The Last Banner

The grand hall of the palace glittered with opulence, every corner filled with light and sound. Chandeliers hung like jeweled webs from the vaulted ceiling, their flickering candles casting golden hues over the crowd below. Nobles in vibrant silks and glittering jewels moved like currents in a stream, their conversations blending with the soft strains of a harp quartet playing from a raised platform.

Helena stood near the edge of the room, her green eyes scanning the shifting crowd with a mix of curiosity and detachment. Her crimson gown was elegant but modest, its simple embroidery standing out among the extravagance surrounding her. She sipped from a goblet of watered wine, the sharp tang on her tongue grounding her amidst the whirlwind of sights and sounds.

It had been weeks since she had left Thrace, and though Lysara's grandeur still impressed her at times, the novelty had long since begun to wear thin. The endless stream of polite words masking veiled intentions grated on her. The sharp sting of disparity between the opulence of the court and the silent suffering of the city's common folk weighed on her mind. But most of all, she missed her family.

Her thoughts drifted to Thrace, to the faces she had left behind. She could still hear Alexander's teasing laughter, Sophia's soft voice, Cassandra's mischievous grin. And Hadrian—he lingered most of all. She could almost see him standing in the corner of the hall, arms crossed, his sharp gaze cutting through the crowd like a blade.

Helena smirked faintly to herself. He'd hate this place. Too much posturing, too many empty words. The thought brought a pang of longing she hadn't expected. She quickly took another sip of wine, willing the feeling away.

A noblewoman in a flowing emerald gown approached, her powdered face framed by an elaborate coiffure. "Lady Helena," she said, her voice high and lilting. "You've been quite the topic of conversation tonight. Duchess Isadora speaks highly of you."

Helena offered a polite smile. "Her Grace has been very kind. I'm honored to learn under her guidance."

The noblewoman nodded approvingly. "Indeed. And what do you think of Lysara? Quite different from Thrace, I imagine."

Helena hesitated, choosing her words carefully. "It's certainly... grand. There's much to admire."

"And much to learn," the woman added, her smile sharp. "I'm sure you'll fit in beautifully."

Helena inclined her head, letting the conversation drift to other topics. The woman's words were kind, but they carried the weight of expectation. The weight of Lysara itself.

As the noblewoman moved away, Helena felt a presence at her side. She turned to find Lord Alaric standing far closer than she would have liked, his polished appearance gleaming in the chandelier light.

"Lady Helena," he said smoothly, his blue eyes sparkling. "You've been hiding yourself away. I was beginning to think you were avoiding me."

Helena raised an eyebrow, her tone flat. "Not hiding. Just keeping busy."

"Ah," Alaric replied, his smile unwavering. "A mind as sharp as yours must crave stimulation. Perhaps I can provide some."

"Conversation suffices," Helena said, already shifting her stance to create distance.

But Alaric was undeterred. As the night wore on, he lingered near her, weaving himself into her conversations with others. He leaned in closer than was proper, his compliments growing bolder with each passing moment.

"You carry yourself so differently from the others," he said at one point, his voice dropping as if sharing a secret. "There's something... magnetic about you."

Helena stiffened, forcing a smile as she turned her attention back to a nearby noble who had been discussing trade policies. Yet Alaric persisted, his presence a shadow that she couldn't seem to shake.

Eventually, Helena excused herself from the group, retreating to a quieter corner of the hall. She exhaled slowly, letting her mask of composure slip for just a moment. Her mind wandered again to Thrace, to Hadrian. He would never have tolerated someone like Alaric hovering around her. One sharp word, one cold glance, and Alaric would have slunk away like a beaten dog.

She shook her head, brushing the thought aside. I don't need Hadrian to deal with this, she told herself firmly. I can handle it.

"Lady Helena."

The voice sent her spine straight. She turned to find Alaric once again, his smile now tinged with frustration.

"You've been avoiding me," he accused lightly, though there was a hardness to his tone.

Helena met his gaze evenly. "I've been participating in a gathering, as expected. If you feel ignored, perhaps it's because I have better things to do."

Alaric's smile faltered briefly before he regained it. "I meant no offense. I simply thought you might enjoy some... more personal company."

Helena's hand tightened around her goblet. "I don't."

Alaric stepped closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "You don't mean that. You're just guarded. Let me—"

The slap came before he could finish, the crack of her palm against his cheek ringing through the hall.

The nearby conversations fell silent as nobles turned to stare. Alaric stumbled back, his hand flying to his reddened face, his eyes wide with shock and humiliation.

Helena stood tall, her voice calm but cutting. "No means no, Lord Alaric. Learn to listen, or you'll find yourself humiliated more than once."

The room buzzed with murmurs, the nobles exchanging glances. Some smirked in amusement, others whispered in disapproval, but Helena didn't care. Her gaze remained locked on Alaric, daring him to retaliate.

He didn't. After a tense moment, he turned and stalked away, his shoulders stiff and his pride clearly wounded.

Helena set her goblet on a nearby table, exhaling slowly. Her heart was steady, her mind sharp. The incident was over, but her thoughts drifted once more to Hadrian.

He'd have ended that long before it started, she thought, her lips curving into a faint smirk. The thought warmed her briefly, but she quickly pushed it aside.

As she scanned the room, her gaze landed on Duchess Isadora, who stood watching from across the hall. The faintest of smiles graced the Duchess's lips, her green eyes glinting with something Helena couldn't quite read.

Helena straightened her shoulders, her composure firmly in place as she returned to the crowd. The game of politics wasn't one she would lose.