The murmurs of the court rippled outward like concentric rings across still water. Prince Kael Drakoria, notorious for his disdain of Avaloran nobility, had chosen not the glittering Evelyne nor the radiant queen of the evening, but Seraphina Valmoré—the woman the court had quietly marked as irrelevant. Eyes followed their every move, whispers snapping like dry branches beneath a storm.
Seraphina could feel the weight of their stares pressing against her spine, but she stood unbowed. Years ago, in her first life, she might have shrunk beneath that scrutiny, feeling her reputation crumble under the sharp edges of laughter. Now, reborn and sharpened by betrayal, she held her chin high, her gaze steady. If Kael thought to test her composure, he would find her unshakable.
"Then where are your battles fought, Lady Valmoré?" Kael's voice carried the low resonance of thunder rolling over mountains. He stood close, his presence dominating the space between them, though he had not yet touched her. The pause stretched, taut with anticipation.
Seraphina's violet eyes met his storm-gray gaze. "In silence, Your Highness. Where words fail, silence speaks. Where allies falter, silence endures."
A flicker of something—approval? amusement?—glimmered in Kael's expression. "Then you fight with patience."
"I fight with purpose," she corrected.
The crowd leaned in, straining to hear. Evelyne's laughter faltered mid-note, her golden smile dimming. Lucien, ever the polished prince, masked his discomfort with a toast, raising his goblet high to redirect attention. But no gesture could erase the undeniable shift. Seraphina, the woman they had dismissed, now stood at the center of intrigue.
Kael extended his hand, his movements deliberate, sovereign in their confidence. "Dance with me."
It was not a request. It was a command. Yet Seraphina recognized the choice hidden within it. To refuse would be to isolate herself further, feeding the whispers that painted her as bitter and prideful. To accept would draw her into the storm, tethering her name to a man Avalora feared.
She placed her hand in his.
His grip was firm, his palm calloused, not the soft hands of a courtier. He led her onto the dance floor, where silence swept across the hall like a curtain falling. The musicians faltered, then began again, their strings trembling under the weight of expectation.
Kael moved with precision, his every step controlled yet powerful. Dancing with him was not the gentle glide she had once endured with Lucien, all empty grace and pretense. This was a battle of wills, a silent duel played out across marble tiles. Yet Seraphina matched him measure for measure, her movements fluid, her poise unyielding.
"You are not what they say you are," Kael murmured, his voice low enough that only she could hear.
Her lips curved faintly. "And what do they say, Your Highness?"
"That you are vain. Proud. A woman hollowed out by ambition."
"And do you believe them?"
He studied her with eyes like sharpened steel. "I believe what I see. And I see a woman who has learned to wear silence like armor."
Her pulse quickened, though she did not let it show. To be seen so clearly unsettled her, yet it also ignited something fierce within. In her past life, no one—not even Lucien—had looked beyond her mask. Kael's perception was both dangerous and alluring.
As the dance drew to its end, Kael released her hand, though his gaze lingered. "We will speak again, Lady Valmoré."
With that, he turned, leaving a trail of unease in his wake.
The music swelled once more, but the hall did not recover its rhythm. Seraphina stood at the center, surrounded by nobles whose whispers tore at the air. Evelyne approached, her golden eyes glittering with false concern.
"Sister," she said sweetly, though the sharpness beneath her tone cut like glass, "you seemed rather… captivated. Perhaps the Drakorian prince favors women who thrive in shadows."
Seraphina's smile was serene, her violet eyes unflinching. "Or perhaps, dear Evelyne, he favors women who know the difference between light and illusion."
The words struck their mark. Evelyne's smile faltered for the briefest instant before recovering. "Careful, sister. Illusions can be broken."
"And so can those who weave them," Seraphina replied smoothly, turning away without waiting for her reaction.
By the time the banquet ended, Seraphina had secured what she needed most: visibility. No longer ignored, no longer irrelevant, she was once again a figure of intrigue. But she knew visibility was a double-edged sword. Every gaze now measured her, every whisper sought to define her. She had to play carefully.
As she returned to the Valmoré estate, the night air cool against her skin, she allowed herself a single moment of reflection. In her past life, this banquet had marked the beginning of her end—Lucien's open adoration for Evelyne, the nobles' cruel laughter, her isolation deepening until she was consumed.
This time, everything was different. Evelyne still had Lucien's arm, still basked in the adoration of the court. But Seraphina had captured something Evelyne could not: the attention of Kael Drakoria.
She lay awake long into the night, staring at the canopy above her bed. Kael was dangerous, perhaps the most dangerous man she could have entangled herself with. But danger, she realized, was not always to be avoided. Sometimes it was the sharpest weapon.
"Very well," she whispered into the dark. "If fate wishes me to dance with fire, I will learn not to burn—but to command the flames."