rack.
"It screams for attention. You are beyond that." She replaced it with a gown of deep, wine-red velvet.
"This... this is a statent. It speaks of power held in reserve." She watched as a flicker of interest finally sparked in Eltreth’s eyes. It was a start.
Next, Azalea steered them away from material possessions and towards sensory indulgence: the "Serenity Falls" massage and wellness center. In a private room scented with sandalwood and clary sage, skilled therapists worked the tension from their bodies. Eltreth lay on the heated jade table, her jaw clenched as strong hands sought out the knots of frustration woven into her shoulders. She resisted at first, her body a fortress under siege. But slowly, inevitably, the expert ministrations, the warm oils, and the soothing ambiance began to wear down her defenses. The rigid line of her spine softened. The scowl etched on her face smoothed into sothing more neutral. For the first ti all day, she wasn’t thinking about Khione’s icy gaze or Nero’s oblivious loyalty.
The final stop was "The Gilded Lily," a beauty parlor frequented by the city’s elite. Seated before a vast, illuminated mirror, they were pampered. Eltreth watched as a stylist worked magic on her ponytail, loosening it and re-styling it into a more elegant, less aggressive updo. Azalea simply had her hair brushed until it shone like spun gold. They received facials using enchanted essences that left their skin glowing, and manicures where their nails were painted in subtle, shimring hues. It was an exercise in being cared for, in having their external perfection mirrored back at them, a reminder of their own inherent worth and beauty.
Settled finally at a secluded table in the parlor’s tea room, sipping a delicate, floral-infused white tea, Azalea decided the groundwork of distraction had been sufficiently laid. It was ti for the heart of the matter.
"She has gotten under your skin, this ti our dear Khione," Azalea began, her tone not accusatory, but observational.
Eltreth’s hand tightened around her porcelain cup. "She is an obstacle. An infuriatingly immovable one, I have never dislike soone so much."
"And the boy? Nero?" Azalea pressed, her erald eyes sharp. "I have observed him. He is strong, certainly. Possesses a unique... vibrancy. But is he truly worth this level of turmoil? I see a skilled warrior, perhaps a future asset, but you look at him as if he is the one lost treasure of a forgotten dynasty."
Eltreth fell silent, her gaze drifting to the bustling street below. How could she explain it? It wasn’t just his power, though the latent potential she sensed was imnse. It was the unshakable core of him. The way he carried himself without the burden of royal expectation, the raw, unpolished honesty in his combat, the fierce loyalty he inspired in his friends—and in her. He was a puzzle, a wild, untad force that refused to bow, and the thought of possessing that, of shaping that raw material into a power that stood beside her, was an obsession she could not quell.
"He is... unclaid territory," Eltreth finally said, the words feeling inadequate. "A diamond in the rough that another has foolishly thought to simply admire. I see a king in the making, Azalea. And I would have that king at my side."
"And you believe the way to do that is to declare war on the woman who clearly sees him not as territory, but as her heart?" Azalea asked, her voice gentle but firm. "You sparred with her. You felt her resolve. It is not the brittle ice of vanity; it is the permafrost of deep conviction. You cannot lt that with a frontal assault. You will only harden it further, and in the process, alienate him entirely."
Eltreth’s shoulders slumped, the truth of the words hitting ho. Her confrontation had been a tactical error, born of pride and raw desire.
"Then what would you have do?" Eltreth asked, a rare note of vulnerability in her voice.
Azalea leaned forward, her expression earnest. "You are trying to claim a person, Eltreth, not a province. You have spent the day observing him from a distance, through the lens of your rivalry. You have not once simply spoken to him. Not as a princess to a subject, but as one person to another."
She let the idea hang in the scented air.
"Before you plot any further campaigns, before you dedicate another mont to this consuming frustration, you must talk to him. A direct, honest conversation. Gauge the man, not the asset. Understand what he wants. You may find that the king you envision does not wish to be a king in your court. Or..." she added with a subtle smile.
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