Reincarnated As An Archmage’s Daughter

When she emerged from the bath, wrapped in a soft robe with her damp silver hair clinging to her cheeks, the dressing area had transformed into a battlefield.

Rena had returned from her escort duties and was brandishing a crimson-and-gold dress with fiery embroidery. "This one! She should walk in looking like she owns the South. Powerful! Striking! The kind of entrance that makes people forget how to breathe!"

"Too aggressive for the Imperial Palace," Phenopa said, holding up a more elegant silver-and-purple gown. The fabric caught the light and scattered it. "She needs to look untouchable, not confrontational."

Collin, who had apparently finished the ward checks and invited himself to the dressing session, held up a third option. This one had subtle threading throughout—reinforcement, Hania realized. "What about something practical? Hidden reinforcement threads woven into the fabric. Elegant enough for court, but durable enough to survive an actual fight if something goes wrong."

"This is a dinner party, not a siege," Phenopa said.

"With the Noctis family involved, is there really a difference?"

Phenopa did not disagree.

Myra lifted a deep violet ensemble, turning it slowly in the light so the fabric shimmered through shades of purple and blue. "This one brings out her eyes without drawing too much attention to..." She hesitated. "Elegant, with good movement compatibility. She could run in this if necessary."

"Again, dinner party," Phenopa reminded her.

"Dinner party with the Emperor who's trying to trap her here," Myra countered quietly. "Better to be prepared."

The twins burst through the door carrying two more options, nearly colliding with each other in their enthusiasm.

"The sparkly one!" Amber-Flame shouted, holding up a dress that appeared to be made primarily of glitter.

"No, the one that looks like it could set someone on fire if they insult her!" Gold-Flame countered, brandishing something with actual flame-resistant enchantments woven into the hem.

"We're not setting anyone on fire at the Imperial Palace," Phenopa said.

"Not intentionally," one of the twins muttered.

Lusha, who had been lounging elegantly in a nearby chair with her legs crossed and her golden eyes sparkling with amusement, finally spoke. "All of you are forgetting the most important thing."

Everyone turned.

"She should look like she could end any of them without lifting a finger." Lusha rose gracefully and ran one finger along the silver-purple gown Phenopa was holding. "Add spider-silk accents. Subtle reinforcement at the seams. A pattern that catches the light just enough to remind them who her nanny is, without screaming it."

"That's..." Phenopa considered. "Actually perfect."

"I know."

"But my dress has fire embroidery!" Rena protested.

"Your dress would announce her as an Emberlyn ally before she's even entered the room," Lusha said. "The palace already knows about the Southern connection. What they don't know is what the Spider Court brings to the table. Let them wonder."

The argument continued for another ten minutes, with dresses being held up, debated, and discarded in rapid succession. Hania sat on the edge of the ornate bed, the golden sphere humming contentedly in her lap, watching the chaos unfold with growing internal laughter.

This is peak fantasy nonsense. This is everything I ever wanted.

Across the room, Dravin stood in the doorway with his arms crossed, watching the proceedings. On him, it looked like mild annoyance mixed with existential resignation.

He's probably wondering how his life came to this, Hania thought. Two centuries of being the most feared mage on the continent, and now he's standing in a room full of Emberlyns arguing about dress fabric. This is what parenting does to people.

She caught his eye and gave him a small wave. His expression didn’t change, but his hand lifted, just slightly, in acknowledgment.

After twenty minutes of passionate debate, gentle tugging of fabrics, and multiple outfit changes—during which the twins kept making dramatic poses in the mirrors and Collin took notes on the tensile strength of various silk blends—they finally settled on the silver-purple gown Phenopa had chosen. It was enhanced with Lusha’s near-invisible spider-silk reinforcement and subtle protective embroidery from Collin. It fit perfectly: elegant, commanding, and quietly powerful.

"There," Phenopa said, stepping back to admire her work. "Perfect. You look like a Noctis princess who doesn’t need to prove anything."

