Shattered Innocence: Transmigrated Into a Novel as an Extra

Chapter 864: The price

“Oh, and—of course. She was the first to approach Lucavion after that moment. The only one who did.”

Lucien said nothing.

He didn’t need to.

The shift in his eyes—just a flicker—was enough.

A slight hum of wine on his tongue. The sound of silk brushing against itself as he turned the stem of his goblet between his fingers.

A long pause.

Then—

“…She forgot whose crest she lives under,” he said softly. “And should be reminded.”

Elaris inclined her head. “Shall I?”

Lucien turned to her, that familiar smile blooming—handsome, charming, lethal.

“Of course. I’m sure you’ll be… gentle.”

The word hung between them like a blade draped in lace.

Elaris dipped in a small, curtsying nod. “Always.”

And then she turned.

Effortless. Effervescent.

And began walking across the floor.

Her gown glided in smooth rhythm, all measured grace and feigned civility. She didn’t need to scan the room. She already knew where Valeria would be.

The pink-haired girl was just stepping away from her table, murmuring something to a Lorian noble before excusing herself with perfect etiquette.

She looked, in that moment, wholly unaware.

Unaware of the quiet storm that had just been dispatched her way. Of the eyes now trailing her steps like hounds waiting for a crack in her stride.

But Elaris knew better.

She’d seen the way Valeria had walked across the line the moment Lucavion became more than a curiosity.

And now, she would see what walking back would cost.

Elaris’s smile deepened—gorgeous and cruel.

Let the little prosecutor play her games.

It was time to show her that in Arcanis, power wore perfume and silk—and sharpened its teeth on loyalty.

******

Valeria’s steps carried her with silent purpose across the banquet floor. Her heels barely sounded against the marble—each movement efficient, rehearsed, yet never hurried. The brief conversation with a Lorian envoy still lingered in her wake, polite as ceremony demanded.

She moved to return to her table. A short breath. A stretch of calm.

And then—

A shift.

Like a change in wind before the storm reaches your door.

“Lady Olarion.”

The voice was smooth. Almost sweet. A practiced softness that settled just behind the ear, not in front of the face. And yet—it was not truly a voice that greeted.

It was a gate.

A signal.

Valeria stopped.

Turned.

Elaris Vonte stood there, all elegance and powdered perfection. Her dress shimmered faintly in the golden spill of chandelier light, a cascade of pale sapphire silk and violet accents—chosen, Valeria noted absently, not for fashion, but contrast. Something to mark her from the others. To glint just sharp enough beside someone else’s grace.

“Lady Elaris,” Valeria said, inclining her head. “A pleasure.”

Elaris smiled. Or something like it.

“It’s been some time since we’ve had a proper introduction. I thought it remiss not to say hello before the evening’s end.”

Her posture was flawless. Her tone serene.

But her eyes—

Those didn’t smile.

Not truly.

Valeria watched the slight tension along the cheekbones. The way the words tasted just a bit too polished. Too sequined with etiquette.

Here it comes.

She’d expected this. Of course she had. Ever since the moment she crossed the ballroom to stand beside Lucavion, she had felt the clock start ticking.

And Elaris—

Of all the dogs Lucien kept on a jeweled leash—

Would be the first to slip hers.

Valeria smiled softly in return. The kind that matched temperature, but never surrendered warmth.

Elaris stepped closer—never enough to be improper, but just enough to breach into private space. The edge of her perfume was crisp: citrus and white lily. A scent designed to seem harmless. Fresh.

Fleeting.

“I imagine the past few weeks have been… eye-opening for you,” Elaris began, her tone light. “The Academy. The balance. The new alliances forming.”

Valeria didn’t interrupt. She merely inclined her head a degree.

Elaris’s smile widened, delicate as hand-painted porcelain.

“You must understand,” she said, “Prince Lucien carries more than a crest. He carries the Empire’s future. And for those of us loyal to it… loyalty is not simply preferred. It is required.”

A pause.

Measured.

