The pre-winter ball arrived on the first truly cold night of the season, when the last chrysanthemums had finally surrendered to frost and the Wadee gardens stood silver-edged under a thin moon.
Gerffron stood on the balcony of his solar one last time before the carriage came, the two pebbles from Styrmir heavy in the hidden pocket of his new robe. The garment was the one Gorgina had commissioned months ago — deep emerald silk shot through with gold chains and tiny black roses, the chiffon shoulders replaced by heavier velvet trimmed in sable for the chill. He looked every inch the perfect consort. Inside, he felt like a blade wrapped in silk.
Three months of slow, careful tea parties and flower viewings had taught him patience. He had not visited the hidden gate again. Selfi's silent watchfulness had become a wall he no longer tested. Gorgina had returned from the borders twice more, each time leaving a fresh blood-red rose and watching him across dinner tables with those golden-amber eyes that seemed to know exactly how many secrets he was carrying.
But tonight the winter ball loomed only six weeks away, and the pre-winter gathering at the Crown Prince's private pavilion was the final rehearsal before the real performance.
The carriage ride was silent except for the crunch of wheels on frozen gravel. Lady Elowen sat opposite him in crimson velvet, rubies flashing like fresh blood. She did not speak until the pavilion lights appeared through the trees.
"Smile tonight," she said quietly. "The Crown Prince Teivel enjoys pretty things that smile. And remember — whatever you see, whatever you hear… you are a Wadee consort first."
Gerffron bowed his head. "I remember, my lady."
The Crown Prince's pavilion was a glittering jewel set among bare winter trees. Lanterns of colored glass hung in thousands, casting pools of gold, rose, and blood-red across marble terraces. Music spilled from inside — strings and flutes weaving something slow and sensual. Nobles in their finest silks and furs moved like shadows between the light, laughter rising in careful waves. Everyone was here to be seen. Everyone was here to watch.
Gorgina waited for him at the entrance.
She wore deep burgundy that matched her hair, a long cape trimmed in black fox, the sword at her hip glinting like a warning. When Gerffron stepped down she offered her arm — a public gesture of possession that made heads turn.
"You look… acceptable," she murmured, voice low enough for only him. Her gloved fingers tightened briefly on his sleeve. "Try not to wander too far tonight. The Crown Prince has been asking about you."
The words settled cold in his stomach.
Inside, the ballroom was a haze of heat and perfume. Gerffron moved through the crowd at Gorgina's side, smiling the small, empty smile he had perfected over months of tea parties. He greeted Count Remal with a polite nod. Lady Rozana and Lord Jazaan offered quiet, understanding glances from across the room. Baron Acquikth stood near the refreshment table, gray tunic hidden beneath fur, eyes meeting Gerffron's for half a second in silent warning.
Then the Crown Prince Teivel appeared.
He was exactly as the rumors painted him — tall, golden-haired, handsome in the way a blade is handsome. His smile never reached his cold blue eyes. He wore black velvet dripping with diamonds, a crown prince who knew the throne was already his to lose.
"Gorgina," he drawled, voice smooth as oil. "You grow more radiant every season." His gaze slid to Gerffron and lingered a moment too long. "And this must be the new consort everyone is whispering about. Gerffron Wadee. You look… delicate."
The word was not a compliment. If he had been in his old Deepak Sehwal's body, he might've taken offence, but on Gerffron's body, he accepted the words as a compliment because he has already accepted everything—his environment, his new life, his wife, his body.
Gerffron bowed the perfect consort bow. "Your Highness."
Teivel's smile sharpened. "I hear you've been keeping busy with tea parties and flower viewings. How charming." He turned to her. "Tell me — do you enjoy pretty things as much as I do?"
Before Gerffron could answer, Teivel's hand landed on Gorgina's shoulder — casual, possessive, as though he had every right. She did not pull away. Her golden-amber eyes met the Crown Prince's with something that looked dangerously like familiarity.
"I enjoy many things," she replied, voice low. "But some are better kept… private."
The way she said it — the slight tilt of her head, the way Teivel's fingers tightened — hit Gerffron like cold water. There was history there. Not just politics. Something personal. Something that had been happening while he attended tea parties and counted pebbles.
He kept his face blank.
Teivel laughed softly. "Private is good. Very good." His eyes flicked back to Gerffron. "Enjoy the evening, consort. And stay away from the east terrace. Some…other activities shall be hosted there tonight. Not for delicate eyes."
Activities.
The word landed like a stone in still water.