"Because she doesn’t," Lusha added.

Hania looked at herself in the full-length mirror. The girl who looked back was strange to her—silver hair falling in soft waves past her shoulders, purple eyes wide and watchful, the dress flowing around her like water. She looked delicate. She looked harmless.

Perfect.

Dravin’s voice cut through the satisfied silence. "The sphere."

Hania turned. He was still in the doorway, his eyes fixed on the golden orb floating beside her shoulder.

"What about it?"

His eyes narrowed. "Do not grow attached to unknown artifacts."

"Too late." Hania placed her hand on the sphere’s surface. "It’s mine now."

"It was inside a Behemoth’s heart for an unknown period. It has unknown properties, unknown origins, and unknown intentions. You cannot claim ownership of something you don’t understand."

"I claimed ownership of you when I was ten seconds old. I didn’t understand you either."

Somewhere behind her, Rena choked on a laugh and tried to disguise it as a cough. Lusha didn’t bother hiding her smile.

Dravin stared at her. Then, almost imperceptibly, the corner of his mouth twitched. "Hmm."

Victory. Hania patted the sphere. "See? He’s coming around. Give him another seven years and he’ll be asking what your favorite color is."

The sphere pulsed warmly against her palm. She chose to interpret it as agreement.

Raylas appeared in the doorway just as the final adjustments were being made. He had changed from his tree-sitting attire into formal Emberlyn crimson and gold, polished boots, and his red hair tied back with a black ribbon. The effect was, unfortunately, impressive.

"Carriage is ready," he announced, leaning against the doorframe with practiced casualness. "Or rather, the honor guard is. Two dozen imperial soldiers, plus Rena’s escort flames, plus a sky-path cleared all the way to the capital." His amber eyes swept over the room—the discarded dresses, the twins still holding backup options, Collin scribbling final notes—and his grin widened. "I see the fashion wars went well."

"We reached a treaty," Phenopa said dryly. "Casualties were minimal."

"Great-grandfather sent word." Raylas straightened slightly, his expression turning more serious. "He’ll meet us at the palace. He says the Emperor is in an unusually good mood."

Silence fell. Even the twins stopped fidgeting.

"When is the Emperor ever in a good mood?" Hania asked.

"When he thinks he’s winning," Raylas replied, meeting her eyes. "Which is never a good sign."

So either the Emperor has something up his sleeve, or he thinks he does. Either way, we’re walking into a trap that thinks it’s a dinner party. Hania filed this away alongside Collin’s dossier and her own observations. Good. Traps are easier to navigate when you know they exist.

"Don't accept drinks from anyone except the Queen's people," Raylas continued, ticking points off on his fingers. His tone was casual, but his eyes were serious. "Obelion's delegation will be there. Princess Thalira's attendants wear silver and lavender. If someone offers you wine, juice, water—anything—check the server's house colors first. If you don't recognize them, don't drink."

"Noted."

"Don't correct the Emperor even when he's wrong. He'll say things about history that you know are false. Let him. Correcting him in public is the fastest way to make an enemy you can't afford."

She nodded. So I'll just sit there while he rewrites history. Fine. I've sat through worse lectures in this life, and Dr. Kim's therapy sessions in my past life were longer and more insulting.

"And if Crown Prince Jareth is there..." Raylas's grin returned. "Feel free to repeat the belt incident. I told this story six times already. It gets better with every retelling."

"You… What?"

"Also, Collin does a reenactment at the winter festival. He plays the belt."

From across the room, Collin looked up from his notes. "I'm a very good belt."

"The best belt," one of the twins agreed solemnly.

Hania stared at them. "Your family celebrates my childhood revenge as a holiday tradition."

"We celebrate interesting things," Raylas corrected. "And you, Princess, are very interesting." He pushed off the doorframe and offered a half-bow. "Shall we?"

Lusha walked on her left, close enough to catch her if she stumbled. The golden sphere bobbed on her right. Dravin walked ahead, his silver hair catching the late afternoon light, the air around him noticeably colder than the rest of the courtyard.

