The ballroom shimmered with light and music, the air thick with laughter and whispered scandal. Lord Agrival twirled Lady Alethea across the floor, his posture stiff but composed. She, however, could not conceal the anxiety tightening her grip.
From across the room, Lola observed the tension in Lady Alethea's features, and when she followed her gaze, she saw the source, an aged lord with a lecherous smirk, slowly making his way toward Alethea's daughter.
"Your Majesty," Lady Alethea whispered to her husband, "he's here… the man you insisted should marry our daughter."
"Keep your voice down," Agrival muttered. "You will not make a scene…"
But he was too late. Lola had already excused herself from Emperor Xander's side and glided toward the girl. Without hesitation, she took the young lady's hand and placed it gently into the palm of a young man, the Marquess of Ashbourne's heir, the one her heart truly desired.
"Go on," Lola said softly, her voice warm, "you've waited long enough."
The couple exchanged grateful glances and moved to the dance floor. All eyes turned. Whispers rose. And though Lord Agrival and the old suitor seethed, they dared not challenge the Empress in public.
As Lola turned to rejoin the crowd, she collided with a slender, jeweled figure.
"I'm terribly…"
"Save it," Duchess Aurelia snapped coldly, her gaze sharp enough to cut glass. "Watch where you're going. You're not blind."
Lola offered a simple smile in return, brushing the moment aside. Her eyes scanned the room for Xander, only to find him deep in conversation with a cluster of lords. So she made her way to the ladies' corner, where fans fluttered and gossip flourished.
"She's practically floating," one lady whispered, as Lola joined the group.
Across the ballroom, Xander's attention drifted from matters of court to the sight of Lola surrounded by noblewomen. With a quiet word, he beckoned her. She approached with practiced grace, every step echoing in her gown's silken whisper.
"Gentlemen," the Emperor said, placing a hand at the small of her back, "may I formally present my queen."
Duke Victor Vexer raised a brow. "You mean your stand-in?"
Xander ignored the jab, his voice steady. "Her title is not open for discussion."
Lola offered a curt, poised nod as she stood among them. But one gaze unsettled her: Duke Marcello Blackwood's. His stare was unrelenting.
"Is there something on my face, dear Duke?" she asked, her tone light but laced with challenge.
Marcello straightened. "Pardon me. I'll take my leave."
He turned swiftly, disappearing into the crowd. Lola exhaled, then leaned slightly toward Xander, who had already sensed her discomfort.
"Are you well?" he asked beneath his breath.
She gave a small, reassuring nod.
Elsewhere, hidden beneath the veil of civility, Lady Calantha watched with burning disdain.
"She has every man eating from her hand," she muttered.
Lady Elianora smirked. "What wickedness have you planned, my dear?"
"Oh," Calantha murmured, her fan hiding a cruel grin, "something even she won't see coming."
Lady Iris shifted uneasily. "I'm still mortified from the last time…"
"You were careless," Elianora cut in. "She won't be this time."
But Calantha said nothing more. Her silence was darker than any vow.
And above the gleaming chandeliers and polished marble floors, a storm quietly gathered. One that even the queen might not be prepared for.