Page 62 of The Sovereign, Part One (The Sovereign Saga #1)

Waitstaff hovered silently along the edges, their presence marked only by sleek serving drones that glided at waist level, offering everything from glacial fruit spirits to vaporized confections that melted into heady floral sweetness on the tongue.

Micro-entertainers performed on hover-discs at eye level, singing in multiple harmonics at once, voices layered through atmospheric filters so every lyric felt like it was being sung quietly in your ear as long as you were in the vicinity.

One plaza corner held an interactive holographic garden where guests could step inside, gesture, and sculpt their surroundings.

What began as a single lily could be grown into an entire glowing jungle in seconds, vines of electric green looping around partygoers as they laughed and posed for ephemeral portraits that vanished on command.

Above it all, drones cast ambient lighting and displayed 3D projections of Lourdes’s personal crest, now stylized with animated constellations that tracked across the sky in real time.

Miniature fireworks, silent but breathtaking, burst in carefully timed succession, each one a bloom of color that released swarms of floating, incandescent petals.

Some petals responded to touch, turning into tiny fireflies that flitted away, dispersing into programmed stardust.

It wasn’t a party. It was a world, conjured for one night—weightless, wild, and so stunning it felt wrong to blink.

Amidst it all, I could feel Maxim’s hand on the small of my back, anchoring me against the roar of spectacle.

“Think we can find Lourdes in all of this?” Maxim asked.

“She’ll be inside,” I said, scanning the opulence ahead. “Most likely orbiting the event choreographer.”

He threaded his fingers between mine and pulled me forward, guiding us off the street and onto the estate grounds.

The gates stood wide open, flanked by towering flame columns that danced in precise synchronization with the ambient soundscape—a lavish welcome, not a barrier.

We stepped past them onto a garden path designed less for utility than for spectacle.

The Vasthane residence rose ahead, a monument to excess, its undulating facade laced with threads of active gold pulsing faintly beneath a skin of translucent composite.

Tower-high windows offered glimpses into a world of floating staircases and suspended botanical atriums. Music smoothly transitioned again, laced with harmonic undertones only the subconscious would register, engineered to trigger a sense of awe.

Maxim didn’t pause. His grip on my hand tightened just enough to keep me tethered as we moved toward the regal threshold of the Vanguard’s most sacred domain.

He wasn’t distracted, his focus was on me, not the spectacle.

To my surprise, I was. Not by the opulence—I’d been raised amidst it—but by how far I’d drifted from the girl who once snuck into this estate with Lourdes after curfew, barefoot and breathless, laughing over ‘stolen’ gelée and whispered secrets.

Back then, the Vasthane estate had felt vast, enchanted.

Now, it felt like something else entirely.

A stage. A theater of power dressed up as celebration.

“Isara!” Roan called for me, taking me into his arms. He quickly greeted Maxim with a firm handshake and a nod, then turned back with a wide grin. “I was just leaving to pick up Bellam from the Skith Port. Don’t go anywhere. I’ll bring her straight here to see you.”

“It might take an hour or so for her to take in everything before she even makes it past the gates,” I said, glancing at the fever dream of indulgence behind us.

He playfully rolled his eyes. “I know. Lourdes took all of her favorites from every party she’s ever thrown and multiplied them by ten. If I never hear, ‘It just has to be more!’ again in my life, it’ll be too soon.”

“Where is Lourdes?” I asked.

He pointed past me. “On the main platform, talking to Evadne Bane, the event choreographer.”

I glanced at Maxim. “Told you.”

Maxim laughed. “I’ll take her up there. You should get going. Don’t leave Bellam to navigate this gilded wonderland alone.”

“Oh! You’re right!” he said, flashing a grin before turning. The crowd instinctively parted for him—either in recognition or reverence, I wasn’t sure—which gave the illusion he carried a magnetic field wherever he walked.

Maxim, as always, drew less attention but still commanded space.

With one hand still entwined in mine, he guided us forward, cutting a smooth path through clusters of guests.

We ascended the grand, floating staircase carved from luminous panels that glowed faintly beneath our feet, the embedded threads of starlight shifting with our steps.

Midway, Maxim directed us onto one of the floating platforms, an elegant disk that hovered silently just above the steps, drifting outward with gentle propulsion.

