The banquet would begin in the evening, and I had been assigned the same room I used to stay in at the main palace unchanged, preserved, almost frozen in time. The moment I stepped inside, the air itself felt nostalgic as it pressed gently against memories I had not allowed myself to revisit.
Strange how a room could remember you even when people chose not to.
I turned slightly toward him before we separated in the corridor.
"Do you need an attendant to assist you?"
"I'm quite fine."
He slammed the door shut in my face.
I stared at the carved wood for a full three seconds.
How impressive. The banquet hadn't started yet and he was already testing my patience.
If we weren't invited under his highness command, I would have demonstrated consequences immediately. I exhaled slowly.
Control first. Violence later.
I also need to start getting dressed soon. I'm very particular about being punctual.
"Winter."
The temperature in the room dipped. Frost traced the edges of the mirror. A pale shimmer gathered near the wardrobe before taking form.
"You called, my queen."
Winter bowed, voice calm, presence silent as snowfall.
"Assist me," I said simply.
"As you command."
Unlike human attendants who screamed the moment they saw my scars it was immensely irritating.
It wasn't fear that bothered me. I understood fear.
It was the chaos that followed whispers. Panic. Questions I had no intention of answering.
Last time, it turned tremendously messy in a matter of seconds. I had no other choice but to erase their memories to ensure they never spoke of what they had seen.
After that, I stopped allowing palace maids anywhere near me.
Winter is different.
She had shown interest once, in serving me directly. Since then, I have allowed only her to assist me. Despite being third in command of my army, she performs the task without hesitation or complaint.
The gown settled into place like a second skin, elegant, severe, battle-ready disguised as beauty.
A banquet, after all, was just a battlefield with chandeliers.
—
What exactly am I doing?
Standing here. Adjusting cuffs. Fixing my collar. Playing dress-up like some obedient noble son.
Why do I have to be the one escorting her?
Cassian would've been perfect. He thrives in ballrooms and he's made for this. He smiles at the right moments. Bows at the right depth. Say the right things.
But no.
It had to be me.
Of course, it had to be me.
I tightened the fastening at my wrist, jaw hardening as her face surfaced in my thoughts that infuriating, composed smile she wears when she's pretending not to be plotting something catastrophic.
I hate that smile.
It's not soft. It's not warm. It's the kind of smile someone gives when they know something you don't and they're enjoying it.
And this banquet of all possible days had to land on the same day I was supposed to win our bet.
Today was the day she was supposed to do whatever I wished.
On command.
Anything.
And instead of collecting that victory, savouring every second of it. I'm escorting her into a royal ballroom like some ceremonial decoration.
This has to be deliberate.
There's no way fate is this precise without malice.
I adjusted my coat, checking my reflection in the tall mirror. Black formal attire. Clean lines. Perfect.
I don't like to blow my own trumpet but look at me. Just look at me aren't I perfect!
"Do you intend to stay here?" I said without turning, eyes still on the mirror. "When your master is next door?"
Behind me, three presences hovered far too comfortably in my room.
They glanced at each other first as if silently debating how much effort I deserved then looked at me like I was something mildly offensive stuck to the bottom of their shoe.
"Are you seriously asking us that?" Nox replied dryly. "How can all three of us remain in the same room as Lia while she's dressing? How dumb are you?"
"Boy," Frore added, expression unimpressed. "With that kind of attitude, you're going to die alone. No wife. Not even a rumour of a lover."
Lux nodded. "You're absolutely right. Besides, without his good looks, I doubt he'd be remotely popular with the ladies."
All three of them burst into laughter.
The worst part?
They were wearing the same condescending smile as her. The exact same one.
It suddenly occurred to me that I might be surrounded by reflections of the same personality split into multiple bodies.
I chose not to respond. There was no winning against them who thrived on chaos.
Instead, I focused on fastening the final clasp at my collar, straightening the fabric until not a single crease remained. Control what you can. Ignore what you can't.
Still.
"I have a rough idea how tonight is going to go," I muttered.
Badly.
"I must say," Nox continued, floating lazily in the air like a chandelier ornament, "you and Lia are going to be the belle of the ball."
"As if that witch would look good next to me," I replied instantly.
The temperature in the room shifted.
His smile remained, but it did not reach his eyes.
"You do realize," he said pleasantly, "that I can shower you in an inferno again if you carry that attitude into the ballroom."
