Shattered Innocence: Transmigrated Into a Novel as an Extra

Chapter 735: Dear Sister

The news came with the quiet ceremony of inevitability.

“Your Highness,” Idena said as she returned, her breath slightly uneven from the fast pace. “The Sanctum of Stars has sent confirmation. Lucavion… is expecting you.”

Priscilla’s gaze lifted from the letter she’d been reading, her fingers pausing just before folding the edge. For a breath, the silence between them deepened—like air thinning before a shift in weather.

“…So he did accept,” she murmured.

A confirmation. Not relief. Not surprise. But the steady weight of knowing. That strange instinct within her—that certainty she hadn’t dared name—had not been wrong.

And now… it would be tested.

“Where is the meeting?” she asked, already rising to her feet.

“The Sanctum of Stars,” Idena replied, lowering her voice in deference. “They’ve arranged a private hall within their northern wing.”

Priscilla blinked.

The Sanctum of Stars.

Of course it would be there. Of all the gilded chambers and elite academies of the Imperial Borough, none held more weight in current fashion and politics. Only the top contenders were offered suites there. Most of the princesses had used its balconies for high councils or private negotiations.

But Priscilla?

She had never once set foot beyond its marble thresholds.

Until now.

“I see,” she said simply, slipping on her storm-gray cloak, the mantle catching light in subtle silver threads. “Then let’s not waste the hour.”

*****

The Imperial Borough streets shimmered with filtered mana, casting a warm luminescence over the ancient stones that bore the tread of a thousand bloodlines. But even among the grandeur, the eyes that followed Priscilla’s carriage were cold.

Noble gazes tilted, assessing. Not always cruel. But always dismissive.

The quiet disgrace. The daughter of the wrong Empress. The imperial shadow clinging to old walls, pretending to be relevant.

They didn’t say it aloud.

They didn’t need to.

Even now, the looks she received cut cleaner than words. Not mockery, but irrelevance. As if her presence was not worthy of disdain, only polite avoidance.

Priscilla ignored them.

She always did.

But the stillness in her hands grew tighter.

’Let them watch.’

’Let them wonder.’

Because today, for once, she was not the one trying to be heard. Today, the one they all whispered about—Lucavion—had chosen her.

The carriage rolled to a soft stop before the Sanctum’s gates, where ornate guards clad in ceremonial blues and gold stepped aside with synchronized precision. They did not question her. They did not delay. They had been told.

She was expected.

“Princess Priscilla Lysandra,” one of the attendants announced with professional clarity, bowing low. “Sir Lucavion’s prior audience has concluded. He will receive you now.”

They moved with their usual attentiveness. No false delay. No buried scorn. Everything was polished, immaculate, respectful.

The world turns quickly, Priscilla thought. Even for those who once ignored me.

Inside, the Sanctum’s corridors were all vaulted crystal and floating sigils. Luxury with purpose—elegance sharpened by utility. Her boots made no sound as she moved, Idena at her side, both quiet amid the soundless grandeur.

But as they turned into the upper wing, where the private viewing chambers were said to be, a familiar presence curved around the hall like pressure before a spell breaks.

The click of heels—measured, imperial.

Then—

“What is our little sister doing here?”

That voice.

Clear. Musical.

And always laced with the kind of warmth that felt like polished frost.

Priscilla stopped.

Slowly turned.

And there she was.

Selienne Lysandra.

First Princess of the Empire.

Crowned in crimson and silver, she walked like royalty had been born from her bones. Eyes sharp, chin lifted—not in arrogance, but in understanding that the world expected her to rule it.

She was alone—no guards, no attendants. Because she didn’t need them.

And as Selienne stepped closer, that perfectly shaped smile never broke.

Not for courtesy.

But because Selienne always smiled just before she drew blood.

“So you finally managed to get invited,” Selienne said lightly, her gaze flicking briefly to the attendants nearby. “And to the Sanctum, no less. Quite the step up.”

Priscilla’s jaw did not move. Her face did not shift. But something in her eyes narrowed—just enough.

“I wasn’t aware you’d taken up posting by the hallway,” she replied smoothly. “Has the throne’s pull become that weak?”

Selienne chuckled once—soft, silken.

“Oh, Priscilla,” she said. “Always so defensive. You misunderstand. I’m not here to intercept. Just passing through, as one does when they’re… welcome.”

A pause. Measured.

“And what a coincidence. The very room someone met me in is just down this hall.”

Selienne’s pause was deliberate—one of those slight, silky silences meant to sharpen a thought before driving it forward.

