"Ignore her," Vesper said quietly, breaking the moment like blade through silk.
I listened, for once just because I don't think I'm in the mood to find out why, not when I'm supposed to pretend that I know everything in front of these people.
Still, even though the meal passed quickly, I can't seem to stop thinking about the way the woman in red is looking at us from time to time. The way her gaze is creeping into my bones.
Who could she be? Do I know her? Who is she to my husband? Perhaps a lover? Was that why he was so affected when I told him to 'fuck his whore'?
She laughed easily with the man seated right next to her, speaking to the people at her table like she is the queen. It made me want to claw her eyes out, for some reason. There's just something about her that irks me all in the wrong places.
I've seen women and servants gaze at my husband, but no one does it quite like her. There's a certain kind of familiarity in those pair of ugly eyes, that leaves a significant weight on me, even when she wasn't openly looking anymore.
I manage to remain silent enough for the rest of the meal, though. Answering when there are questions that needed to be answered, mostly from some noblemen who would come up and greet my husband. It wasn't until dessert was served that Vesper rose to his feet.
Chairs scraped quietly back as everyone began to stand with him. The music paused. But my husband, being the powerful man that he is, only needed to lift his hand in a gently gesture to bid them to be seated.
"First and foremost, I want to thank you all for being here today, to celebrate the return of my beloved wife, Queen Iris," he began. His voice was steady, but there was a certain softness to it as his gaze shifted to me, brief and tender, before turning back to our guests.
"Each of you, in your own way, played a part in bringing her back to me and for that, I am deeply grateful," he said.
My eyes drifted, almost without meaning to, back to her. Only to find her already looking this way when our eyes met.
"This gathering, though modest, is a gesture of thanks from both your Queen and myself," Vesper continued, blissfully unaware as she looked our way, lifting her goblet with a smile at something the man beside her had whispered. "It may just be a meal among friends and allies, but it carries the full weight of our gratitude. So from the bottom of our hearts, thank you."
He sat back down to a roar of applause. I clapped along, offering him a grateful smile in front of this audience. He returned it dutifully, lips curving upward even though it doesn't quite reach his eyes.
It's alarming how easy it is to pretend that we're in love. When moments ago, we were filled with threats and anger against each other. I can't help but feel this strange, quiet itch settling beneath my ribs. One that feels like something terrible is about to happen.
"Whatever you're thinking about, stop it," he practically commanded in a hushed tone.
"What makes you think I'm thinking about anything?"
"You've been looking at her," he said, cutting into his plate of fruit. "It's starting to look pathetic."
"Not when she started it, looking at you, desperate for your attention," I muttered audibly, only for him as I did the same. "You never tell me who she is."
"That's because it's not important," he replied.
"It should be," I argued, relishing on the sweetness of the exotic fruit. "You've invited her, after all. She must mean something, played some role in my rescue, like you said."
"She's my brother's wife," he replied curtly, like that was the end of this discussion.
So I remained silent and focused on my food. I'll let it go. For now.
Soon our plates were cleared and the room began to dissolve into soft chatters and movement. Guests are meandering between tables, their laugher rising like bubbles in champagne. The music was merry, and so was everybody else.
Suddenly Vesper stands, surprising everyone and myself included. Is he due for another speech? Even the musicians paused their music, fingers poised in midair, uncertain. He stunned me to silence when he extended his hand elegantly.
"Please," he says gently, turning to the small ensemble, "continue. I'd like to dance with my wife. A waltz, if I may."
They exchange a glance, then nod in unison.
The music resumes, hesitantly at first, then with confidence like a dream itself as the harpist's fingers glide like water over glass, drawing out a melody so soft and haunting, it feels like she's weaving magic into the air.
I take his hand, lips curving even though inside, I'm filled with a tangle of nerves, unable to untangle itself out of my guts. I can't seem to shake this feeling of unease in my chest, for some reason.
But I still let him lead me to the center of the orangery, as if nothing's happening.
The space has been purposefully left empty, like a quiet invitation to be seen. Vesper placed a soft kiss on the back of my hand, while I drop into a curtsy before I let him pull me closer by my waist. With one hand holding onto his shoulder, I held onto him with the other, letting my muscle memory take over my body as we begin to glide.
Only then did the melody starts to deepen, unfurling like the mist in our balcony in the morning sun, slowly and gently through a rhythm that feels unearthly, untouchable. Just like the both of us.
The floor seems to vanish beneath our feet as we move, and for a moment, it feels like we're floating. Like we're flying through the clouds with Vala. Or so it should feel.
Because I can still feel her on the back of my mind. Just right across the room, the intensity of her eyes, watching us without expression.
"Don't mind her," my husband murmured, his breath brushing my ear before gently guiding me into a slow twirl until my back was to her.