The Emberlyn family had assembled to see them off. Rena stood by the main gate. Collin was making final adjustments to the carriage wards, muttering to himself about anchor stability. Myra stood slightly apart, her eyes tracking the clouds as if expecting an ambush. The twins had climbed onto the courtyard wall and were dangling their legs over the edge, waving enthusiastically.

Phenopa waited at the carriage door. "The healer's report is in the document case," she told Dravin, handing over a slim leather folder. "Clean bill of health, within expected parameters for post-combat recovery. Nothing the Imperial medical mages can use against her."

Dravin took the folder without comment. He's cataloging threats, Hania thought. Preparing for every possible angle. Making sure they can't use my health as leverage.

"Thank you," Hania said to Phenopa. "For everything. The room, the healer, the dress, the..." She gestured vaguely at the chaos of the past hours. "The family."

Phenopa's stern expression softened. "You're welcome here anytime, Princess. The Emberlyn estate has stood for two centuries. Our doors don't close on Noctis blood." Her eyes flicked to Dravin. "Even when that blood is difficult."

"Dravin is always difficult," Lusha said pleasantly. "It's one of his more consistent qualities."

Dravin did not dignify this with a response.

Raylas had already climbed into the carriage and was leaning out the window. "If we're done with the emotional farewells, the sky-path won't hold forever. The Imperial weather mages get twitchy about unscheduled flight traffic after sunset."

"Since when do you care about schedules?" Hania asked, reaching for his hand to climb in.

But before she could take it, Dravin scooped her up and carried her inside.

Raylas looked stunned for a second, then smiled. "Since I realized the sooner we arrive, the sooner I get to watch you terrorize the Imperial Court." His grin was sharp. "I've got a betting pool running with the twins. I said you'd make someone cry within the first hour."

Hania was embarrassed for half a second, then realized she wasn’t even surprised anymore. Childish.

"That's a terrible bet. I'm not going to make anyone cry."

"Accidentally, then."

"Accidentally is different."

"That's what I said."

Dravin let Hania settle onto the velvet seat, carefully arranging her dress so it wouldn’t wrinkle. The golden sphere floated up and tucked itself into the corner beside her, pulsing gently. Lusha took the seat opposite, already pulling out a small embroidery hoop from somewhere. Does she just carry those everywhere?

The carriage lurched. Then, smoothly, it began to rise.

Hania pressed her face to the window as the ground fell away. The Emberlyn estate spread beneath them like a living map—the training grounds still smoking faintly, the main house glowing warmly in the afternoon sun. The Southern coast stretched to the horizon, and in the distance she could still see them: two mile-high walls of ice glittering like frozen rainbows, the sea between them slowly refilling as the magic faded.

Noctis's Scar. That's what they’re going to call it. Future historians will argue about whether it was an act of rescue or an act of war. And she would be the only one who knew it was both.

She felt the carriage tilt as they leveled out among the clouds. The ride smoothed. The honor guard formed ranks around them, their horses' hooves striking the air as if it were solid ground, their crimson-and-gold banners snapping in the wind.

Hania watched the clouds drift lazily past her window, a scheming smirk playing at the corners of her mind.

Palace... I'm ready for you.

"Dad?" she said softly.

"Hmm."

"If I accidentally spill juice on the Crown Prince, just let it happen. It's part of the plan."

Dravin didn’t even blink. "I'll ensure the juice is chilled."

Lusha's embroidery needle paused mid-stitch. Her golden eyes lifted, sparkling with unholy delight. "You two really are terrifying together. Has anyone ever told you that?"

"Frequently," Dravin said.

"It hasn't stopped us yet," Hania added.

Hania leaned against her father’s side and closed her eyes. Let them underestimate me. Let them think I’m just a child. Let them focus on Dad and Lusha and the obvious threats.

I'll be the threat they don’t see coming.