Cleora’s eyes shifted to the deivruta, and her expression cooled noticeably.

"Princess Selma. Thank you for sheltering him."

While coming here, Milan had told her about Selma Belat, the daughter of the Emperor, even though everybody knew that she was not.

"It was my pleasure," Selma replied smoothly. She stood with smooth grace, and Jolthar noticed that she was slightly taller than Cleora, an advantage she seemed to use unconsciously, her posture making her appear more commanding.

"Your companion is quite remarkable. He survived a battle with a deity and a deivruta. Few mortals could claim such a feat."

"He’s not just a companion," Cleora said, her voice taking on an edge.

"He’s much more than that."

"I’m sure he is," Selma agreed, her smile knowing.

"How fortunate for you."

The tension between the two women was palpable, two powerful, beautiful women sizing each other up, each recognizing a potential rival.

Milan cleared his throat diplomatically.

"Elder Sister, it’s good to see you. We were worried when we couldn’t find Jolthar this morning."

"Elder Sister?" Jolthar looked between Milan and Selma with surprise.

"Selma is our half-sister," Andrion explained cheerfully, seemingly oblivious to or choosing to ignore the tension between Selma and Cleora.

"Same father, different mothers. We don’t see her often; she prefers to keep to herself in this lovely sanctuary she’s built."

"Half-sister," Selma confirmed.

"Though the imperial family doesn’t acknowledge me publicly. I’m officially just another noble lady with her own estate."

"That’s... complicated," Jolthar observed.

"Imperial families usually are," Selma replied with amusement.

Cleora’s hand remained possessively on Jolthar’s shoulder. "We should take him back to Prince Milan’s villa. He needs proper rest and—"

"He’s had proper rest," Selma interrupted gently.

"And my healers are among the best in the empire. But if he wishes to leave, I won’t stop him." She looked directly at Jolthar. "Though I would like to speak with you again soon. We have much to discuss about your situation and your... future."

There was something in the way she said "future" that made Cleora’s grip tighten on Jolthar’s shoulder.

"I’d like that," Jolthar said honestly.

"You saved my life. I owe you."

"You owe me nothing," Selma corrected.

"But I enjoy interesting conversations with interesting people. Come visit when you’ve recovered more fully."

She walked with them to the entrance, her movements graceful and confident.

As they prepared to leave, she leaned close to Jolthar and spoke quietly enough that only he could hear.

"Be careful with my half-sister Aphyana. She’s vindictive and patient. I’m sure she will cook up schemes to kill you."

"I know," Jolthar replied equally quietly.

Selma pulled back and smiled at the group.

"Safe travels, Jolthar. Don’t get yourself killed before we have that conversation."

"I’ll try," he promised.

*

The carriage ride back to Milan’s villa was somewhat awkward. Cleora sat pressed against Jolthar’s side, her body language clearly claiming him. She hadn’t said anything directly, but her jealousy was obvious.

Milan sat across from them, and after several minutes of silence, he spoke.

"I should probably tell you about Selma, since you’ll undoubtedly hear rumors."

"I’m listening," Jolthar said.

Milan’s expression became carefully neutral, the face of someone navigating politically dangerous territory.

"Officially, Selma Belat is the daughter of one of our father’s concubines. The Emperor acknowledged her as his child and has always shown her great affection. She grew up in the palace, was educated alongside us, and was treated as a legitimate princess in all but name."

"And unofficially?" Jolthar prompted.

"Unofficially," Andrion interjected, "there are persistent rumors that she’s not actually our father’s daughter. That her mother had an affair with the deity Inadrys, and that Selma is actually deivruta—half-divine, not fully mortal like us."

"The timing of her birth, her exceptional abilities, and certain physical characteristics all support the rumor," Milan continued.

"But nobody questions it openly?" Jolthar asked.

"Nobody dares," Andrion said.

"Because our father, the Emperor, has made it clear that Selma is his beloved daughter, and anyone who suggests otherwise will face his displeasure. He’s extremely protective of her."

"Even if he knows the truth?" Jolthar was skeptical.

Milan’s expression became thoughtful.

"That’s the interesting part. Our father is many things, but he’s not stupid. He must suspect, or even know, the truth. But he’s chosen to accept Selma as his own anyway. Perhaps because he genuinely cares for her mother. Perhaps because he sees political advantage in having a deivruta loyal to the imperial family. Or perhaps—" he smiled slightly "—because he actually loves Selma as a daughter, regardless of her biological parentage."

"And Selma herself?" Jolthar asked.

"Has always denied the rumors," Milan said.

"Publicly, she insists the Emperor is her father and treats anyone suggesting otherwise with cold contempt. Whether she truly believes it or knows the truth and chooses to maintain the fiction... I honestly don’t know."

Jolthar could tell that she had accepted being a deivruta and knew very well about the Illumarhen. But it seems like the people in the imperial family don’t fully know about Selma.

Jolthar thought that Selma was really an interesting woman. And her reason for hating deities was clear to him now, and he could tell that she was using the deity’s influence and the emperor’s too, all while living a prosperous life.

"She saved your life," Cleora said, speaking for the first time since they’d left Selma’s residence. "That’s what matters, regardless of her parentage."

"Yes," Jolthar agreed, squeezing her hand.

"She did."

But even as he said it, he was thinking about Selma’s words about deities, about power, and about the complicated web of divine and mortal politics that he’d somehow become entangled in.

His life had been complicated before coming to Cahns’ar.

Now it was becoming labyrinthine.

And he had the distinct feeling that the complications were only just beginning.

The carriage rolled on through the capital streets, carrying them back toward Milan’s villa while the city buzzed with rumors about mysterious battles and powerful strangers.

And in her paradise hidden within the capital, Selma Belat stood at a window, watching the carriage depart, a small smile on her lips.

"Interesting," she murmured to herself.

"Very, very interesting."

Then she turned back to her own affairs, already planning her next move in a game that few even knew was being played.