She tilted her head just slightly, just enough for the silver ornament at her temple to catch the light.

“Tell me, sister,” she said, voice warm and far too poised. “Is it Lucavion you’re here to visit?”

Priscilla didn’t answer right away. Not because she hesitated—but because the question wasn’t really a question.

It was a test. A veiled blade.

And one she couldn’t answer cleanly.

There were rules in the Sanctum of Stars. Subtle, but ironclad.

The identities of sponsors meeting with the exam victors were not to be disclosed—not publicly, not even in passing. The agreements were unofficial until finalized.

Every discussion was to be treated as private.

Sacrosanct.

Until the last hour of the deadline, all candidates were free to listen. To deliberate. To decide.

And none of them were to be pressed.

So whatever Selienne was fishing for now… it wasn’t innocent curiosity.

“Interesting assumption,” Priscilla said, eyes remaining still. “Should I take that as confirmation that you’re here for him too?”

Selienne’s smile didn’t fade.

But the light behind her gaze shifted—minutely.

“Perhaps,” she said, so casually it felt rehearsed. “Or perhaps I’m simply making conversation. It’s rare to see you in these halls. I thought I might ask… as a courtesy.”

“Of course,” Priscilla replied, tone as smooth as the corridor tiles beneath their boots. “Because when you ask questions, it’s always out of kindness.”

That earned her the faintest laugh. A melodic breath with no amusement behind it.

“Careful,” Selienne said softly. “There are still those who remember where that tone of yours comes from.”

She stepped forward again, not blocking the path—but narrowing it.

“Regardless,” she continued, her voice still light, “I suppose it doesn’t matter. The sponsors all speak in turn, after all. None of us will know who he chooses until the final seal is cast.”

Priscilla’s eyes flicked toward her.

It was subtle—but the message was there.

You don’t know either.

Selienne’s words were polished, but they lacked weight. Because she wasn’t sure.

She didn’t know.

She was trying to find out.

“Well,” Priscilla said quietly, stepping past her without a flinch, “I do hope you made your case thoroughly.”

A beat.

“Assuming he’s the one you were there for.”

Selienne didn’t stop her this time.

But as Priscilla passed, she spoke one last time—her voice just loud enough to follow like a shadow.

“I always make my case thoroughly.”

Priscilla didn’t turn.

Didn’t slow.

Something…

The word coiled at the base of Priscilla’s spine as she continued walking, the polished floor whispering beneath her steps.

She didn’t look back. Didn’t falter. But her mind turned.

Selienne had always been unreadable.

She’d spent her life draped in discipline, every breath measured, every word rehearsed to a blade’s edge. Even when she smiled, it was precise—never too much, never too little. Royal perfection, sculpted for the throne.

And yet—

Just now.

There was something.

Not in the words. Not even in the smile.

But beneath.

A tension. Imperceptible to most. But Priscilla had lived too long in the undercurrent. Too long at the edges of every noble gathering, every imperial function where she was tolerated but never welcomed. She had survived by instinct. By watching the subtle shifts, the too-still shoulders, the averted eyes, the slight breath that betrayed intent.

Selienne had been steady.

But not today.

Today, her stillness had shape.

’Something happened.’

A flicker of thought slipped through her like chill through silk. Selienne wasn’t rattled—but she wasn’t untouched either.

It wasn’t just the probing.

It was the way her voice lingered a little too long on that final line. The way her gaze didn’t chase her departure.

Selienne, who calculated everything, who dominated every conversation with that razor-like grace…

She had been edged. Tilted. Not unmade, no—but not untouched.

And there was only one variable in that equation.

Lucavion.

Priscilla’s fingers, still resting along the line of her cloak, curled slightly.

’He did something.’

Refused her?

Maybe.

Humiliated her?

Unlikely. Selienne didn’t allow that to happen.

But shaken her?

Yes.

That, she could believe.

And if that was true—if Lucavion had stood toe to toe with Selienne Lysandra and left her even slightly unbalanced…

Then this meeting was more than just curiosity.

It was opportunity.

Not because Priscilla needed to win him over for power. Not because she sought to claim what her sister couldn’t.

But because in this moment, something rare had unfolded in the Empire.

A stranger had entered their orbit.

And the ones who ruled it couldn’t pin him down.

’What kind of man are you, Lucavion…?’

Her pace quickened—only slightly.

The door to the chamber awaited ahead. Polished. Sealed.

And beyond it—

A question no longer wrapped in mystery.

But in potential.

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