I met his gaze in the mirror.
There it was.
The resemblance.
Like master, like disciple.
The same controlled threat wrapped in politeness. The same warning was delivered with a smile.
I clicked my tongue.
I exhaled slowly, running a hand through my hair before letting it fall back into place.
Fine.
Truce meant truce.
At least until the night ends.
But if she smirks or tries to start something even once in that ballroom.
I'm collecting interest on that bet.
We stepped out of our respective rooms almost simultaneously. Even though I have little familiarity with noble or royal etiquette, one thing is clear: a room in the main palace is not something granted lightly. Not to anyone. Not even to the most accomplished nobles. And yet… she had one.
My eyes flicked to her, taking in the gravity of the situation. How had she earned this level of treatment? Even the crown prince, seated with us earlier, had looked at her with a warmth and respect I had never seen reserved for anyone else.
She noticed my gaze and smiled, a teasing curl of her lips that sent an unexpected flutter through me.
"Aren't you looking sharp today?" she said lightly, her voice carrying the subtle confidence of someone who belonged in this world, no matter how dangerous or alien it might feel. "I was wondering if you'd actually pull it off… and I see, you do."
I froze for a moment, questioning my own sanity. Had she truly just complimented me? Or was she high on some drugs? Still, I cleared my throat and muttered, hesitant, "You… you look good too."
She did. My eyes involuntarily traced the contours of her black gown, the way the fabric hugged her frame and contrasted so strikingly with the porcelain smoothness of her skin. Her features were almost otherworldly in the soft glow of the palace lights. But it wasn't just her beauty it was her presence.
Her gaze, a deep, unsettling violet, seemed to absorb the world around her. Calm, yes, but powerful in a way that demanded acknowledgement, holding more behind those eyes than anyone could guess.
She giggled softly at my response, a sound that was foreign and unsettling, stirring memories I had long buried. I clenched my jaw and forced myself to focus, pushing aside the ghosts her voice had summoned.
We walked in silence, side by side, until the massive doors of the grand hall rose before us, a threshold marking the transition from preparation to performance, from private tension to public spectacle.
Her hand brushed against mine briefly, almost a brush of warmth, and then she spoke, her voice low but commanding. "I know you hate me as much as I hate you," she began, "but tonight, remember this, we are equals. The moment we step across this threshold, everything changes. Anyone who dares insult or dismiss either of us will learn exactly what it means to cross me. You won't have to lift a finger. I'll make them understand who they dared to offend."
Her words were confident, measured, but underneath them lay the same fire that had made her, her. It struck me suddenly how much of her world I had never seen, the one in which she had been raised, where respect was earned through fear, titles or pleasantries. For the first time, I saw her not as the unpredictable, chaotic force I often dealt with, but as someone entirely in her element, commanding it effortlessly.
I had no words that could match the intensity of her presence. So I did the only thing I could do: I held her firmly by the arm, a silent acknowledgement of trust and understanding. It was enough. Her small nod in response told me that she recognized it too.
She raised her head slightly, her violet eyes sweeping over the grand hall ahead. "Announce our arrival," she instructed, her voice carrying over the faint hum of distant music and murmuring courtiers.
From somewhere in the hall, the herald's voice boomed, crisp and formal: "Lady Cecilia Florence and Sir Asier are entering!"
The words echoed through the room, announcing our arrival with a weight I hadn't expected. Heads turned, whispers spread like wildfire, and all eyes were on us.
I cast a sidelong glance at her. The poised, commanding figure beside me wasn't the same chaotic, defiant girl I had sparred with countless times. Tonight, she was the one everyone in this hall would remember. And for the briefest moment, I realized that even if I hated her antics and the chaos she brought, I couldn't deny the awe-inspiring way she owned the world around her.
The ballroom stretched before us like a sea of polished marble and glittering crystal, chandeliers dripping light across the expanse. Music floated in the air, soft yet insistent, as though it were daring anyone to misstep. Every noble and dignitary in the room turned, curious eyes tracing our steps. Murmurs followed us like shadows, with thinly veiled curiosity.
I could feel the weight of her gaze on me, She scanned the room, every glance precise, measuring, calculating. Not a smile, not a hint of uncertainty, only the certainty of someone entirely in control.
Beneath her composure, beneath the perfectly controlled posture and the serene, unreadable gaze, I saw it.
Rage.
Not irritation. Not wounded pride.
