The Dance Before the Storm

  The grand masquerade ball was in full bloom—silks brushed against polished marble, goblets overflowed with honeyed wine, and whispered betrayals melted into the laughter of nobility. In the center of it all, Seraphina, the famed belly dancer of Zadreth, moved like a phantom of seduction.

  Her golden veils shimmered with every motion, her bare midriff adorned with chains that jingled like whispers of treachery. Lords and warlords, queens and spies—all watched her, captivated. But Seraphina was not here to entertain. She was here to listen.

  Stolen story; please report.

  Hidden behind painted smiles were schemes of war. The king, old and frail, leaned forward as General Kael Vostrik, warlord of the Eastern Front, stepped forward with an offer: an alliance through marriage, sealed with blood and steel. The court murmured.

  But not everyone played along. Queen Lysara, regal and deadly, sipped her wine with a knowing smirk. She had no intention of letting men dictate her rule. Not even Kael.

  Seraphina twirled, the golden bells at her hips ringing like war drums. The dance was coming to an end. But behind those veils, her lips curled into a smile.

  This was no ordinary performance.

  This was the prelude to war.