The Duchess (GxG)

I stood once again in front of my open wardrobe, the soft glow of the overhead light bouncing off rows of silks, chiffons, and crepes. My fingers trailed along the gowns, stopping and starting with every shift in colour or texture, but tonight's choice wasn't about fashion—it was strategy. It was dinner with my family. Not a royal banquet or a public engagement. But something worse. Personal.

After several quiet minutes of internal debate, I settled on a midnight-blue cocktail gown that cinched at the waist and fell in smooth waves to just above the knee, slit high on one side. Elegant, but not stiff. Royal, but not matronly. A neckline that dipped just enough to make an impression—intended or not.

I paired it with a simple set of sapphire earrings and a thin diamond tennis bracelet. After touching up my makeup, a soft smoky eye and a nude lip, I gave myself one final glance in the full-length mirror. I looked every inch the Duchess of Lirae. Azolaria Varnai. Poised, polished, born to rule. But beneath it all, I was still Zola, and Zola was already counting the minutes until she could escape into a hot bath afterward.

Walking barefoot into the living room, heels in hand, I settled on the couch and began fastening the delicate straps over my feet. That's when I heard the soft click of the door.

I glanced up.

And nearly forgot how to breathe.

Reya stepped inside like a shadow pulled from moonlight, dressed in a tailored all-black tuxedo that hugged her frame so perfectly I was sure it had been stitched directly onto her. The crisp shirt, the sharp lapels, the subtle glint of cufflinks at her wrists—every detail was immaculate. She wasn't trying to impress. She was the impression.

"Damn..." I breathed before I could stop myself.

She looked like sin and salvation wrapped in pressed lapels.

I stood slowly, the room suddenly warmer, and even in heels, she still stood a couple of inches taller. I wasn't sure if I imagined it, but as I rose, I could have sworn her eyes flicked downward, catching the exposed line of my leg and the dip of my neckline.

"You look beautiful, Duchess," she said, her voice composed, neutral, like she hadn't just stared straight into my soul.

I smirked, the compliment rolling through me like aged wine. "You clean up well, Commander."

We walked to the door side by side, our heels tapping in tandem down the marble corridor. I kept sneaking glances at her out of the corner of my eye. I couldn't help it. I knew I was walking into a room filled with the most powerful people in the kingdom—but somehow, she was the one making my stomach flip.

The usher guided us into the palace dining room, its gilded ceilings and crystal chandeliers glittering with soft candlelight. My grandparents and parents were already seated at the long table—elegant, regal, and immaculately dressed in a way that only true monarchs could be.

As I entered, they all stood.

One by one, I kissed cheeks and exchanged polite hugs. My grandfather, King Aldren IV, gave me a firm embrace, the scent of his cologne warm and familiar. My grandmother, Queen Maelira, brushed a kiss to my cheek with a smile that never quite reached her eyes. My mother, Princess Ilena, stood tall, impeccable as ever, while my father, Prince Soren, offered a more genuine warmth, eyes crinkling as he pulled me in.

Behind me, Reya stood at her usual distance, arms clasped neatly behind her back. I was just beginning to move toward my seat when my grandfather's voice rang out.

"Commander Stravik, you're not a shadow tonight. You're a guest. Sit."

I turned, eyebrows raising. Reya looked mildly surprised too, but she recovered instantly. "Thank you, Your Majesty."