Cael's presence settled over the group with practiced ease, his smile warm enough to make the women shift their attention toward him as though he belonged in their conversation.
"It's been far too long." He said, bowing his head with easy grace.
A ripple of surprise passed through the small circle before smiles bloomed, soft and eager.
"Lord Cael," one of the women greeted, her hand brushing the edge of her jeweled neckline. "We wondered if you'd vanished."
"Vanished?" Cael echoed, lips curving. "And miss an evening like this? Hardly. Though I must beg your forgiveness for being late to the most dazzling corner of the ballroom." His glance flicked lightly toward Isla, as though by accident, before drifting back to the group.
They laughed, a gentle flutter of sound, leaning toward him almost instinctively.
He didn't rush. Instead, he lingered with each woman, greeting her by name, asking after a husband's health, or praising a gown he'd seen on a Paris runway. His words weren't heavy, but light, nimble, sparking little laughs that loosened the air.
When one leaned closer to Isla again, ready to return to their questions, Cael was already there, sliding in with another remark—an anecdote about the music, a playful jab about the wine, even a compliment that had them fussing with their hair or jewelry instead of pressing Isla further.
Effortless. That was the only word for it. He guided the conversation as if it were a dance, and the women followed without even realizing they'd been led. Soon, the questions aimed at Isla were forgotten, their attention gathered in the warmth of Cael's charm.
At last, one of them touched his arm lightly and sighed, "You'll make us all neglect our husbands if you keep us here."
"Then I'd be guilty of treason," Cael returned, his grin wicked enough to draw another peal of laughter.
They excused themselves one by one, skirts whispering as they slipped back into the ballroom, their laughter trailing after them like perfume.
And then it was only him and Isla.
She exhaled, relief rushing out of her. "You saved me."
"I thought you might need it." His grin widened, teasing. "Seems fame comes with a cost. You've become the darling scandal of the season, and I missed all of it."
Her lips twitched despite herself. "Lucky you."
"I don't know about that." His gaze flicked over her, thoughtful. "If I'd known how much you'd stand out tonight, I wouldn't have stepped out for so long."
The words made her flush despite herself. She tried to cover it with a smirk.
"Don't start. I've had enough compliments for one night."
"One night?" His brows lifted with mock offense. "Then I'm terribly late. I should've been the first to say it. You look beautiful, Isla."
Her chest tightened. Dorian's voice echoed in her memory, his eyes holding hers across the floor. She shoved the thought aside quickly, forcing her smirk back into place. "Careful, Cael. People might think you're serious."
"Perhaps I am." His reply was quiet, easy, but it left her flustered all the same.
Isla, scrambling for safer ground, said, "I should apologize for returning the gown—and then wearing it again tonight. It wasn't fair of me."
He waved it off, the gentleness in his expression disarming. "Don't. I was going to keep it for you either way. It wouldn't look half as good on anyone else."
Her throat tightened. She wanted to argue, to explain, but guilt pressed in—memories of Tyler's harsh words when she had returned it, the sting of it still too close.
She shifted, starting to excuse herself. "I should go. I've been away too long—"
"Don't worry." Cael's hand lifted, not touching her but stopping her just the same. "I've already seen to it. Tyler's in good company. I heard he was speaking with some of the executives from his firm, so I made sure he had the right introductions. He's well-occupied."
Isla blinked, caught between gratitude and guilt. "You didn't have to—"
"I wanted to." He smiled again, softer this time. "Besides, it gave me a chance to steal a moment with you."
Before she could reply, he extended a hand. "And perhaps a dance. You owe me one, after all."
"A dance..?"
"Consider it a farewell dance," he said lightly, though something heavier lingered beneath the words.
Her brows knit. "Farewell?"
"Duty calls." His smile turned wistful. "My father's gone, and though I tried to forget for a little while here, my mother can only hold the weight for so long. It's time I take it back."
Isla blinked, caught off guard. She hadn't known—hadn't even guessed—and for a moment she fumbled for words. His father... gone? The thought sat uneasily, pressing tight against her chest.
"I...I'm sorry for your loss," she managed at last, quieter than she intended.
Cael inclined his head, his smile steady though tinged with something softer. "It's all right. I came here hoping to set it aside for a while. But duty has a way of finding you, no matter how far you run."
She hesitated, then asked, careful, "So you'll be taking over, then? That must be...a lot."
His eyes flickered with something wry, a weight tucked beneath the warmth of his tone. "It is. And more still—with preparations for my marriage already underway."
Her head snapped up. "Marriage? You're getting married?"
"Yes." He chuckled softly, though it didn't reach his eyes. "A political match. Small kingdoms don't survive without such things." He tipped his head toward her, teasing, though the humor was thin. "If only you weren't so scandalous. I might've taken you home as my bride instead."
Her mouth opened, but no words came. He only smiled at her silence.
"Don't think too much of it," he said gently. "I've always known this would be the path. But tonight, a dance with you will let me forget the rest—just for a little while."
Isla stared at him, struck by the quiet honesty behind the request. Slowly, she placed her hand in his, letting him guide her back toward the ballroom, the world waiting just beyond the doors.