A few more days had passed and Elian was nose deep into a book about second circle theory when a loud knock came to his door.
He was startled hard enough to nearly drop the book, only managing to not actually loose it because of his now properly trained reflexes.
He straightened, took a steadying breath, and marked his place with one finger instead of losing it entirely, and smoothed a hand over his hair on reflex before he’d even decided to answer the door—a habit he hadn’t noticed forming until it was already there.
He went to the door.
The person on the other side was not anyone he recognized.
It was an older man, immaculately dressed in the royal Selenoire livery, dark hair combed with a precision that made Elian’s own careful braid look almost lazy by comparison.
The most notable part about him though, was that he held a sealed letter against his chest.
"Elian Valcourt?" The man’s voice was pleasant, practiced, the kind that had clearly said innumerable formal greetings before this one.
"My apologies for disturbance at this hour. I’m Ferran, just Ferran. I serve as Lady Oizys’s personal attendant for her stay here at Lucenhall."
Elian blinked, slightly taken aback by the unusual guest.
"Oh. Hi, come in."
"I’m afraid I’ll have to refuse, I’m only here because her highness Isolde Selenoire asked me to deliver this to you personally, rather than through the usual channels."
Ferran held the letter out with both hands, the wax seal catching the hall torchlight—pale silver, pressed with something that looked, on closer inspection, distinctly moon-shaped.
"It’s a formal invitation. From the capital."
Elian took it carefully, like it might be heavier than it looked. I
It wasn’t, but it felt like it should have been.
"The capital?" he repeated.
"A formal invitation for dinner, with His Majesty."
Ferran’s expression stayed perfectly polite, perfectly unreadable, the sort of face trained specifically not to give anything away.
"You are one of the handful of the names on the guest list, but I believe Her Highness requested you be told in person, given the circumstances."
"Yes... the circumstances." Elian said like he understood whatever the hell was going on.
Which for the record, he absolutely didn’t
"I wouldn’t presume to say more than that. It’s all in the letter." Ferran made a small, almost apologetic incline of his head. "She did ask me to mention that you needn’t be nervous."
Elian looked down at the seal, thumb tracing the edge of it without quite deciding to.
"That’s exactly the kind of thing that makes someone nervous."
Something flickered at the corner of Ferran’s mouth—not quite a smile, but close enough to count.
"I did think that, yes. I told her as much. But, alas, she didn’t listen." He straightened, folding his hands behind his back.
"I’ll leave you to read it in peace. Congratulations, for what it’s worth. It’s not a small thing, an invitation like this."
He bowed, brief and correct, and was gone down the corridor before Elian had fully processed any of it.
Elian shut the door slowly, letter still held in both hands, and sat back down on the edge of his bed without remembering deciding to move.
He broke the seal carefully, not wanting to tear the moon pressed into the wax, and unfolded the letter to read.
It was addressed to him by his own name, not his house name.
It read as follows;
To Elian Valcourt.
You are cordially invited to attend a private dinner at the Selenoire capital, hosted by His Majesty King Aurelian Selenoire, the evening after from the date of this letter. The dinner will be modest in scale—a handful of guests other than the royal family, no formal court, no announcements to the wider nobility.
I will not pretend the timing is coincidental, I hope you will understand why discretion has been chosen over ceremony. His Majesty has been made aware of recent developments at Lucenhall, and wishes to speak with those most directly concerned—plainly, and without an audience.
You needn’t arrive with anything prepared. Only come as your your most comfortable self. That is, in fact, rather the point.
Travel arrangements will be seen to on our end, Ferran will see to you when the carriage arrives.
Sincerely, Isolde Rosemere Selenoire.
Elian read it twice before he let himself set it down before he put the letter down, eyes wide, and let out a deep breath.
"Good god." Was the best of what he managed to blurt out.
All he could do after the fact was wait for Bellamy, who had sneaked away for one of his regular ’incursions’ with Wren.
The idiot still had a dazedly content smile stretched on his face when he walked in, the neck of his white dress shirt still loose, and it took him a solid three seconds too long to actually register the terrified look on Elian’s face.
"Okay, what happened." Bellamy’s stupid smile dropped instantly, all business now, already crossing the room.
"Did someone hex you. Do I need to hex someone back–"
"I got invited to dinner with the king."
Bellamy stopped mid-stride, literally, one of his legs still suspended in the air.
"...What?"
"Dinner... With the king." A deep breath for the finishing shot. "Tomorrow."
Elian held the letter up.
"Queen Isolde sent it personally to me, I don’t know, that’s not even the important part–"
"That is extremely the important part, I have several follow-up questions about that–"
"Bellamy."
"Right. Right, priorities." Bellamy snatched the letter out of his hands and read it in about four seconds flat, mouth widening slightly with each sentence that passed.
He got to the bottom, went quiet, and then looked up with an expression that was somehow worse than panic, the very specific calm of someone who knew things were beyond their control now.
"Tomorrow...?"
"Tomorrow." Elian confirmed.
"As in the sun sets tonight, and then rises again, and then it’s tomorrow."
"That is generally how it works, yes."He sighed.
Bellamy set the letter down with exaggerated care, like it might go off in an explosion if the least offended.
"Okay... Okay. That’s fine. That’s totally fine haha... we have... what, an evening? A morning?"
"I don’t know! It just says the evening!"
Bellamy paused, terror properly creeping unto his face.
"You’re having dinner with a king in less than a day and you don’t own a single thing that doesn’t have a the consequences of training with Vale worked into it."
Bellamy started pacing, hands doing something agitated near his own hair.
"This is definitely not a school uniform situation, I’ll personally have to hang if you went to the palace looking like that. This is a.... this is a whole different tier of dressing. This is ’the crown princess and prince of Selenoire are going to be looking at you’ dressing."
"I’m aware, thank you, that’s not helping—"
"I’m not trying to help, I’m panicking! We’re panicking together, that’s the plan, that’s what I’vee got!"
Bellamy stopped pacing abruptly, whirled back toward him, and pointed.
"Wardrobe." He pointed at the wardrobe. "Now. Everything you and i both own, on the bed, immediately, we are triaging."
Elian stared at him.
"It’s the middle of the night."
"Then it’s a good thing," Bellamy said, already yanking Elian’s trunk open, "that neither of us is going to be sleeping tonight."
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