Chapter 34
The theater was already alive with light by the time their carriage arrived.
Dara had seen grand buildings before—both in this world and her last—but even she had to admit, as the carriage slowed before the sweeping entrance, that the Royal Theater of Ambervale was… impressive.
Lanterns glowed along the wide steps in tiers of warm gold, their light reflecting off polished stone and the lacquered surfaces of arriving carriages.
Nobles stepped down in elegant evening attire—silks, jewels, structured coats—voices rising in a low, refined hum that carried the unmistakable energy of anticipation.
It was not merely a gathering.
It was an event.
Inside the carriage, Dara had already received enough information to temper her expectations.
It was a beloved play, frequently performed and widely admired.
The Saint of the Silver Veil.
The story of a saint who gave everything for her kingdom.
That sounded exactly like the sort of thing people called moving when they meant exhausting.
Still, she had decided to give it one chance.
One.
The carriage door opened.
Valerius stepped down first, then turned, offering his hand without ceremony.
Dara accepted.
As she descended, the subtle weight of her skirts settled around her, the evening air brushing lightly against her face. She had chosen something more refined than her daytime attire—a pale green gown with a soft, structured silhouette, suited to the occasion without seeming eager.
Her dark hair had been arranged with deliberate care.
And secured in place—
The hairpiece.
Green and black, understated yet striking, catching the lanternlight in quiet glints as she moved.
She had not overthought the decision.
It had simply… suited the evening.
Valerius noticed.
Of course he did.
His gaze lingered for the briefest moment—not enough to draw attention, but enough to register.
Then he offered his arm. “My lady.”
“Your Highness.”
Dara placed her hand lightly on his arm, and together they ascended the steps. If there had been whispers before, there were more now—subtle, contained, but unmistakable.
The Crown Prince had arrived.
With her.
Dara did not turn to look. She did not need to. By tomorrow morning, this would be everywhere.
Good.
Let them talk.
The entrance hall opened before them in a display of polished grandeur—high ceilings adorned with painted panels, chandeliers suspended like constellations, their light refracted through crystal and subtle magic alike.
Velvet drapery framed the wide corridors, and attendants moved with practiced efficiency, guiding guests toward their respective levels.
The scent of perfume, waxed wood, and something faintly floral lingered in the air.
It was… well done.
Dara allowed herself a quiet moment to appreciate it.
Then they moved on.
Valerius guided her without hesitation, their path leading not toward the crowded lower levels, but upward—along a curved staircase lined with gilded railings and soft carpeting that muted their steps.
Above, the private balconies overlooked the grand stage below.
Better.
From here, one could observe everything without being observed too closely in return.
A reasonable arrangement.
They reached their box with minimal interruption, though not without a few respectful acknowledgments along the way. The door was opened at once, attendants stepping aside as Valerius led her inside.
The balcony was spacious, furnished with comfortable seating positioned toward the stage, with just enough distance from neighboring boxes to preserve privacy.
Dara stepped forward, her gaze drawn immediately to the view.
Below, the main audience filled the theater in layered rows, a sea of color and movement slowly settling as the last arrivals found their places. The stage itself was framed by heavy curtains of deep silver and midnight blue, embroidered faintly with threads that caught the light like starlight.
Beautiful.
Deliberate.
She approved.
Valerius remained beside her just long enough to ensure she was settled before taking his own seat.
Behind them, Grace moved into position quietly, hands folded, posture composed and attentive without intruding upon the space. Leon and Edric stood nearer the rear, their presence unobtrusive but unmistakably alert.
Dara adjusted slightly in her seat, the faint weight of the hairpiece at the back of her head a quiet, unfamiliar reminder. It had been a good choice. Annoyingly so.
Below, the theater began to quiet. The low murmur of conversation softened, then faded, replaced by a rising hush that moved through the space like a tide drawing back.
A few final whispers. A rustle of fabric.
Then darkness—not complete, but enough. The chandeliers dimmed, their brilliance lowered to a soft glow that left the stage as the room’s sole focus.
Dara leaned back slightly, her attention settling forward. Whatever else could be said for popular stories, they were often at least entertaining.
Beside her, Valerius remained still. Not tense. Not distracted. Simply present. Waiting.
The curtains stirred. A faint swell of music rose from somewhere unseen—strings, low and mournful, threaded with something brighter beneath. Then, slowly, the silver-veiled curtains parted, and the stage came to life.