The Ball
Isolde's POV
I turned to the tall double doors as they creaked open.
The chatter in the ballroom faded, laughter softening to uneasy silence. My breath caught as light from the corridor spilled across the marble floor in a golden sweep. Every head turned, fans stilled mid-wave.
And then I saw him.
The Duke of Ravenshade.
A steward wheeled him forward with careful precision, a man cloaked in shadow and power, his presence commanding even in stillness. The polished wood and silver trim of his chair gleamed beneath the chandeliers, and the air itself seemed to tighten around him.
His hair, dark with faint streaks of silver, framed a face too composed to read. But it was his eyes, gray as a winter storm, sharp and watchful, that silenced the room.
He didn't glance left or right. He didn't need to. The crowd parted before him as though moved by unseen force, heads bowing in his wake.
My heart thudded painfully against my ribs. My palms pressed against the folds of my gown to keep them from trembling.
When he drew nearer, the steward slowed, stopping just before the center of the ballroom. I lowered myself into a curtsy, my skirts sweeping across the marble in a soft rustle.
"My lord," I said, my voice steady though my pulse raced.
Elias's gaze found me, slow, deliberate, unreadable.
"Duchess," he replied, his tone clipped, cold as tempered steel.
He inclined his head slightly, a gesture neither warm nor dismissive, before gesturing to the steward to continue.
The man wheeled him toward the center of the ballroom. The nobles followed in tense silence, every pair of eyes fixed on the Duke of Ravenshade.
When Elias reached the dais, he lifted a glass of dark wine. The motion was graceful, deliberate, a command wrapped in civility.
"To Lady Isolde," he announced, his voice carrying through the hall, smooth but devoid of warmth. "May she find strength within these walls, and may Ravenshade be her home."
The room erupted into murmurs of approval, the sound polite but restrained. Glasses lifted. Eyes turned.
I rose from my curtsy, offering a faint smile that didn't quite reach my eyes. "To Ravenshade," I whispered.
The crowd repeated it in unison, and crystal chimed against crystal.
The music resumed, strings swelling in cautious rhythm as the nobles returned to their conversations and dance. Yet even as laughter rose once more, the atmosphere had changed, the Duke's presence lingering like a shadow beneath every gilded note.
I stood still for a long moment, feeling the weight of his gaze even after he looked away.
This was not just a ball. It was an introduction, and a test.
A familiar voice broke through the tension. "How are you enjoying your ball?"
I turned. Lucien stood there, his expression easy, his hand extended in invitation. For a moment, I only stared at it, the gesture kind, simple, harmless.
But my gaze drifted past him, to the Duke.
Elias sat unmoving near the dais, his features carved from stone. He didn't flinch, didn't turn, didn't so much as acknowledge my presence. His indifference felt sharper than scorn.
I hesitated. My hand hovered above Lucien's for a heartbeat too long. Then, forcing a polite smile, I placed my gloved fingers in his.
"It's not something I enjoy," I said quietly as he led me into the next dance. "But it's duty, anyway."
Lucien's gaze flicked briefly toward the Duke before meeting mine again. "Duty," he said with a knowing smirk. "A word that weighs more on you than most."
My lips twitched in something close to a smile. But as we turned, I felt the Duke's eyes upon us once more, silent, unblinking, a warning written in stillness.
The music swelled, and I faltered for a heartbeat. Lucien's grip tightened gently.
"Careful," he murmured.
"I'm fine," I whispered, though the truth beat loud beneath my ribs.
Because even across the glittering ballroom, even surrounded by laughter and light, I could feel the gravity of the man who had just entered my life.
The music carried us through the motions of a dance I barely remembered learning. Lucien's steps were steady, his movements sure, but my thoughts drifted, always circling back to the dais where the Duke of Ravenshade sat, silent and composed.
He hadn't moved since the toast.
Even as the orchestra swelled and silks spun like petals across the floor, Elias remained still, his gaze unreadable, his posture unyielding. He looked as though he ruled the very air itself, and every breath in the ballroom waited for his permission.
Lucien twirled me once, smoothly, and I forced a smile that didn't reach my eyes.
"You seem distracted," he murmured.
"Do I?" I asked lightly, though my gaze betrayed me, flicking once more toward the Duke.
Lucien's lips curved faintly. "It's only natural. Everyone here is watching him."
"I'm not," I lied.
"Of course not," he said, amused, his tone teasing but low. "You're only married to him."
My step faltered. "Lucien…"
But before I could speak again, the music shifted, slowing into a graceful cadence. A tall lord, one I barely knew by name, approached and bowed with practiced charm.
"May I, Duchess?"
Lucien released my hand with a courteous half-smile. "Don't keep the gentleman waiting."
I hesitated, just a heartbeat, my eyes flicking toward the Duke once more. Elias sat unmoving, his face carved in composure, but the steel in his gaze pinned me where I stood. He didn't flinch. He didn't look away.
His indifference was colder than any rejection could have been.
So I turned back to the waiting lord, masking the unease tightening my chest. "Of course, my lord."
He led me into the next dance, polite conversation, shallow smiles, nothing that meant anything. Around us, laughter swirled like perfume, but the weight of that unspoken tension between the Duke and I hung heavier than the chandeliers above.
When the music ended, I curtsied gracefully. The lord bowed, thanked me, and melted back into the crowd. I turned then, almost against my will, toward the dais once more.
Elias was speaking quietly with a steward, his expression unreadable. The faint glint of his signet ring caught the candlelight as he gestured once, dismissing the man. Then, as if he felt my gaze, his eyes found mine across the distance.
For a moment, brief as the flicker of a flame, something passed between us. A question. A warning.
And then he looked away.
I exhaled a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding.
The night carried on, dancers spun, laughter rose, glasses clinked, but I felt untethered, caught between two worlds: the one I'd been thrust into, and the one that still trembled beneath the weight of the Duke's silence.
Whatever this night had begun, it was far from over.