She couldn't believe what she was seeing.
The hall was filled with light, banners, and solemn voices pretending to honor something that, in her eyes, deserved no celebration at all. The entire ceremony was a performance—a carefully staged play where everyone pretended to know their role, where applause rang hollow and oaths sounded like lies repeated so many times that truth and theater had become indistinguishable.
Adria observed everything from a privileged corner, missing nothing.
Inside, she was boiling.
It was almost amusing—if anything in her life could be called amusing—that her father's coronation, his ascent to the throne of Celestis, and her sister's proclamation as heir… everything the world celebrated as a political miracle…
…was nothing more than a farce to her.
When had life stopped being absurd?
It hadn't.
Life had always been absurd—cruel, mocking.
Only now, it had the audacity to reveal itself fully, out in the open, challenging her… provoking her… daring her to react.
Around her, the vassal Houses waited patiently for their turn to swear loyalty. Their banners rose proudly; family leaders stood tall, eager for their words to be etched into history—as if that truly mattered.
Adria inhaled slowly.
The masks.
The smiles.
The speeches.
All of it disgusted her.
Unwanted, her thoughts drifted back.
To the beginning of it all.
To her birth.
Not because it was a happy memory—quite the opposite.
But because, in many ways, that day had defined everything that followed.
She had been born her father's favorite.
That was what they always told her.
Because she looked like him.
They shared the same eyes—a rare, cold shade that seemed to observe everything with quiet suspicion. The same tight smile. The same arrogant posture. The same slight tilt of the head when something displeased them.
But Adria knew better.
That was just a convenient excuse.
The truth was simpler.
Darker.
Far more honest.
Her father had never loved her mother.
Not once.
Not even on the first day.
That marriage had been a political agreement—and, in many ways, a calculated breeding decision. It was not only about power, but about producing the most advantageous heir possible.
An obligation.
A transaction.
He had despised her mother before even meeting her.
And Adria had always known it.
Which is why her mother's death during childbirth had not been a tragedy to him.
It had been a release.
A reward.
At least, in his eyes.
And Adria…
Adria had been the instrument of that release.
The key that freed him.
Perhaps that was why he had loved her so much.
From a young age, Adria learned something Bela never would:
If you know how to act, you survive.
If you show sweetness at the right moment…
If you choose your words carefully…
If you maintain appearances even when you are breaking inside…
People lower their guard.
And when they lower their guard…
You can move them like pieces on a board.
Adria quickly realized that most adults were just as easy to manipulate as children.
A soft smile.
A well-timed sad look.
A gesture of obedience.
And they would lean toward her—with affection, pity, or false protection.
Children took longer.
They were impulsive. Less predictable.
But they fell too.
She learned to bury her true nature—cold, ruthless, calculating, and deeply wounded—beneath layers of perfection.
She wove her web.
She became the ideal daughter: polite, gentle, silent.
And all the while, she sowed discord through whispers that sounded harmless, half-truths, and lies that only needed the slightest push to grow.
And it worked.
It worked too well.
Almost no one noticed…
Until they were already trapped.
There was only one exception.
Her sister.
Bela.
Bela was everything Adria would never be.
Everything she could never become—even if she lived a thousand lives.
People followed Bela without thinking.
She had charisma.
A magnetism so powerful it could almost be called magic.
They sought her.
Protected her.
Admired her.
It was as if light itself gravitated toward her.
And that was the problem.
Bela shone.
Adria did not.
Adria was shadow.
And shadows—no matter how far they stretch—never reach the light.
Her smiles did not fool everyone.
Her softened glances never truly connected.
Her real nature was always threatening to break through.
So she lived contained.
Performing.
Every second.
Sometimes her jaw ached from smiling.
Sometimes she felt that one more sweet word would make her scream.
Sometimes she dreamed of destroying everything Bela represented.
And that exhaustion turned into resentment.
Then obsession.
And finally…
Something very close to hatred.
They were three years apart.
Bela was now eighteen.
Adria, fifteen.
And yet the entire world had decided:
Bela was the star.
Adria, the shadow.
Until the day the rules changed.
She had been twelve when she discovered Bela's first great secret.
She was in love with Daniel.
Adria saw it.
In her eyes.
In the way she spoke of him.
In the way her breathing shifted when he entered a room.
Bela never said it.
But Adria knew.
She felt it.
She recognized it.
And once she understood…
She knew exactly what to do.
At twelve, she went to her grandfather—the king at the time—and convinced him to issue a marriage decree.
Between her…
and Daniel.
It took two days.
Two days of strategy, calculated tears, half-truths, and her natural gift for manipulation.
But she succeeded.
When she turned eighteen, she would marry him.
And Bela would be powerless to stop it.
That day, Adria tasted victory.
And she had never forgotten the flavor.
Now she stood in the great coronation hall.
Her father in royal robes.
The Houses bowing one by one.
Applause echoing through the chamber.
And Bela…
Bela shining.
The torchlight wrapped around her as if the fire itself recognized her. Nobles looked at her with respect—some with devotion. Even guards straightened unconsciously when she passed, as though instinctively aware they stood before someone important.
Bela didn't even realize it.
The power she carried.
Not strength.
Not magic.
Presence.
The kind that made the world slow down around her.
Adria felt a knot of rage and satisfaction twist together inside her.
Because even if Bela was the heir…
Even if the world adored her…
Even if she shone like always…
Adria had cornered her.
She had the decree.
She had the key to break her.
If she couldn't surpass her…
She would destroy her.
As the master of ceremonies called the next House, Adria looked at her sister once more.
Bela smiled with quiet humility.
But Adria knew.
Beneath that calm, there was fire.
A fire that, for reasons she could not understand…
Refused to burn.
And that irritated her even more.
Light should not be contained.
Light should blaze.
"Enjoy it while you can," Adria murmured without moving her lips.
"Because when the time comes… you'll have nothing left."
And that thought comforted her more than any celebration ever could.
Because while Bela had eighteen years and a kingdom waiting for her…
Adria, at fifteen, possessed something far more dangerous:
A sharpened mind.
A broken heart.
And enough darkness…
to destroy anything that dared stand in her way.