While the nobles remained absorbed in watching the dance of Cassian and the young lady named Florela, captivated by the splendour unfolding before them, there stood a girl at the edge of the hall—still, silent, and burning.
Her head was slightly bowed, both hands clenched tightly at her sides, the fabric of her gown crumpling beneath her grip. Jealousy flickered in her eyes, sharp and unrestrained, as she watched the Crown Prince—her long-adored Cassian—glide across the floor with another.
"I should have been his first dance!"
Her voice, though not loud, trembled with restrained fury. She wore a light blue off-shoulder gown, its delicate sleeves resting softly against her arms. Fine embroidery shimmered across the bodice, catching the candlelight, while a single blue jewel rested at its centre. Her peach-toned hair, styled in gentle curls, glinted faintly with small ornaments that chimed with her every sharp breath.
She was none other than the daughter of Duke Valcourt.
Meanwhile, as the music flowed seamlessly, Sylas and Celindra continued their dance. Their movements were in perfect harmony, a graceful synchrony that belied the unspoken truths lingering between them. To Sylas, Celindra remained nothing more than his dearest friend—beautiful, certainly, but nothing beyond that. Yet he could not deny that a particular thought clung stubbornly to his mind, a sentiment he had not yet admitted even to himself.
"So, how is your family today?" Celindra asked, her voice soft as Sylas twirled her, bringing them face to face once again beneath the glittering chandeliers.
"They are well… and your mother? Is she fully recovered?" Sylas replied, glancing down briefly before meeting her gaze again. Celindra's mother was married to none other than Soren Therion, Sylas's uncle and commander of the war knights, making her Sylas's step-aunt in a manner of speaking. It was hard for Sylas to reconcile, given that Celindra was technically his cousin by marriage, yet they had grown up as childhood friends—inseparable in all the ways that mattered.
"She is well," Celindra said, her words flowing with the rhythm of the dance. Her brows furrowed ever so slightly, a flicker of curiosity and unease crossing her delicate features as her gaze wandered to a different corner of the ballroom. There, she noticed a young girl who had become like family to Sylas—adopted by his mother, Mrs. Joana, and treated as one of their own.
"Ah… Sylas?" Celindra began hesitantly, her voice tinged with shyness. She wished to ask, yet feared disturbing the evening's grace, her curiosity pressing her forward nonetheless.
"Hmm?" Sylas replied, keeping his eyes on her as they moved together, stepping left and right in measured rhythm.
"Who is that girl who has grown close to your family? It seems Mrs. Joana has taken quite a liking to her," Celindra said, smiling gently. Beneath her composed expression, however, lay a quiet attempt to conceal her curiosity from Sylas.
Sylas's eyes widened slightly in surprise; he had not expected Celindra to ask. With no room for evasion, he answered simply, "She became part of our family when my mother saved her."
"Saved? From what?" Celindra pressed, tilting her head as she followed his every movement.
"My mother, Elira, found her running from a man who attempted to assault her," Sylas explained, guiding her across the hall. "Her own mother had been abusive… she even tried to sell her to those swine."
A peculiar tension prickled Celindra's senses. As she faced Sylas, she noticed a subtle but unmistakable shift in his tone—a shadow of anger, deep and simmering, as though a storm were barely contained beneath his calm exterior. Celindra's eyes widened, her heartbeat fluttering with unease. It was the first time she had seen such a reaction from Sylas, and it left her with a strange, sinking feeling.
"Is she…" Celindra began, her voice almost a whisper as they continued to glide across the polished floor, "Is she… special to you?" She had hoped for a different answer, but Sylas froze, the question stirring memories he had rarely allowed himself to consider.
'Special because she is part of the family? Or… something else?' he pondered inwardly, the flash of past moments with Elira igniting warmth, joy, and something far deeper than he cared to admit.
"Perhaps—"
CLAP! CLAP!
The sudden applause echoed across the ballroom as the music came to a halt. Sylas blinked, momentarily startled, only realising the dance had ended. Celindra, however, kept her composure, masking her racing heart with a polite smile.
"Ah… it's over. Thank you, Sylas," she murmured, bowing her head gracefully before stepping away. Sylas hesitated, wishing to clarify something in his own mind about what Celindra might think of him and Elira, but the moment slipped away.
Straightening his posture, Sylas turned his thoughts toward the evening's ongoing matters, setting his gaze on the figure that had always been a source of concern and tension—the Crown Prince of Highthorne himself, Cassian.
