The palace had returned to its usual quiet.
Candles burned low along the corridor walls, their flames steady, disciplined—much like the men tasked to guard them.
The event had ended hours ago, and with it, the swell of music, laughter, and whispered ambitions that always followed noble gatherings.
Cassian stood by the western gallery, hands clasped behind his back, posture straight. His expression was as neutral as ever.
This was familiar territory.
Noble ladies often lingered after events—finding excuses to walk past, to ask questions they already knew the answers to. Some smiled too brightly. Others practiced shyness like a performance. Most followed the same pattern.
Seraphina Lumière—had been exactly as expected. Gentle. Kind. Soft-spoken. Her presence drew eyes like light through crystal, and she handled it with effortless grace.
Nothing surprising. Nothing unsettling.
Smiles. Curtsies. Interest.
He had learned to recognize them all.
And yet—
Except her.
Cassian frowned slightly, the movement so subtle even he barely noticed it.
The girl in the simple gray gown three days ago—too plain for a noble, too deliberate in her movements to be a commoner.
He had first seen her three days ago.
At the time, he hadn't thought much of it—only that something was… off.
She had appeared near his patrols, always at the edges of his vision, always vanishing when he turned.
At first, he'd dismissed it as coincidence. Then curiosity.
Her dress had been simple. Too simple.
Too modest for a noble.
Yet her posture contradicted it.
She moved like someone raised in etiquette. Her steps were measured. Her hands never fidgeted unless she thought she wasn't being watched.
Cassian had paused that day, briefly considering her.
If she were a commoner, she wouldn't carry herself like that.
If she were a noble… she wouldn't dress like that.
And certainly not if she were Lady Valeria of Noctrya.
That name carried weight. Pride. Sharp tongues and sharper schemes. Valeria was not known for subtlety—or humility.
So Cassian dismissed the thought.
He had let her watch.
There was no threat in her gaze—only something frantic, almost desperate.
That day, when he'd finally cornered her, she'd gripped his cloak like a lifeline, eyes wide and half-lidded, cheeks flushed as if she'd run a mile.
Her head tilted in that odd way, like she'd forgotten how to breathe properly.
Then she'd fled.
The following days only worsened the confusion.
She appeared again. And again.
A balcony.
A library shelf.
A corridor.
Always at a distance.
Always poorly timed.
Always convinced she was unnoticed.
Cassian noticed.
He simply… did nothing.
"She believes she is subtle," he had thought once, observing her retreat behind a column a heartbeat too late.
He had heard the whispers from the knights.
"Lady Liriel of Noctrya is here."
"Lady Valeria too—blonde hair, sharp tongue."
But the girl he'd seen had raven-black hair, not platinum. And her behavior didn't match the rumors of the Noctyra heir.
Lady Valeria would never lower herself to simple dresses or clumsy hiding.
So he assumed it was the cousin. Liriel. The sidekick who followed Valeria's schemes.
He had not asked. Asking would reveal ignorance, and ignorance in a viscount was a liability.
So he remained silent.
The event itself should have resolved everything.
It did not.
When she waved at him—openly, boldly—Cassian nearly faltered.
He did not.
He nodded in return, expression calm, eyes steady. It was the proper response. The safe one.
Still, something in her face tightened.
Annoyance? No—irritation. Sharp, sudden, and directed at him.
He had replayed the moment more times than he cared to admit.
Later, when the chair incident unfolded, when the tea nearly spilled, Cassian had felt an impulse—an unfamiliar one—to step forward.
He restrained himself.
One approach. One word. One misinterpreted gesture, because rumors were born far too easily among nobles.
So he stayed where he was.
She did not look pleased.
In fact, she looked… offended.
As if his distance had wounded her.
For reasons he could not understand.
Now, standing on this balcony, he replayed it again.
The girl who refused patterns.
Who knocked over chairs and spilled tea with the precision of someone trying very hard to look accidental.
Who waved at him like she was testing whether he'd disappear.
Who looked irritated when he didn't follow.
He exhaled slowly.
She was not what the rumors said.
Not cruel.
Not proud.
Just… running from something only she could see.
A soft chuckle escaped him—unexpected, quiet.
One of his aides glanced over, startled. "Something amusing, Viscount?"
Cassian cleared his throat. "No. I merely noticed… something curious."
He did not elaborate.
Cassian turned back to the gardens.
Now, hours later, the curiosity remained.
"Unusual does not mean improper."
The words had slipped out when a knight mentioned "Lady Valeria's odd behavior."
He had not corrected himself.
Because part of him knew it wasn't Valeria.
And part of him—quiet, disciplined, curious—wanted to know who she really was.
He stepped away from the railing.
"Summon Lady Valeria," he told the aide. "There is a matter concerning the spill incidents I must discuss."
The aide bowed and left.
Cassian waited, gloved hands clasped behind his back.
He had no intention of pursuing her.
And yet—
He found himself wondering where she would run next.
Until...Footsteps—sharp, confident, nothing like the hesitant ones he remembered.
He turned.
Platinum hair. Her gown was exquisite, unmistakably noble. Sharp blue eyes narrowed in irritation.
Lady Valeria Noctyra.
Not the raven-haired girl who'd gripped his cloak.
Not the one who'd waved like she was afraid he'd vanish.
Not the one who'd looked at him like he'd personally betrayed her by staying still.
Cassian's calm mask cracked—just for a heartbeat.
This was not her.
"Why," she demanded, voice clipped, "have I been summoned by a mere viscount?"
Cassian stared.
No flush.
No awkward tilt.
No frantic energy.
Just cold, practiced disdain.
He opened his mouth.
Closed it.
The words he'd prepared—polite questions about the incidents, careful probing—died on his tongue.
Because this was not the girl who had spent three days failing spectacularly at being invisible.
Cassian bowed—formal, precise.
But inside, something shifted.
Irrevocably.
~🫶