Pure, unfiltered rage.
It burned quietly behind her violet eyes, contained but very much alive. The kind of fury that didn't explode recklessly.
"What you hear stays here," she said without looking at me. Her voice was calm, almost soft, but every syllable carried weight. "If I hear even a whisper turned into a rumour, you'll be in your grave before you have the chance to deny it."
There was no exaggeration in her tone. No dramatics, just certainty.
I studied her profile for a moment before replying. "I'm not that type," I said evenly. "Sure, we don't like each other. But I don't stoop that low."
Her gaze shifted slightly toward me, assessing, measuring.
Then she looked away again. It didn't take long for me to understand why she had said those words.
The whispers began almost immediately after our entrance. Not loud enough to be openly disrespectful, no one in this hall was foolish enough for that but persistent enough to form a steady current beneath the music.
Eyes followed us.
No.
They followed her.
As if she had committed some unspoken offence simply by existing in this space.
We moved toward the far edge of the ballroom, near one of the tall windows that overlooked the palace gardens. It was a strategic position close enough to observe, far enough to avoid unnecessary conversations.
The hall bustled with laughter, crystal glasses clinking, silk brushing against marble yet beneath it all, tension pulsed.
She didn't glance at them. Didn't react. Didn't acknowledge a single whisper or their presence. She stood beside me like a statue carved from obsidian and frost untouchable.
I frowned slightly.
The Florence household was still active. Influential. Respected. So she wasn't an orphan. She wasn't disgraced.
Then why wasn't she with her family?
Why was she standing here instead of being apart, alone, deliberately distant?
Before I could think further, a familiar voice cut through the noise.
"There they are! Lia! Asier!"
Vivian's hand waved energetically above the crowd, completely unconcerned with subtlety.
Cassian followed at a much more dignified pace, though the faint curve of his lips betrayed his amusement.
I'd become friends with Cassian largely because we shared a room. Proximity forces companionship whether you like it or not. Over time, irritation turned into familiarity.
Vivian was… different.
Perhaps it was because we were both commoners navigating a world of nobles and ancient bloodlines. Perhaps it was simply her persistence. Somehow, we'd fallen into an easy understanding.
She didn't treat me like a temple prodigy. And I didn't treat her like she was beneath anyone.
"Why are you two standing all the way over here?" Cassian asked as they reached us, glancing between Cecilia and me. "You look like you're planning either a coup or a murder."
"Maybe both," I muttered.
Vivian ignored that and looked at Cecilia instead. "You look stunning," she said genuinely.
Cecilia inclined her head slightly. "You look stunning as well."
Cassian crossed his arms, scanning the room. "You realize everyone's staring, right?"
"We noticed," she replied dryly. "I didn't come here to entertain anyone. If someone has something to say, they can say it to my face instead of whispering."
Her voice carried just enough to cut through the noise around us. Calm. Controlled.
Then it changed.
It wasn't loud. It wasn't dramatic. It simply turned cold.
The warmth drained from it entirely, leaving something ruthless and stripped of mercy. The kind of tone that didn't ask for respect, it demanded it.
For a brief second, I thought she was going to lose her calm but she didn't instead she smiled. It was weird. She has been smiling all night. It's not like her but why am I thinking about this? It's not like we are anything.
"Listen to me carefully."
The voice echoed inside my head.
I stiffened slightly but kept my expression neutral. "What is it?" I thought back sharply.
"I can feel something going wrong," the voice continued. "Very wrong. And I want you to prevent it."
I resisted the urge to scoff internally. "And why should I be doing that?"
"If you don't, there will be a bloodbath. No one in this hall will be able to stop it."
My jaw tightened.
A bloodbath? At a royal banquet?
"What's in it for me?" I asked coldly.
A pause.
"We'll come to that later. If you manage to prevent it."
Convenient.
And then—
"Their Majesties and His Highness the Crown Prince are entering," the herald repeated, louder this time.
The doors at the far end opened, and the music shifted immediately into something grander. Every conversation died mid-sentence. Glasses were lowered. Smiles were carefully adjusted. Yet, in perfect unison, the entire hall bowed.
Silk rustled. Jewellery chimed. Hundreds of heads lowered in reverence.
She inclined her head beside me, graceful and composed. I followed suit, though my mind was nowhere near the ceremonial bow.
"All rise."
We straightened.