The breeze from its motion lifted the hem of my dress ever so slightly as we glided toward the upper terrace, where Lourdes reigned in a storm of sequins and symphony.

Once our eyes met, Lourdes descended upon me, a sudden sweep of color and motion, delicate yet consuming.

Her gown, if one could call it that, was a three-dimensional vision of coral and shimmer, engineered to float behind her like petals on water.

It flickered in hues of pale rose and golden fire as she moved, the hem never quite touching the floor.

Her hair, a sculptural cascade of platinum waves, gathered into a high, coiled twist at the crown, with delicate tendrils fanned and suspended as if gravity had been politely dismissed.

The style glimmered under the ambient lighting, like starlight spun into silk.

“You’re here!” Lourdes said, radiant as she pulled me into a hug. She stepped back, eyes scanning my gown before drifting to Maxim. “Look at you two. If I didn’t know better, I’d be interrogating the guests to reveal which old Vanguard line you’d quietly emerged from.”

I laughed, nudging her. “Please. I’m the only one here not wrapped in photonic fabric.”

Maxim returned his hand to the small of my back. “I agree. Isara is absolutely breathtaking.”

Lourdes gave him a sly, approving smile. “You do realize you’re about to be Oathbonded to perfection, yes?”

“Every day,” he said, pretending to be focused on the crowd, and then trying—and failing—not to grin.

Lourdes reached behind her to tap Leopold on the shoulder.

He quickly turned, and the moment he spotted us, he broke from his conversation circle with a politician’s ease, his practiced smile locked in place.

He was immaculate, his tuxedo more sculpture than garment, his posture princely, and his aura so composed he made the entire event feel like an old world back patio BBQ.

“Isara,” he greeted me warmly, bowing slightly before taking my hand and brushing the skin above my knuckles with his lips. “And Maxim. I’ve heard nothing but admiration spoken about you since your arrival. You’ve already made a mark among Hyperion Proper Society.”

Maxim returned the nod with polite authority. “You host an extraordinary affair.”

Leopold clasped his hands together, surveying the room with exaggerated pride. “One tries.” Then, more sincerely to me, “I’m delighted you came. You mean so much to Lourdes, to us.”

“Of course,” I said. “Lourdes wouldn’t have allowed me to miss it.”

He grinned, eyes sparkling. “She’s been working day and night for weeks. My darling accordant would accept nothing but the best.”

“Leo!” a guest called. “Leopold Vasthane!”

“Oh!” Leopold chuckled, waving to the man. “Please excuse me.”

“Of course,” Maxim said, nodding once.

As Leopold drifted away, absorbed into another gathering knot of guests, Lourdes hooked one arm around my middle.

“I hope you’ve at least thought about what you want to wear for the Oathbond,” she said, squeezing me to her side.

“I have,” I admitted.

“Good!” she chirped. “You have exactly sixteen days to be flawless. And before you try and tell me you haven’t picked a palette, I’ve already scheduled a consultation with Hecta. The Hecta. You’re welcome.”

Beside me, Maxim was trying not to grin. “You’ve thought about the Oathbond?”

I met his gaze, but Lourdes answered for me. “Only since we were children,” she teased.

He took my hand and brought it to his lips, the gesture subtle but thick with emotion. “That makes me… indescribably happy.”

Before I could speak, Bellam approached, with Roan following closely behind, both looking particularly tense.

Her gown was a soft spring blue, fluid and sculptural at once.

It was designed with a high neckline and a single draped sleeve, the other arm left bare to strike a sharp asymmetry.

Diagonal ruching cinched the waist before releasing into a cascade of fabric that fell into a long train, each line clean yet softened by the movement of chiffon.

Oversized floral appliqués traced the line of her shoulder and hip, subtle in tone but bold in form, giving the sleek silhouette a textured, almost architectural dimension.

The look was modern yet romantic, polished yet daring—an ensemble that marked her as someone impossible to overlook.

Made from a smart-fiber blend that would subtly adjust to her body’s temperature, it caught the light when she moved—so very Bellam, graceful without trying to be grand.

Lourdes’s eyes shimmered with excitement. “And you said you didn’t have a dress. You’re perfect!”

Bellam offered a forced grin. “Thank you, Lourdes. This is… absolutely magical.” She caught my arm, her fingers tight around my wrist. Her voice was low, urgent. “I need to talk to you. Now.”