March – Markov Estate
Final Rehearsals
The morning sun hadn't yet risen when the estate erupted into full-blown theatre.
Servants raced across polished floors, murmured rehearsals echoed down the hallways, and distant notes from a string quartet drifted from the ballroom—again and again, replaying the same bars as lighting teams adjusted angle and glow.
Jay stood in front of a mirror, scowling.
Marin fussed over his cuffs.
"I look like a mannequin," Jay muttered.
"You look like a prince," she corrected. "Which is far more dangerous."
"This thing itches."
"Good. Then you won't forget who you're supposed to be."
Jay sighed. The tailored jacket was a midnight navy, embroidered with subtle silver flourishes and the faintest Markov insignia at the collar—less a symbol, more a quiet threat.
He tugged at the sleeves again.
Marin smacked his hand lightly. "Stop fidgeting or I'll put lace on your cuffs."
"Is that a threat or a promise?"
"Don't tempt me, young master."
Vincent entered without knocking. "She's in the west corridor."
"Who?" Jay asked, already knowing.
Vincent gave a meaningful pause. "She has requested a rehearsal walk-through."
Jay rolled his shoulders once. "I suppose I should pretend to be charming."
"You don't need to pretend," Marin said with a sly smile. "You just need to remember where the stage ends."
Jay didn't reply.
He followed Vincent down the marble corridor, boots clicking softly.
The ballroom loomed ahead, lit in golden rehearsal glow.
Inside Ballroom
Christin stood alone near the center, her posture so still it might've been carved. Her dress was simpler today—white with pale accents—but even in minimalism, she looked exactly like she belonged here.
She turned at the sound of footsteps.
He walked in like he belonged to the room before it was even built.
I saw him from across the ballroom—Jay Markov, though he hadn't been formally introduced yet. The name floated among whispers, but it didn't need to. You could tell just by looking. He didn't carry himself like the firstborn heir or a desperate climber. No, his presence was quieter. Calculated. Like someone who'd been taught not to speak unless it mattered—but when it did, you'd remember it.
That jacket—that was no accident. Midnight navy, cut so precisely it looked like the tailor had made it stitch by breath. The kind of fabric that swallowed the light and gave back elegance. There were silver flourishes along the cuffs and hem—not ostentatious, just… poetic. Like moonlight caught in thread. You wouldn't even notice them unless you were the sort of person who noticed everything.
I am.
At his collar, a barely-there insignia. Most people wouldn't catch it. But I've seen enough old blood and whispered power to recognize it for what it was. Not a declaration. A warning.
He didn't smile. He didn't need to. There was a restraint to him that made the others—princes in name, heirs in title—look like boys playing dress-up. He was still, but not stiff. Sharp, but not cruel. Like a blade kept sheathed out of courtesy.
Our eyes met, for a moment.
And just like that, the music felt too loud.
I looked away first. Of course I did. Because something about him said that he noticed everything. And if he noticed me noticing him… well.
I'd rather not play my cards that early.
"You looking good" I murmured
"What? I didn't hear" Jay asked
"I said you're late,"
"I was being dressed like an heir," Jay replied.
"You wear it better than you think."
"I feel like a walking chess piece."
She tilted her head. "Then let's move together like a strategy."
A Practice Waltz
The room was empty save for the soft hum of strings and two estate guards stationed by the back doors.
Christin extended a gloved hand.
Jay hesitated.
Then stepped forward.
Their hands met.
Their movements started slow—measured.
Jay remembered the footwork. He always did.
Christin moved like she'd memorized it a decade ago.
They turned across the floor in perfect time. Not looking at their feet. Not speaking. Just existing inside the rhythm.
Halfway through, she broke the silence.
"You're still distracted."
Jay didn't answer.
"You're thinking about school," she said. "About them."
Jay's gaze dropped for a moment. "I miss the noise."
Christin didn't miss a step. "Noise is easy to miss. Silence takes effort."
He looked at her. "You talk like you've done both."
"I have," she said. "But I envy you. You had the chance to choose."
Jay didn't reply.
They turned again—graceful, sharp. A pirouette in tempo.
Then silence again.
Until the last step, when Jay let her go.
Their hands lingered for half a second longer than necessary.
Just enough.
III. Schemes in the Halls
After rehearsal, Jay ducked into the upper gallery hallway, hoping for solitude.
Instead, he ran into Clara.
She leaned casually against the banister, eyes glinting like she'd been waiting for him.
"So," she said, "the princess and the commoner."
"I'm hardly a commoner."
"Exactly. That's what makes it scandalous."
Jay groaned. "Please don't start Rumors."
Clara smirked. "Why would I do that when the truth is so much more fun?"
"Which truth?"
"The one where you still don't realize how closely everyone is watching you."
Jay folded his arms. "They can watch. I don't care."
Clara stepped closer. "You should. Because the moment you stumble, someone else is already lining up to replace you."
He stared at her. "Including you?"
She smiled sweetly. "Oh, dear cousin, I don't need to replace you. I just need to stay standing when you fall."
Jay walked past her.
But not before muttering, "Then bring a cushion."
She laughed behind him.
Quiet Before the Curtain
That night, Jay returned to the east balcony. The stars were unusually sharp. The air crisp.
He sat alone, sketchbook in hand, though he hadn't drawn a line.
Footsteps again.
Christin.
She said nothing as she sat beside him.
Jay didn't look at her.
"I don't want to play pretend tomorrow," he said after a while.
"Then don't," she replied.
He turned to her, surprised.
She met his gaze. "Dance with me because you want to. Or don't dance at all."
Jay exhaled.
"I still don't trust this place."
"You shouldn't," she said. "But maybe... trust me. Just enough."
He didn't respond.
But he didn't move away, either.
They sat in silence beneath the stars.
And for once, it didn't feel like they were waiting for a war.
It felt like they were waiting for a moment.