The opulent ballroom was a gilded cage, and every pair of eyes held a hidden blade. Jade and Zero stood as an island of stillness in the sea of swirling silk and calculated laughter. With skills sealed, they were reduced to their most primal tools: observation and instinct.
Jade's gaze, stripped of its supernatural Observer's Eye, was no less sharp. He tracked the subtle dance of power—the way certain nobles earned a slight nod from the Princess, the almost imperceptible tightening of the Royal Guard's hands when a suitor came too close. Zero, beside him, was a study in contained lethality, his stillness more threatening than any drawn blade.
Their analysis was interrupted by a scent—midnight orchids and something metallic, like blood.
"One so striking should not stand alone in the shadows."
The voice was a husky purr, a sound designed for dark rooms and whispered secrets. She was there, as if materialized from the gloom between the pillars. Lady Anya. Her gown was of deepest crimson, a slash of blood against the pastel crowd, cut to embrace a figure of devastating, voluptuous curves. Raven-black hair cascaded over one shoulder, framing a face of predatory beauty—sharp cheekbones, a smirking mouth painted the same shade as her dress, and eyes the color of old wine that held a frightening, ancient hunger. Her gaze locked onto Jade, drinking him in with an intensity that was both flaying and deeply possessive.
"The air around you is so… cold," she murmured, stepping closer, well into his personal space. Her scent enveloped him. "It's a refreshing change from all this cloying warmth. Tell me, lonely prince, from what frozen court do you hail?"
Zero shifted minutely, a silent warning. Jade's expression did not change, but his crimson eyes met hers, and for a fleeting moment, he saw past the seduction to the apex predator beneath.
"My court is not of your concern," Jade replied, his voice a low, even counterpoint to her purr. "And I am not here for conversation."
Lady Anya's smirk widened. A pale, elegant hand rose, as if to brush a speck of dust from his obsidian lapel, her intent to touch him clear and invasive.
"Such a shame. All the most interesting things happen in the shadows, away from prying eyes." Her voice dropped to a whisper meant only for him. "I could show you… if you are bold enough to step away from your golden shadow."
Jade's hand moved, not to block hers, but to intercept it. His fingers closed, not tightly, but with undeniable firmness, around her wrist, stopping her inches from his chest. Her skin was cool, but a terrifying power thrummed beneath it. A faint, intrigued gasp escaped her painted lips.
"My objective lies there," Jade said, his gaze flicking momentarily toward the dais where the Princess stood. "Not in the shadows. Not yet."
He released her wrist. The dismissal was clear, but his words… his words left a door open.
Lady Anya's eyes glittered with dark amusement. She brought her own wrist to her nose, inhaling subtly as if she could still smell the ozone and frost of his touch.
"I adore a man with priorities," she breathed, taking a slow, deliberate step back. "I shall be watching. And when you are… done… with your objective," her tongue darted out, wetting her lips, "you will find me. I do so hate to be kept waiting."
With a final, smoldering look that promised a world of dangerous pleasure, she melted back into the crowd, a phantom of crimson silk.
Zero let out a slow, controlled breath. "A variable," he stated.
"A distraction," Jade corrected, his focus already returning to the throne. He had seen it now. The pattern. Every direct approach to the Princess ended in failure. But the King… the King's eyes were not bored. They were assessing. Each rejection was a test he was administering.
The key was not the Princess. It was the King's permission.
Without a word to Zero, Jade turned. He did not walk toward the Princess. He cut a direct, calm path through the center of the ballroom, his target clear: the King's throne.
Zero moved with him, a step behind and to the side, a silver-and-storm-gray shadow. The music faltered. Conversations died. Every eye in the room widened as the two outsiders broke the unspoken rule, bypassing the prize to address the master of the game.
Jade stopped at the foot of the dais, ignoring the beautiful Princess completely. He looked up and met the King's ancient, powerful gaze.
"Your Majesty," Jade's voice, cold and clear, cut through the stunned silence. "I would ask for a moment of your time."
The silence in the ballroom was absolute, a physical weight. The guards at the base of the dais had drawn their swords an inch, the soft shing of steel the only sound. The King's stern face was unreadable, his eyes like chips of flint as they bore down on Jade. The Princess watched, her amethyst eyes wide with a mixture of shock and curiosity.
Then, Jade spoke, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade.
"Your Majesty, I propose a simple solution to this tedious parade of failed suitors," Jade said, his tone devoid of supplication. It was a statement of fact. "You are a king. You understand power. Let us bypass the pageantry."
He gestured vaguely at the opulent room. "All of this... is a distraction. The true measure of a man, of a worthy partner for your bloodline, is not in his honeyed words, but in his absolute strength."
A slow, terrifyingly psychotic smile began to spread across Jade's face, a crack in his glacial composure that revealed the hungry void beneath.
"So, I challenge you," Jade declared, his crimson eyes burning with manic intensity. "Unleash the strongest warrior you have. The champion of your guard. The monster in your dungeon. It matters not. If I defeat him, you will have no choice but to acknowledge my worth. And you will grant me the dance."
For a long moment, the King did not move. The court held its breath, waiting for the order to have this arrogant fool dragged away and executed.
Then, a low, rumbling sound started deep in the King's chest. It grew into a soft, dark chuckle. The stern lines of his face melted away, and a mirroring, wide, psychotic smile split his beard. It was the smile of a man who had been utterly, profoundly bored for decades, presented with the most amusing toy he'd seen in a century.
The two smiles—one young, cold, and hungry; the other ancient, jaded, and thrilled—faced each other across the throne room, a silent understanding passing between them.
"By the old gods and the new," the King's voice boomed, no longer just that of a monarch, but of a connoisseur of violence. It was a voice that commanded armies and reveled in carnage. "It has been an age since someone had the gall... no, the inspiration... to cut through the nonsense so directly."
He leaned forward on his throne, his eyes alight with a terrifying joy.
"Very well, stranger. You have my attention. And my acceptance." He raised a hand, and a guard captain snapped to attention. "Bring me Gorath the Unbroken. Let us see if this ice-hearted prince can melt a mountain."
The King's gaze returned to Jade, his smile never fading.
"Let the dance begin."