The final notes lingered in the air before fading to silence.

Alaric and Verelia stepped apart with mechanical precision, offering each other the bow and curtsy.

Polite applause rippled through the hall, nobles clapping with forced smiles, some genuinely admiring, others masking envy behind courteous praise.

"Lovely form," someone murmured nearby.

"Rather stiff though, wasn't it?"

"Well, they've only just—"

"Still, you'd think there'd be some chemistry..."

Cassius Blackmere, still nursing his wounded pride from earlier, raised his goblet with exaggerated courtesy.

"To the happy couple!" he called out, though the words tasted bitter on his tongue.

Verelia didn't wait for the applause to fully die, without so much as a glance at her newly announced fiancé she turned on her heel.

Her silver gown caught the light as she walked back toward the dais where her mother waited, each step measured and deliberate.

No thank you for the dance. No polite pleasantries. Nothing.

Her spine remained perfectly straight, but Alaric caught the slight quickening of her pace, she wanted away from the spotlight as much as he did.

Alaric watched her retreat with something that might have been amusement or irritation, it was hard to tell which.

He remained standing in the center of the dance floor for a moment longer than necessary, hands sliding into his pockets, as if considering whether to follow or simply let her go.

He chose the latter.

Around him, nobles began to flow back onto the dance floor as the orchestra started with something livelier, couples reforming like nothing had happened.

"Well," Marcus's voice carried from somewhere to his left, "that was the most romantic display of mutual disinterest I've ever seen."

A few nervous chuckles rippled through his group.

Alaric started walking toward the nearest wine table, he needed a drink. Maybe several.

"Lord Glimor!"

He pretended not to hear, reaching for a fresh goblet.

"Lord Glimor, a moment?"

This voice was harder to ignore, Lord Ashford's father, if he remembered correctly.

A count from the eastern provinces with mining interests.

"Count Ashford," Alaric acknowledged without turning around, filling his goblet deliberately slowly.

"Congratulations on your engagement. It was quite the... surprise."

"Yeah for everyone involved," Alaric muttered into his wine.

"Pardon?"

"I said thank you for your kind words."

Meanwhile, across the room, Livia had found a chair and sank into it while Eleanor fanned her.

"Stop fussing," Livia said quietly. "People are staring."

"Let them stare," Cordelia shot back, though she lowered her voice. "You just—"

"Please don't."

Catherine appeared with a glass of water.

"Here. You look pale."

"I'm fine."

"You're not, but we can pretend if you want."

Eleanor stopped fanning.

"Should we leave? We could say you're feeling faint, it's terribly warm in here—"

"Why? Do you think I'm some... some swooning maiden who can't handle..." Livia pressed her lips together hard. "No. I'm staying."

Her friends exchanged glances over her head.

"Livy," Cordelia started gently.

"I said I'm fine. It was just... unexpected. That's all."

She took the water from Catherine with hands that only shook a little.

"Besides, it's not as if we... I mean, he never... we only talked a few times. I was just being foolish."

"You weren't—"

"I was." Livia's voice gained strength.

"Reading things that weren't there. Making assumptions based on..." she paused, her mind reeling from the moment they first met, the moment he apologized for staining her clothes, their talk in the garden and his lingering touch before her departure.

"On nothing."

The trio exchanged looks, their expressions boring, pity? Gloominess?

Meanwhile, at her parents' table, Verelia had returned to her seat. Her mother leaned close, whispering something urgent, but Verelia simply shook her head once. The Duchess's face darkened, but she subsided.

Duke Rithvale, meanwhile, was holding conversation with several other nobles, accepting congratulations with practiced grace while his eyes tracked Alaric's movement through the room.

"It is a brilliant match, Your Grace. House Glimor's eastern connections will—"

"You must be so pleased. Your daughter and the Glimor heir—"

"Summer wedding, you said? How wonderful—"

The Duke nodded and smiled and said all the right things while his mind calculated a dozen moves ahead.

Selene had risen from her table and was making her way through the crowd, stopping occasionally to accept congratulations with a mysterious smile that gave away nothing.

She paused beside a cluster of older ladies who immediately descended upon her with questions.

"My dear Selene, when did you arrange this?"

"Such a secretive thing! We had no idea!"

"Your nephew seems quite... capable. That display earlier with the Valtair boy—"

"Ladies," Selene purred, "surely you know some things are best kept close until the moment is right?"

Near the terrace doors, Viviane had cornered Lady Meredith again.

"This changes things," she hissed. "If he's marrying into the Rithvale family—"

"It changes nothing," Lady Meredith interrupted calmly. "Engagements can be broken. Reputations can be ruined. We just need the right leverage."

"Then find it."

"Patience, Countess. These things take time."

Back at the wine table, Alaric had already emptied his first goblet and was reaching for a second.

Theh he glanced sideways only to find Livia sat sulking, surrounded by their friends.

What a fucking mess.

He thought but then shrugged, Better learn a lesson here little girl.

The banquet had shifted into its next phase. Long tables were brought in, laden with elaborate dishes, roasted meat, towers of glazed fruits, delicate soups that shimmered gold under the candlelight.

As tradition, the newly engaged couple sat together at the high table with the Duke's family.

Alaric found himself beside Verelia, both of them maintaining perfect posture and perfect distance, cutting their food with mechanical precision.

