Charlton Daniel, Grand Duke of Suffox, had learned long ago that every ballroom was a battlefield.
He entered the Cross estate with Larissa's hand resting lightly on his arm — a picture of composure, his expression the same polite neutrality that had carried him through war councils and cabinet sessions alike.
He did not come to dance.
He came to observe.
Larissa, bright and radiant in soft rose silk, didn't notice the quiet stiffness in his posture. She was too busy taking in the chandeliers, the floral arrangements, the whispered greetings that followed them.
"Isn't it marvelous, Your Grace?" she said, eyes wide. "Lady Annalys certainly knows how to remind everyone who the Crosses are."
Charlton gave a courteous nod. "She's never subtle."
Larissa smiled up at him — her warmth effortless. "Subtlety doesn't suit her. She doesn't like me, you know."
"She doesn't like anyone she can't command," he replied.
Larissa tilted her head, amused. "She likes you. Or thinks she does."
