⚠ Content Warning: Mild profanity, emotional tension, and subtle psychological suspense. Proceed with caution.
The ball had ended, but the night refused to loosen its grip.
The palace halls dimmed, leaving behind scattered echoes of music and laughter. Aria stepped into the quiet corridor, her heels clicking softly against the marble. She had just exited the ballroom, heart still fluttering from the dance with the Duke—Caelan Ravencourt—and the way Prince Elion's gaze had pierced through her like ice.
She was still thinking about it when she rounded a corner—and nearly ran straight into Cassian.
His expression stopped her in her tracks. Gone was the charming young man from before. His face was twisted in a storm of emotion—fury, confusion, something darker.
"You're dancing with him now?" he spat. "The Duke?"
Aria's brows furrowed. "It was for politics. Work. You of all people should understand that."
"You looked like you were enjoying it." His voice was low, trembling—not with hurt, but rage.
She folded her arms tightly. "I wasn't. And it's none of your business anymore."
Cassian stepped closer, voice sharp as a blade. "He'll ruin you, Aria. Just like he ruins everything."
Before she could answer, a palace guard turned the corner. Cassian backed away, eyes still burning with anger. Without another word, he disappeared into the shadows.
Aria exhaled shakily.
The next morning arrived with unwelcome clarity.
The sun was barely above the horizon when she was summoned into her father's study. She recognized the scent of parchment, old wood, and freshly brewed tea. Her father was already seated, reviewing ledgers and correspondence.
And across from him—Duke Ravencourt.
He didn't acknowledge her at first. Just that same cold, distant air he always carried like armor. His sharp gaze cut through the silence like glass. She couldn't help but stiffen.
"I trust your evening went… as expected?" her father asked casually, flipping a page.
Aria tried to focus, but her attention drifted to Caelan. He never once looked at me while we danced. Not once. Her voice came out strained. "I suppose."
Her father gave her a sidelong glance. "Good. Because you'll be attending the royal hunting weekend with him. And Prince Elion."
Her mouth fell open. "What? No. Father—"
"It's not a request," her father said firmly. "The Duke will be there. The contracts are delicate. I need you present."
She faltered, but he didn't stop.
"One day, you'll take over. You need to learn the ropes. Learn how to play this game. This is the beginning."
She wanted to argue—but the Duke finally spoke.
"Keep your distance from the prince."
Her gaze shot to him. "Excuse me?"
Caelan's eyes were dark, unreadable. "Prince Elion is nothing but trouble. Don't let that smile fool you. He's watching you."
Aria's breath hitched. That moment during the ball—when she'd glanced up and found Elion watching her with an unreadable expression—it came back in full force.
"Why do you care?" she asked softly.
"I don't," he said coldly. "But you're a liability if you get dragged into the wrong orbit. And I won't clean up after you."
With that, he stood and left without another word.
Later that afternoon, while changing from her formal riding attire, Aria opened her wardrobe drawer—and froze.
There, tucked beneath a set of gloves, was a folded note on crisp cream paper. No seal.
She opened it slowly.
You're not the only one who remembers.
Her stomach dropped.
What the hell does that mean?
The air grew colder.
She looked around her empty room, suddenly uncertain if she was still alone.