Gerffron excused himself politely after the first dance with his wife, claiming he needed air. Gorgina let him go with a warning glance and soon became busy smiling and exchanging greetings and small talk with other nobles who flocked around her. He moved through the crowd like a shadow, smiling when required, nodding when spoken to. No one stopped him. Everyone assumed the pretty house-husband was simply overwhelmed.
The corridor where he landed, was not so well lit, still he asked a nearby server about powder room to freshen up and the server pointed to one direction mutely. Gerffron thanked him, started to walk towards the pointed direction.
That hold on Gorgina's shoulder had hit an invisible nail in his chest. He's gay and in this body as well he'd prefer a male companion rather than a female. Even though he and his wife had never consummated their marriage as of yet, still he respected her as his wife. Even if all he receives is burning gazes from her and her mother. He didn't know how long he walked but he found himself at an open space.
Shit! Is he lost?
Oh my god! How will he go back? There are no Google Maps! He really can't see anyone around him whom he'd ask about directions. Suddenly, he heard a low hum and then some people talking. Oh thank god! He just have to ask them now about directions.
He was about to walk towards the direction where the people were there. However, soon he realized an uneasy atmosphere about that open space. Could this be the....east terrace? The east terrace, unlike the ballroom, was quieter. Fewer lanterns. A small group of nobles clustered near a silk-draped platform. Gerffron stayed in the shadows, heart steady, ears open.
He heard the words in fragments.
"…opening new auction next month…"
"....slave...."
"…exotic stock from the Wadee dungeons…"
"…one boy in particular — a rare blood, they say. Pretty enough to fetch a fortune…"
"…Teivel wants him as the centrepiece. Can't wait for it…"
Styrmir.
The name wasn't spoken, but Gerffron knew. The dungeon boy. The one he had fed through iron bars. The one whose voice had grown stronger with every midnight promise. The one who had pressed pebbles into his palm and whispered that he wanted to stand beside him, not behind him.
They had sold him to the Crown Prince's new slave market.
Gerffron's fingers closed around the two pebbles in his pocket until the edges bit into his skin.
He did not move. He did not react. He simply listened as the nobles laughed about "fresh merchandise" and "how well the Wadee Duke had prepared the goods."
Then he heard Gorgina's voice — low, intimate, coming from the shadows just beyond the terrace.
"You promised me discretion, Teivel."
The Crown Prince's reply was lazy, amused. "And you promised me a night after the ball. Don't worry, my dear. Your little husband will never know. He's too busy playing tea parties and collecting pretty rocks."
A soft laugh from Gorgina. The sound of fabric shifting. Sounds that were not meant for a husband's ears.
Gerffron stepped back silently, melting into the crowd before they could sense him. His pulse was calm. His mind was not.
The slave market was real. Styrmir was already inside it. Gorgina and the Crown Prince were entangled in ways that went far beyond politics. And both of them clearly saw Gerffron as nothing more than a decorative inconvenience.
He somehow returned to the main ballroom just as the next dance began. Gorgina found him immediately, her hand sliding into his with perfect poise. No trace of any intimate gestures that had swept over her body few minutes back.
"Enjoying the night?" she asked, golden eyes searching his face.
"Very much," he answered, voice steady. "The lanterns are beautiful."
They danced. He smiled. He bowed when required. No one saw the blade sharpening behind his emerald eyes.
Later, when the carriage finally carried them home through the frozen night, Lady Elowen spoke once.
"You were adequate tonight. The Crown Prince seemed… interested."
Gerffron stared out at the dark trees.
He did not answer.
Inside his solar he removed the emerald robe and laid it across the chair. The two pebbles he placed on the desk beside the blood-red rose. He sat for a long time, turning everything he had heard over and over in his mind.
The slave market. Gorgina's laugh in the shadows with the Crown Prince. The casual way they had spoken of him — delicate, harmless, useful only as decoration.
He touched the thorns of the rose until a single drop of blood welled on his fingertip.
He was fine with being a decoration, a house-husband, but he never expected his wife to cheat on him so openly. Everyone has a flame or two before marriage, but after marriage, such flames are expected to be either extinguished or forgotten. It hit a hammer on his heart. It became even clearer why they never slept together (it'd be a problem if they did) since his wife is already somebody else's, and their marriage is nothing but a sham, a societal curtain.
They thought he was still the boy who had once tried to jump from a terrace.
They had no idea the boy who had died under a truck in Hyderabad had already learned how to survive worse things than this.
Gerffron smiled at the dark — small, sharp, and utterly without mercy.
The pre-winter ball was over.
The real game had just begun.