"She can't stop staring," I replied, looking up at him whilst letting him lead. "Why is that?"
If he seems uncomfortable by her presence, he certainly didn't show. And that irks me more. I can't be the only one feeling this way.
"She and I were betrothed," he murmured against my ear.
"A long, long time ago," he added.
His eyes didn't flicker, his expression smooth, unreadable. His steps, measured as though his words meant nothing at all.
"She still harbored some feelings for me, but I do not," he revealed, emphasizing on the last part before twirling me around once more.
"You said it like it meant nothing," I murmured, soon as we are facing each other once more.
"Because it means nothing," he said, the words dry and clipped but I saw it. The way his jaw tightened. The flicker of something just beneath the surface, as we swayed to the music.
To everyone watching, we must've looked like the perfect royal couple. Their devoted King, powerful and ruthless, only softening for his beloved Queen. The one he sacrificed everything for, just to bring her back.
Vesper twirls me once more before drawing me back into his arms, gazing at me as if I were the greatest wonder he had ever seen. I nearly believed it then. If only it were true. After the events of last night and the morning after, I'm still not quite sure. I don't know this man, not truly and not in the way that matters.
The music approaches its end, along with this brief moment we shared. With a practiced gaze, he released me just in time for us took our final bow. Applause erupted before we had even risen, the orangery echoing with cheers.
But when I lifted my head and scanned the sea of smiling faces, something in their joy around us feels hollow. It was like being struck with a realization. The women were smiling too brightly, their admiration brittling at the edges and frayed with envy. The men clapped a little too loud, with too much enthusiasm, their eyes too sharp with calculation.
My husband was right. They are not to be trusted.
And then I saw her again.
Across the room, still as marble at the back of the crowd. She was standing from where she sat at her corner, as if she hadn't moved all this time. There weren't pretense, nor masks, just a steady knowing look that cuts straight right into my core.
Her lips twisted.
Not quite a smile, but not quite a sneer either. As if she knew something I didn't. Or worse, remembered something I tried to forget.
Vesper squeezed my hand, reminding me where we are. He leads me away from the middle just as couples begin to gather and take our place.
"I shouldn't have invited her," he confessed quietly.
"Why did you?" I asked, returning to our table, grateful to be secluded from the rest of the crowd.
"My brother played a significant role in your rescue, and besides, it would be a bad look if I didn't invite my brother's wife. I had no choice."
"Where is your brother?" I murmured softly, eyes scanning through the crowd, only now noticing his absence.
"I've sent him somewhere on a mission," he replied, taking a slow sip of his drink.
"Who is that man next to her?" I asked, seeing as she is laughing at whatever the man is saying again.
"That is her father," he replied, giving my hand a tight squeeze under the table. His sudden warmth surprised me but I didn't let it show. "Her marriage with my brother wasn't out of love, not like ours are."
His words caused me to turn, searching his face for lies. I found none, for now, but I can't be sure. The knot in my chest still lingers. Something about this feels awfully wrong. And my instincts are usually never wrong.
"She was engaged to me first," he revealed, his voice low. "But when I defied her father and married you instead, I had to offer a compromise. Her family was adamant that she marry into the ruling House, as was tradition, so I arranged her marriage to my brother."
This is even more overwhelming than I thought. If they were engaged, then surely there were some feelings that lingered. But it wasn't their lingering feelings that made my gut churn like this. It was this unshakeable gut feeling, that they might've something to do with my capture.
But I understand now, why Vesper worked so hard to put on a show. He's not just performing. He's making a political statement. That anyone who dared go against me knows they'll have to go through him. And anyone who so much as thinks of harming me, he'll make them suffer tenfold.
I'll have to learn how to play his game, if I want to make it out alive.
So I lean closer to my husband, letting his familiar scent of fresh pines seep into my very being. My lips curling into a grin when I meet his dark gaze, already fixed on me, openly curious. As if he's wondering what I'm going to do.
"Shall we give them a show, then?" I murmured, watching his lips. Practically salivating, inviting.
I don't wait for his answer.
I press my lips on him and kiss him. Slow, at first, deliberate. His mouth, warm and familiar, though there's a sharpness beneath it now, a tension we're both leaning into as his hands slips to the back of my neck, pulling me closer. I let him.
My fingers curl into the front of his doublet, as the space between us disappears completely.
The room blurs. The applause, the music, the chatter, those stupid eyes, all of it fades away. For a moment, there's just us.
And when I finally pull away, breathless and steady, staring into his dark eyes, his lips satisfying swollen from our kiss and still hazed with lust, I don't need to look to know if she's watching. I can feel it already. Potently through the crowds.
I can feel it, and frankly, I find myself not caring anymore.