Then: “So you can see how some may have found your actions tonight… concerning.”

Valeria tilted her head. Not dismissively. Not challengingly. Just enough to show she had heard every syllable.

“Concerning?” she asked. “Because I acknowledged someone the court refused to?”

“Because you chose to align,” Elaris answered, her voice never rising, “in a moment where silence would have cost you nothing.”

She didn’t blink as she spoke. And that—Valeria noted—was the point.

Not just to confront her.

But to show how carefully they were watching.

Elaris’s smile thinned, but remained.

“Wrong side, Lady Olarion,” she murmured. “You may not have meant it that way. But choices ripple outward. Even the smallest ones.”

Valeria met her gaze without softening. “You mean Lucavion.”

“I mean Lucien,” Elaris said simply. “And everything that stands beneath him.”

Another breath passed between them. Court dancers swayed softly in the background, strings humming low like a murmured warning.

Valeria folded her hands in front of her.

“And House Olarion?”

Elaris’s eyes sparked at that.

“Neutral,” she said. “At least, publicly. A smart stance. Traditional. And yet…”

She let the word linger—like something dangling over flame.

“You speak in his name. You stand at his side. The Empire rarely distinguishes personal sentiment from house loyalty, I’ve found. Especially when the eyes watching don’t wish to.”

Valeria felt it now.

The noose, silk-wrapped and sweet-scented, beginning to tug.

Not a warning.

An offer.

Dressed as a kindness.

Elaris’s voice lowered, almost fond. “We’ve always respected House Olarion. A noble line. Principled. Efficient. The kind of house that serves the realm better when its loyalties are… clear.”

Valeria’s lips didn’t move. Not yet.

Because she saw it now.

This wasn’t about Lucavion. Not directly.

It was about shifting weight. Folding the Olarion name under the Crown Prince’s banner. Not through war. Not through violence.

But through her.

Valeria’s fingers brushed lightly along the edge of her glove, the movement idle—elegant—but inwardly she had already pieced together the shape of this dance.

She’d seen it before.

Not just the tone. The method.

The honeyed threads woven over dinner conversations. The soft, coiled pressure dressed in civility. Nobles who did not raise swords, but tilted dynasties with smiles. Who whispered compliance into family names until their roots bent toward the crown like softened branches.

This was not just a conversation about her.

This was the beginning of a siege.

And Elaris? Elaris was simply the instrument they’d polished for tonight’s recital.

Valeria smiled.

It was not mocking. Not defiant. But unyielding. A smile shaped like a wall of stone—not wide, not sharp, but immovable.

“I see,” she said softly, her voice calm. “It’s good to know where you stand, Lady Elaris.”

Elaris blinked—just once. As though trying to gauge whether Valeria was conceding… or setting the stage.

Valeria’s eyes held steady.

“But allow me to clarify something,” she continued, her tone never shifting from its poised cadence. “Before I am the daughter of House Olarion… I am a knight.”

The words dropped gently.

No aggression. No heat.

But the weight behind them was unmistakable.

“A knight,” Valeria said, “does not look at crests before drawing their sword. They do not tally titles before stepping forward.”

She tilted her head slightly, eyes thoughtful—though the chill within them was settling now, deliberate.

“They stand,” she said, “where justice has been made a mockery. And they walk beside those who should never have stood alone.”

And as she spoke, her thoughts flickered—briefly, quietly—to the earlier moment in the ballroom. To Lucavion’s stillness, his silence, the way the court had bristled like animals before a storm they didn’t understand.

To the way she had stepped forward—not for spectacle, not for defiance.

But because it was right.

That was what she had said to him.

That she would not look away.

Not then.

Not now.

“If that action draws lines where there once were none,” Valeria added, “then it is the court’s shame. Not mine.”

She held Elaris’s gaze.

Calm.

Grounded.

And final.

“I stood,” she finished, “because I chose to. And if tomorrow it is someone else in his place, wronged beneath the gaze of silence… I will stand again.”