A/N: OK, short update, and didn't it take a pathetically long time for me to write two pages? More soon hopefully, and please review anyway.

Disclaimer: Well, I asked for Flauvic for Christmas, but all I got was a lump of coal. So I still own nothing. Wah.

Nothing of the coronation will be announced until the sculptors have finished refashioning a goldenwood throne for a queen.

The thin scrap of paper held only one line, traced from my cousin's hand.

So he loved her. So he wanted her to be his queen.

There would be no coronation at all. Or none for Vidanric, at least.

I turned back to Ezrin.

"My lord?"

"You may stop bringing me these papers. They no longer interest me."

"As you will." He bowed and left.

I threw the letter onto the fire and watched the flames eat through it.

Tonight. I stood before the mirror, dressed in finery for Meliara's ball. Tonight I would play my ancestor. Tonight I would play myself. Tonight I would make history.

It was early yet to leave for Branaric and Nimiar's wedding party. But I planned to put the time to good use.

I slipped from the door of my sun room, cloaked in illusion. To Vidanric's watchers, I would be nothing but a shadow, a blur in the corner of their eyes. Anticipation made my pulse quicken.

I left the gates of Athanarel, walked their circumference in the twilight, laying preparations. Writings in Old Sartorean traced upon the walls at north, south, east, west. And a word spoken, a sign shaped in the air. I could feel the magic drawing closer, heavy as velvet on my lips, against my skin, the shock of it as thrilling as it had always been, from the time I first cast the bare bones of illusion.

Pacing that long dark walk, I remembered those first spells, that feeling of power, of exhilaration. And the magic flowed through me, ringing Athanarel, its cares and its petty worries; beauty, competition. Power.

My final spell would not be cast tonight. Not yet. But now I set the foundations for it, made the tenets on which it would rest.

And when Vidanric heard of my mother's plot…then I would move.

I came late to the city ballroom where the Count of Tlanth's wedding celebration would be held. I shed the spell of concealment as I entered, avoiding guards and servants. No need for a public announcement of my tardiness—the smarter few might think to wonder what had been occupying the reclusive son of Merindar. The thought was almost enough to make me want to test it…who would guess my secret?

But everyone would know soon enough. Much better that it should come as a surprise.

Music rang through the ballroom, bells and flutes piping a wild tune unlike the dances of today. The walls were hung with flowers, and the sound of falling water drifted from somewhere out of sight. I spotted Meliara, crossed the room to where she stood.

She turned from contemplation of the dance to look at me, clearly startled. I bowed over her hand, smiling.

"Beautifully done," I said, gesturing to the ballroom. It was true—she had created a masterpiece.

She smiled. "It was your suggestion."

"You do great credit to my poor idea," I replied with a bow.

"Will you walk with me?" she asked after a moment.

I accepted, and for a time we walked the room's perimeter, speaking of the past. Once or twice, I glanced up to find Vidanric watching us. Good. He would remember that I had been friendly to her. And perhaps, doubting his countess, he would make mistakes.

I wondered what would happen if it were Mother who returned triumphant to Athanarel. Ironic, to find her son waiting, and a palace of statues, where she had expected to find a buzz of defeated courtiers…

I left Meliara to speak with other acquaintances, moving from group to group with a few easy words. Finding out where each would be tomorrow, when I made my move.

The scarf dances began as the bells tolled white change, drums beating out a distant heartbeat as the dancers rushed across the floor.

I searched the crowd, found Meliara's face just as she looked up from the dancers and into my eyes.

I had one moment of breathlessness, and then I stood, circling the dancers to come towards her.

Her eyes widened as she saw me move, and I laughed silently, smiling.

"I make you my compliments, Meliara. A remarkable achievement."

Her face was questioning, but she said nothing.

"Do you think your dances will become a fad again?" I asked, looking back to the dancers.

"Depends on who asks for them to be played," she said carelessly. "You always could," she added after a pause. "Guaranteed, the latest rage."

I laughed and saluted her, stepping closer.

"I wish that you had been granted the right tutor."

And I left, slipping through the doorway and out into the night.

A/N: Yep, short and bad. Oh, and, just to clarify, Flauvic is not casting the stone spell at the beginning of this chapter. He's just doing preliminary foundation stuff (in Beauty, Elestra describes spellcasting as holding the reins of a horse that's about to break away…this seemed all very well for an illusion or something that'll only last a short time, but that stone spell's in place for more than 2 days, so I figured there'd have to be some process to make it semi-permanent, so the mage could do things like sleep. And well, I had to have something happen in this chapter).

Thanks to everyone who reviewed chapter 2!