Behind the heavy curtains, where Elira and her companions remained concealed, unease slowly crept through the air as they wondered where Bea might be—the very friend who usually brought them food. She had been gone far too long and had yet to return.
"Where is she?" one of them murmured, her brows drawn together in worry.
"Perhaps we should wait for her, shall we?" Elira replied, lifting her hand in a gentle motion, attempting to calm them. There was a quiet urgency in the way she gestured, as though she were trying to restrain them from doing something impulsive again.
Just then, the faint sound of approaching footsteps echoed beyond the curtains.
"Oh! Bea is here…" said another of Elira's companions, her voice tinged with excitement.
Unable to contain their impatience, the others rushed forward at once. Without hesitation, they reached out and seized the figure by the collar. The force of their pull was far too strong—so much so that the person lost balance, stumbling forward. In a sudden turn of events, the figure collapsed directly onto Elira, pinning her beneath them.
"O-Oh, Bea—" one of the companions began, only for her voice to falter. Her words died in her throat as her eyes widened in sheer disbelief, joined by the others who stared in utter shock at what stood before them—something they had never expected.
"KYAA! The Crown Prince!" one of them shrieked, her voice barely contained, yet fortunately drowned enough not to be heard by the nobles within the grand hall.
There he was—above Elira.
And there she lay—beneath him.
The Crown Prince himself.
Cassian blinked once, then again, clearly stunned. He had only intended to leave the ball quietly, yet in the blink of an eye, someone had seized his collar, pulling him off balance. Never, not even in the slightest, had he imagined that he would fall—of all places—onto the very woman he had been hoping to see that evening.
And that woman was Elira.
"R-Run! We're doomed!" one of her companions cried out in panic.
In an instant, they scattered, fleeing in all directions without so much as a second glance. None of them had anticipated that instead of pulling Bea, they would end up dragging the Crown Prince himself into such a compromising situation.
"I—I have to go… I'm sorry," Elira stammered, her voice trembling. With hurried movement, she pushed Cassian away, attempting to free herself as she began to rise to her feet.
"Wait, Elira…"
His voice stopped her.
Cassian reached out and caught her by the arm. The sudden grip caused her to lose balance once more, and she fell back down, the two of them still concealed behind the curtains, their proximity far too close for comfort.
Elira's heart skipped a beat.
She had not expected any of this to happen. Shame flooded her, a deep warmth rising to her cheeks as she realized that Cassian had caught them hiding behind the curtains, secretly watching the ball. Her face burned with embarrassment, while Cassian remained silent for a moment, his gaze lingering on her, clearly questioning what she had been doing behind the curtains.
"Why are you hiding behind the curtains?" he asked at last.
"Ah… I… I was just—mmph—"
Her words were abruptly cut off as Cassian swiftly raised his hand, covering her mouth. The sudden contact caused her to freeze, her breath catching in her throat as he heard footsteps passing just beyond the curtains.
"Shh… someone might hear us," he whispered, his voice low and close—far too close.
Elira stiffened, her breath catching as she became painfully aware of the distance between them—or rather, the lack of it. Her body tensed, her eyes darting away, unable to meet his gaze. Meanwhile, Cassian remained focused, listening intently to the passing footsteps beyond the curtain, his expression sharp and alert.
"Let's go somewhere else," he whispered.
Elira could only nod.
Without wasting another moment, Cassian swept aside the curtain with swift precision, seizing the opportunity for them to slip away unnoticed.
"Let's go," he said, taking hold of her hand.
The sudden warmth of his touch sent a jolt through Elira. Her eyes widened slightly in shock, while her free hand instinctively curled against her chest, as though trying to steady the rapid beating of her heart. Whether it was from lingering embarrassment or something far more unfamiliar, she could not tell.
Together, they fled from behind the curtains and made their way towards the exit. Silence fell between them as they walked along a dimly lit corridor, where only flickering torches cast soft, dancing shadows upon the stone walls. Cassian did not release her hand.
Elira stole glances at him, her thoughts in disarray, unsure of what she ought to say.
When they finally reached the rose garden, the atmosphere shifted entirely. A solitary bench rested near the centre, with a graceful fountain beside it, its waters gently flowing. Above them, the night sky stretched endlessly, scattered with stars, while the moon shone brilliantly, bathing everything in a soft silver glow. A cool breeze drifted through the garden, carrying the delicate scent of roses, as fireflies gathered and flickered like tiny lanterns in the dark.
It was a beautiful night—almost too perfect.
Though the garden lay not far from the grand hall, the distant melody of the ball still reached them, faint yet ever-present, as if reminding them of the world they had just left behind.