Vivienne's POV
I barely made it through the next hour.
Nobles approached with questions I deflected. Ladies tried to befriend me for gossip I wouldn't give. Men asked for dances I politely refused.
All while feeling Adrian's eyes on me from across the ballroom.
He watched me like a hawk watches prey, patient, focused, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
He suspects something. But how much?
I was cornered by a group of chattering ladies when he appeared again.
Lady Vivienne. His voice cut through their gossip like a knife. Dance with me.
Not a request. A command.
The ladies scattered immediately, leaving me alone with the Crown Prince. Every eye in the ballroom turned toward us again
Your Highness, I don't think
I didn't ask what you think. He offered his hand, challenge clear in every line of his body. I told you. Dance with me.
Refusing would cause a scene. Would make him more suspicious. Would paint me as either rude or frightened—neither of which I could afford.
I placed my hand in his.
His fingers closed around mine, warm and strong. That same electric current from earlier shot up my arm, making my breath catch.
This is just manipulation. Just part of the game. Don't forget that.
He led me onto the dance floor. The orchestra immediately began a waltz—as if they'd been waiting for this exact moment.
Adrian pulled me into position. One hand at my waist, burning through layers of silk. The other holding mine like he had every right to touch me.
You're very bold for a widow seeking peace, he said as we began to move. Most newcomers spend their first ball trembling and trying not to offend anyone. You walked in like you owned the place.
Should I have trembled, Your Highness? I matched his steps perfectly, despite my wounded shoulder screaming. Would that have pleased you more?
Nothing about you pleases me, Lady Laurent. But his eyes said differently. You intrigue me. Which is far more dangerous.
We spun across the floor, perfectly synchronized, as if we'd danced together a hundred times before. The ballroom faded. There was only him, his storm-gray eyes, his hands on my body.
Dangerous for whom? I asked.
For both of us. His hand tightened on my waist. You're either very brave or very foolish to come here.
Which do you prefer? The words escaped before I could stop them.
His eyes darkened. Both. I find myself wanting to know all your secrets, Lady Vivienne Laurent. Every single one.
My heart hammered. Everyone has secrets, Your Highness.
True. But most people's secrets don't make them look so beautifully haunted. He leaned closer, voice dropping to a whisper. Who hurt you? Because someone did. I can see it in your eyes every time you look at certain people in this room.
Vincent. Celeste. Beaumont. My father. Everyone who destroyed me.
You're imagining things.
Am I? We spun again, and he pulled me closer than proper. Then why do you look at the Duke and Duchess Harcourt like you want to watch them burn? Why does Lord Chancellor Beaumont make your hands shake? Why
You notice too much, Your Highness.
I notice everything. His thumb brushed across my knuckles, the touch sending fire through my veins. Especially when it involves beautiful women who appear from nowhere with secrets in their eyes.
Across the ballroom, I caught a glimpse of Celeste. She stood rigid, watching us dance with barely contained fury. Her hands clenched her wine glass so tight I thought it might shatter.
Beside her, Vincent stared with that same haunted recognition.
Your Highness, I tried to pull back, to create distance. This isn't appropriate. People are watching
Let them watch. Adrian's grip tightened, keeping me close. I don't care what they think. I care about why you're really here. What you're planning. Who you're running from.
I'm not
Don't lie to me. His voice turned hard. I've spent twelve years in this court learning to see through manipulation. You're good—better than most. But I see you, Vivienne. I see the anger you're hiding. The fear. The determination.
My composure cracked. You don't know anything about me.
Then tell me. His forehead nearly touched mine. Trust me.
Trust. The word that destroyed me once already.
Trust is earned, Your Highness. Not given freely.
Then let me earn it. The intensity in his eyes stole my breath. Whatever brought you here—whatever you're planning, you don't have to do it alone.
For one insane moment, I almost believed him. Almost confessed everything. Almost let myself imagine what it would be like to have someone powerful, someone good, fighting beside me instead of against me.
Then reality crashed back.
He was the Crown Prince. Expected to marry Lady Seraphina Blackwell for political alliance. He was a tool in my revenge, nothing more.
And when he discovered who I really was—the bastard daughter of a dead queen, a disgraced exile, a liar, he would hate me just like everyone else.
I appreciate your concern, Your Highness. I forced ice into my voice. But I assure you, I'm perfectly capable of handling my own affairs.
Something like hurt flashed across his features. You're determined to push me away.
I'm determined to survive.
The waltz ended. I stepped back immediately, needing space, needing air, needing to escape those eyes that saw too much.
Thank you for the dance, Your Highness. I curtseyed quickly. If you'll excuse me
His hand caught my wrist.
The touch burned. Not painful, worse. It burned like coming home. Like safety. Like every dream I'd abandoned in the Borderlands when I learned that love was a lie and trust was a weapon.
This wasn't supposed to happen. He was supposed to be a pawn. A means to an end. Nothing more.
But when I looked back and saw the heat in his eyes, the possessive way he held my wrist, the genuine concern on his face
No. Don't feel this. Don't let it be real.
Vivienne. He said my name like a prayer. I don't know what game we're playing, but I need you to understand something.
What? The word came out breathless.
I'm going to win.
He released my wrist and walked away, leaving me standing in the middle of the dance floor with my skin still burning from his touch and my carefully constructed walls crumbling around me.
I fled. Through the ballroom, past staring nobles, out onto the terrace where cold night air hit my face like a slap.
Get control. Remember why you're here. Remember what they did to you.
There you are.
I spun. Eleanor stood in the shadows, her face grave.
What's wrong?
We need to leave. Now. Eleanor grabbed my arm. Jasper just sent word. Beaumont ordered a full investigation into your identity. They're checking every record, every witness, every detail of Vivienne Laurent's supposed past.
My blood ran cold. How long do we have?
Twenty-four hours. Maybe less. Eleanor's voice shook. By tomorrow night, they'll know Vivienne Laurent doesn't exist. They'll know everything.
I looked back through the ballroom doors. Adrian stood near his throne, watching me even from this distance. His expression was conflicted—anger and concern and something deeper I didn't dare name.
My wrist still burned where he'd touched it.
This wasn't supposed to feel real.
But it did. God help me, it did.