From her seat three tables away, Livia's fork pushed the same piece of pheasant around her plate for the fifth time.

She tried to focus on her own plate, on Eleanor's story about someone's disaster of a dress fitting, on anything else. But her eyes kept drifting back to them.

Her eyes kept drifting upward, catching on the way he held his wine goblet, the slight tension in his shoulders, the—

"My dear, you'll burn a hole through him if you keep that up."

The voice came from behind her, Lady Morrigan, an older noblewoman known for her sharp tongue and sharper observations.

She stood with her wine goblet, lips pursed in disapproval.

Livia startled, nearly dropping her fork.

"I wasn't—"

"Oh, you were. One would think a young lady of your standing would know better than to moon over another woman's betrothed. Rather common behavior, don't you think?"

"I was simply observing the evening's arrangements," Livia managed, her voice barely steady.

Lady Morrigan's laugh was sharp. "Of course, dear. How silly of me."

The condescension burned. Livia felt Eleanor's hand touch her arm in sympathy, saw Cordelia's eyes flash with protective anger, but the damage was done.

Whispers rippled outward from their table like stones dropped in still water.She couldn't breathe.

The ballroom suddenly felt suffocating, too many eyes, too many voices, too much perfume and wine and the weight of her own humiliation pressing down on her chest.

"I need some air," she whispered, pushing back from the table.

"We'll come with you," Eleanor said immediately, starting to rise.

"No." The word came out sharper than intended.

Livia softened her tone.

"Please. I just... I need a moment alone."

Her friends exchanged worried glances, but Cordelia nodded slowly.

"Don't go far."

Livia nodded and walked toward the terrace doors with measured steps, refusing to rush.

Her friends half-rose to follow, but she waved them back with a look that pleaded for solitude.

The ballroom continued its feast behind her. No one paid her any particular attention as she slipped outside.

The night air was blissfully cool against her burning face.

Lanterns swayed in the breeze, casting shifting shadows across the garden paths.

She moved away from the doors, deeper into the quiet, following a gravel path lined with rose bushes.

Her feet carried her to a small fountain tucked behind a wall of hedges.

The sound of water helped, steady, constant, drowning out the distant music from the ballroom.

She sat on the fountain's edge, fingers trailing in the cool water.

Stupid. Acting like a child who lost a toy that was never yours—

She stayed there, letting the garden's peace settle her nerves.

Minutes passed.

Maybe ten, maybe more. The stone beneath her had grown cold, but she couldn't bring herself to go back yet.

Then the sound of approaching footsteps made her look up.

Garrett Steelwind stood at the hedge opening, wine goblet in hand. The Marquess of Ironhold's eldest son.

"Lady Duskwood?" He seemed surprised. "Didn't expect to find anyone back here."

She stood quickly. "Lord Steelwind. I was just—"

"Getting away from all that?" He gestured vaguely toward the ballroom, taking a step into the small alcove. "Can't blame you. These things get suffocating."

"Yes, well." She moved toward the path, but he shifted, not quite blocking but making it awkward to pass without coming close.

"I should return."

"Why the rush? Just got here myself." He took another sip of wine, eyes tracking over her in a way that made her skin crawl.

"Gardens are meant to be enjoyed."

"My friends will be looking for me."

"Will they?" He moved closer, casual but deliberate.

"Seemed absorbed in their meals when I passed."

She stepped backward, her legs hitting the fountain's edge. "Lord Steelwind—"

"Garrett, please." He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "No need for formality. We're practically alone."

"I really should—"

"You know, I noticed you earlier." Another step. She could smell the wine on him now. "During that whole announcement. You looked... affected."

"Everyone was surprised."

"Mm. But not everyone looked like you."

His free hand reached out, fingers grazing her arm.

She jerked away. "Don't."

"I'm just trying to be friendly." But his expression had shifted, something predatory creeping in.

"Offering a little comfort."

"I don't need—"

"No?" He crowded closer, using his height advantage. "You're alone in a dark garden, clearly upset? Seems like you need something."

Her back hit the hedge. Nowhere to go. "Step back."

"Or what?" His hand found her wrist, grip firm. "Going to scream? Cause a scene? Think about how that would look, Baron Duskwood's daughter, found alone with a man in the gardens."

Fear and fury tangled in her chest. "Let go."

"I don't think so." His thumb pressed into her pulse point. "See, girls like you need to learn—"

"My father will kill you."

He laughed, low and ugly. "Your father's a Baron under count's thumb. My father's a Marquess with his own army. Who do you think—"

"I think you're drunk and stupid." The words came out sharp, reckless. "I think you're pathetic enough to need to corner women to feel powerful."

His face went dark. The grip on her wrist turned crushing.

"You little bitch—"

She brought her knee up hard.

Thwack!

He doubled over with a strangled sound, releasing her.

She shoved past him, running for the path, but his hand caught her dress, yanking her back.

"You're going to regret—"

Then the voices came. Her friends calling her name.

He let go abruptly, straightening despite the pain.

"Not a word," he hissed. "Or I'll ruin you."

Then he was gone, disappearing into the shadows just as Catherine, Eleanor and Cordelia rounded the hedge.

"Livy! There you are, we were..."

Eleanor stopped. "What's wrong? You're shaking."

Livia looked down at her wrist, already bruising purple, then pulled her sleeve down to hide it.

"Nothing. Just... cold."