The ballroom seemed to hold its breath as the Emperor moved. The nobles parted before him like a tide receding from the shore, their heads bowed in deference. He walked with a slow, deliberate grace, his eyes never leaving Lia and Julian. Every step was a calculated move, a demonstration of his absolute power.
Lia's blood ran cold. Her carefully constructed persona, her mask of invisibility, had shattered under the force of his gaze. He had seen her. He had singled her out. The ghost was no longer a ghost.
Julian's hand rested on the silver head of his sword-cane, his knuckles white. He stood his ground, a calm, unmovable rock in the face of an approaching storm.
"Master Vance," the Emperor said, his voice a low, resonant purr that was more dangerous than a shout. He stopped before them, so close that Lia could see the flecks of silver in his stormy grey eyes. "It has been too long. I trust the city's commerce is proving… profitable?"
The question was a barb, a clear reference to the fall of House Reid.
"The city is full of opportunities for those bold enough to seize them, Your Majesty," Julian replied, his voice a smooth, unshakable baritone. He gave a slight, formal bow.
The Emperor's smile widened, but it didn't touch his eyes. His gaze shifted to Lia. "And you have seized a new… asset, I see. You have not introduced me to your companion."
This was the moment. The test. Lia sank into a deep, flawless curtsy, her head bowed, her eyes on the polished marble floor.
"Your Majesty," Julian said, "may I present Lia. A gifted scholar who is assisting me with my family's archives."
"Lia," the Emperor repeated, tasting the name. He extended a hand, a clear command for her to rise.
She took his hand, her fingers trembling slightly. His touch was like ice. As she rose, she kept her eyes downcast, a perfect picture of a nervous, common girl, overwhelmed by the presence of her Emperor.
"A scholar," he mused, his thumb tracing a slow, deliberate circle on the back of her hand. The touch was a brand, a claim. "So far from your books and scrolls. Tell me, Lia, what does a quiet scholar find so fascinating about a cutthroat merchant like Master Vance?"
The question was a trap, designed to gauge her intelligence, her allegiance. She had to answer.
"His library is one of the finest in the empire, Your Majesty," she said, her voice a soft, respectful whisper. "It is a rare privilege to be allowed to study it."
It was a good answer. Deferential. Plausible. But she could feel the weight of his skepticism, a palpable, suffocating force. He didn't believe her.
"Indeed," he said, his eyes still fixed on her face. "Then you must allow me the privilege of this dance. I am sure Master Vance will not object to sharing his newfound treasure for a single song."
It was not a request. It was an imperial command. Julian had no choice but to bow his head in assent, though Lia could feel the wave of protective fury rolling off him.
The Emperor led her to the center of the ballroom floor. The other nobles retreated, clearing a wide circle around them. The orchestra, as if on cue, began a slow, haunting waltz. He placed a hand on her waist, pulling her flush against him. His other hand enveloped hers, his grip like iron.
They began to move, their steps perfectly synchronized. He was an expert dancer, leading her through the intricate patterns of the waltz with effortless grace. It was a terrifyingly intimate embrace. She could smell the faint, clean scent of his cologne, feel the warmth of his body through the thin silk of her gown. She was in the arms of her murderer.
"You are a skilled dancer for a simple scholar," he murmured, his voice a low vibration against her ear.
"My father insisted on a well-rounded education, Your Majesty," she replied, her own voice barely a breath.
"And he taught you to lie so prettily as well?" he asked, his tone still light, but with an undercurrent of steel.
Her heart leaped into her throat. He knew. He had to know.
"I… I don't know what you mean, Your Majesty," she stammered, the perfect picture of frightened confusion.
He spun her in a slow, elegant circle, his grip tightening on her waist. "Don't you?" he whispered. "There is something about you, Lia. A… familiarity. Have we met before?"
This was the true test. She could feel him probing her mind, not with magic, but with the sheer force of his will. He was looking for a flicker of recognition, a shadow of the woman he had killed.
She met his gaze for the first time, her own eyes wide and artfully innocent. "I am quite certain I would remember meeting the Emperor," she said, her voice trembling just enough to be convincing.
He stared at her for a long, silent moment, his eyes searching hers for a truth she could not afford to reveal. She felt a strange, inexplicable pull, a phantom echo of the soul-tether that had once bound them. She prayed he couldn't feel it too.
The music swelled to a crescendo, then faded into silence. The dance was over.
He did not release her immediately. He held her there, in the center of the silent, watching court, his eyes still locked on hers.
"A pity," he said, his voice so low that only she could hear it. "You have the eyes of a woman I once knew. A brilliant, treacherous woman. I had her killed."
He released her then, stepping back with a final, chilling smile. "Enjoy the rest of your evening, Lia the scholar."
He turned and walked back to his throne, leaving her standing alone in the center of the vast, silent ballroom, the eyes of the entire court on her. She had survived her dance with the devil. But she was no longer a ghost. She was a target. And the Emperor had just painted the bullseye on her himself.