They call me Lady Selvara Veythar—charming enough to be invited everywhere, dangerous enough that no one dares turn their back for long. I do not blame them. In the halls of power, one must learn to wear many faces, and mine is perhaps the most polished of all. I have mastered the art of being seen yet unseen, heard but not truly listened to. It is a delicate dance, one that requires equal measures of charm and cunning.
Last night’s banquet was a study in masks. Silks rustled, goblets glittered, and every smile hid a blade. I played my part well: a soft laugh at the King’s jest, a lingering compliment for the Queen’s gown, and one whispered remark that will be repeated, twisted, and weaponized by morning. In the game of court politics, even the most casual conversation can be turned into a poisoned dagger. I know this well, for I have spent years perfecting my aim.
You see, the court is a living thing, and I have learned its heartbeat. Every favor owed is a chain to be pulled, every secret spilled is a coin to be spent. I am patient—but not endlessly so. A seat nearer the throne will be mine in time, and perhaps the throne itself. Until then, I don my mask each morning, ready to play my role in this grand farce we call royal life.
>Soulkyn