And that was when I saw him. Standing to the right of the king. I couldn't believe what I was seeing.
Or more accurately— whom I was seeing.
Why the hell was he standing there? That bastard. The man who took everything from me. The man who ruined me.
He stood there in formal attire, polished and dignified, as if he hadn't carved his ambition and left me in the wreckage.
My pulse spiked violently.
The room seemed to tilt for a fraction of a second.
Of all the nights. Of all the places.
It had to be tonight.
The universe truly enjoyed cruelty.
I exhaled slowly through my nose, forcing the heat in my chest to settle.
Then, as if tonight hadn't already reached its peak of absurdity, an attendant approached us.
He bowed deeply. "Lady Cecilia Florence. Sir Asier."
I turned sharply. "What?"
"By order of His Majesty, you are to join His Highness the Crown Prince for the opening dance."
My expression hardened.
"We decline," she said curtly.
The attendant's posture did not waver. "You cannot refuse. It is a royal command."
Of course it is.
Of course, tonight isn't finished humiliating me.
And standing just across the hall not far from the throne was the man I never wanted to see again.
Watching.
Smiling faintly.
This night couldn't possibly get worse.
Yet it had already did.
She tried.
Calmly. Rationally. Politely.
She explained to the attendant how absurd it was for her to take the opening dance with His Highness when court protocol rarely placed her in that position. She questioned the necessity. The optics. The implications.
It got us nowhere.
"His Majesty's order is absolute," the attendant repeated, bowing once more before retreating.
And just like that, we were left standing in the center of the hall.
The marble floor beneath us gleamed like a mirror, reflecting chandeliers and silk and watching eyes. Nobles shifted subtly, forming a wide circle. The orchestra lifted their instruments.
If this were happening, it would happen on my terms.
I offered my hand.
She looked at it for half a second then she placed her hand in mine. The contact was brief before I drew her closer, one hand settling at her waist, the other guiding hers upward in perfect form.
The music swelled.
And we began.
At first, the steps were slow.
Measured. Polished. Perfectly aligned with the expectations of the court.
To anyone watching, we must have looked like a painting come to life poised, elegant, seamless in our movements. Our timing matched the orchestra's rise and fall with almost unsettling precision. Every turn was clean, deliberate.
Picture-perfect.
But I knew the truth. Every movement between us carried restraint rather than harmony. We weren't dancing because we wanted to.
We were performing.
This was a charade nothing more. A carefully staged illusion meant to satisfy a room full of predators dressed as nobility.
I needed to get over this distraction.
I needed to find out why he was here.
What position did he hold now? What lies he was preaching.
Because men like him never stood beside a king without reason.
"Is there someone who caught your attention?" she asked suddenly.
I blinked, refocusing.
"You keep looking over my shoulder."
The hell was she implying?
"As if," I replied flatly. "No. I was thinking about something else."
Her lips curved.
"You can think?" she smirked. "I didn't know that."
I narrowed my eyes.
"Watch it," I said quietly, pulling her slightly closer than required. My hand at her waist tightened just enough to make the gesture intentional. "I could embarrass you."
She didn't even flinch.
"I don't care," she replied smoothly. "Why don't you try and see what happens?"
The audacity.
The music shifted into a tighter sequence, drawing us inward again. I leaned closer, lowering my voice.
"You're unusually fun today," I muttered. "Care to explain why you almost lashed out at Cassian earlier?"
Her expression stilled for half a beat.
"No reason."
"That didn't look like 'no reason.'"
She didn't answer immediately. Instead, I guided us through the next turn effortlessly, her train gliding behind her like a silent shadow.
"Why don't you look around for a bit after the dance?" she said finally.
Suspiciously casual.
"And where will you be?" I asked.
"Terrace."
Before I could press further, the final note of the piece stretched long and grand through the hall.
The dance ended.
We separated in perfect sync, bowing with formal precision as the court applauded politely. To them, it was a flawless performance.
To us, it was a temporary truce.
She didn't linger.
She didn't wait for another word.
The moment the final note faded, she turned and headed towards the terrace doors, black silk absorbing the light with each deliberate step. She didn't look back. Didn't hesitate.
But… that presents me with an opportunity.
With her focus elsewhere and the court momentarily distracted by the transition between dances, I had the opening I needed.
Which meant I could approach him.
Casually. Carefully.
And discover exactly what he was plotting now.
To be continued....