[center][img]https://i.ibb.co/ssxt53R/Thalia-Evercrest.png[/img][/center][hr][right][sub]Location: Outside Eye of the Beholder
Interactions: Nyla ([@The Muse])[/sub][/right][hr]
[indent]Thalia stilled.

It wasn’t the name-drop that pricked her composure, but the blade beneath its velvet delivery—a strike honed by rehearsal and sharpened by intent. Lark’s low growl vibrated against her leg, a counterpoint to the woman’s smile. Her fingers curled deeper into the dog’s fur, anchoring herself in the heat of his body even as her posture signalled control. Such verbal barbs had long since lost their sting; now, they merely pricked her patience like thorns snagging fabric.

“[color=#663399]I [i]was[/i],[/color]” Thalia conceded, flicking snow from her sleeve as if discarding the title itself. “[color=#663399]Almost.[/color]” She gave the word back to Nyla like a stone she’d been handed—warm from memory, but useless all the same. “[color=#663399]But as you suggest, the past holds little sway here.[/color]” Her gaze swept Nyla’s face, lingering on the artful drape of her lashes, the too-perfect part of her hair. A performance, this encounter. Every syllable was staged in the way the other wanted and felt powerful standing on. 

“[color=#663399]Curious,[/color]” Thalia continued, regardless, her voice honey-wrapped iron, “[color=#663399]you seem awfully well-informed for someone I’m not meant to remember.[/color]” She didn’t move, but something in her stance shifted. Less guarded. More grounded. The noblewoman in her straightened. The farmer in her stayed steady. “[color=#663399]As for what brings me to Dawnhaven, I’m here because I want to be. Unlike some, I don’t need a throne or its connections to feel useful.[/color]”

A pause.

“[color=#663399]Nor do I chase men who mistake hesitation for choice.[/color]” Her smile flashed, brilliant, the kind that had once disarmed those in higher positions than her. Mainly powerful men, but useful with Nyla’s type as well.  The crunch of snow beneath her boot punctuated her advance, subtle, deliberate. Not aggression, but a reclamation of space. Her power. 

This stranger’s saccharine inflections, her casual invocation of titles Thalia had shed like an outgrown cloak…it reeked of practiced manipulation. She recognized the breed: performers who waltzed through politics as consorts and confidantes, harvesting secrets with whispered promises and artful sighs. Courtesan, Thalia guessed. A creature groomed to blur the line between pillow talk and interrogation, trading faux intimacy for influence. Her own dalliance with Flynn had been a pageant of restraint—stilted walks through orchards, scripted banter over porcelain teacups, a single kiss permitted beneath the hawk-eyed scrutiny warranted in those types of engagement matters. She had been a prop in his parable of princely duty, never grasping, never demanding. Always waiting.

So when this disguised viper hissed of scorned destinies and squandered favour, as though Thalia had fumbled some coveted trophy…

The smile that curved her mouth was not a kind one.

“[color=#663399]Enlighten me,[/color]” she said, her voice level, “[color=#663399]were you this invested in his past when you were busy being his [i]present[/i]?[/color]” She let the polysemous barb hover while identifying the exact emotion she felt at the moment: 

Not jealousy in the slightest. 

To imply she had chased a crown that had never truly been hers to wear, while standing there draped in smug amusement, as if she hadn’t once been the one tucked behind palace doors, veiled in secrecy, and, if Thalia’s instincts were right, discarded just as quickly. It was the gall of it. That’s what it was. She had never chased him. She’d been told to wait, to posture, to smile, and to play the part until the script shifted. So when this woman implied she’d been passed over... well. It could never be envy. 

It was contempt.

She tilted her head, hazel eyes glinting. “[color=#663399]Though…I suppose everyone needs a story to tell,[/color]” she added, feigning a light frown. “[color=#663399]Some of us just hope not to be the mere footnote.[/color]” 
[/indent]