The grand ballroom of Rosevale Royal Academy was a testament to excess masquerading as elegance.
Crystal chandeliers hung from vaulted ceilings, casting prismatic light across marble floors polished to mirror brightness. Gold leaf decorated every column and archway, and the walls were adorned with tapestries depicting the kingdom's glorious history. At one end of the massive room, a string orchestra played refined music that most of the attendees probably couldn't appreciate. At the other, a banquet table stretched the entire length of the wall, laden with delicacies that could feed a village for a month.
And everywhere—everywhere—were nobles in their finest attire, peacocking and scheming and positioning themselves for advantage.
Priam stood against the wall in the designated area for personal servants, his face a mask of professional neutrality while his mind worked overtime analyzing the scene. He could see the major players already: the sons and daughters of dukes, marquises, and counts, all dressed to impress and armed with years of training in social warfare.
And there, near the center of the room, was Crown Prince Aldric, surrounded by a respectful circle of space that no one dared breach without invitation. He looked every inch the future king—composed, attentive, his posture suggesting both authority and approachability. He was currently speaking with Headmistress Corvina and several high-ranking academy officials.
Seraphina had not yet made her entrance. She had insisted on arriving fashionably late—not so late as to be rude, but late enough that her arrival would be noticed. It was a calculated move, and Priam had to admit it was smart.
He just hoped it would work.
"Quite the spectacle, isn't it?"
Priam turned to find another servant standing beside him—a young man perhaps a year or two older, with brown hair and an easy smile. He wore the livery of House Ravencrest, one of the other major ducal families.
"Indeed," Priam replied carefully, unsure of the man's intentions.
"First time at the academy? You look like you're cataloging everything." The servant chuckled. "I'm Marcus, by the way. I serve Lady Isolde Ravencrest. You're Ashcroft's new butler, aren't you? Priam?"
"News travels fast."
"In this place? Always." Marcus leaned against the wall, his posture relaxed despite the formal setting. "Word is Lady Seraphina brought her personal butler rather than just using academy servants. That's unusual. You must be quite skilled."
Or quite trapped, Priam thought. "I do my best to serve adequately."
"Modest. I like that." Marcus gestured subtly toward the crowd. "See that cluster near the eastern windows? Those are the Marquis families, trying to position their daughters near the Prince without being too obvious about it. And over there, the Count's sons pretending they're not desperately seeking alliances. It's like watching chickens circle a piece of grain."
Despite himself, Priam smiled. "You have a colorful way of describing it."
"Three years here will do that to you. You learn to find entertainment in the ridiculousness." Marcus's expression turned more serious. "Fair warning though—your lady is going to face some serious competition. Lady Elara Rosefield arrived yesterday, and she's already got half the male students mooning over her."
Priam's attention sharpened. "Lady Elara?"
"Daughter of Marquis Rosefield. Beautiful, kind, has that whole 'gentle maiden' thing going on that nobles eat up." Marcus shrugged. "Complete opposite of Lady Seraphina's reputation, if you catch my meaning."
The heroine, Priam thought. Of course she's already here, already making impressions.
"Where is she now?" he asked, trying to sound merely curious rather than urgently interested.
Marcus scanned the room. "There—by the refreshment table. Cream dress, light brown hair, looks like she's never had an impure thought in her life."
Priam followed his gaze and found her easily. Lady Elara Rosefield was exactly as the game had depicted her: delicate features, soft brown hair styled in gentle curls, wide hazel eyes that seemed perpetually surprised, and an expression of such earnest sweetness that even Priam, cynical as he was, had to admit she looked genuinely kind. She was currently speaking with two other noble ladies, and her smile appeared entirely natural.
She was perfect heroine material.
Which meant she was also the biggest threat to Seraphina's plans.
"She seems pleasant," Priam offered neutrally.
"She is. Too pleasant, honestly. Makes the rest of the noble daughters look like vipers by comparison." Marcus lowered his voice. "Which they are, mostly. Present company's mistresses included, no offense."
"None taken. I'm well aware of my lady's reputation."
"Smart man. Acknowledging reality is the first step to surviving it."
Before Priam could respond, a stir rippled through the crowd. Conversations faltered, heads turned, and Marcus whistled low.
"And there's your lady. Right on time."
Seraphina had arrived.
She stood at the top of the grand staircase that led down into the ballroom, and for a moment, she simply... existed. Let everyone look. Let them take in the sight of her.
And what a sight it was.
The purple silk gown hugged her figure perfectly before flowing out in layers that caught the light with every subtle movement. The color was rich and deep, complementing her golden hair and pale skin flawlessly. Diamonds glittered at her throat and ears, subtle enough not to be gaudy but expensive enough to make a statement. Her hair was styled in an elegant updo that showed off her graceful neck, with a few artful curls left loose to soften the look.
But more than her appearance, it was her presence that commanded attention. She held herself with absolute confidence, her chin slightly raised, her expression serene and slightly aloof. She looked like she belonged there—no, like everyone else was lucky to be in her presence.
It was a masterful performance.
Slowly, with measured grace, Seraphina descended the stairs. The crowd parted naturally, giving her space. Even the orchestra seemed to pause for a beat before continuing, as if the music itself was acknowledging her entrance.
Priam felt a strange mix of pride and concern. She was magnificent—exactly what she'd wanted to be. But that magnificence came with a price. Every eye on her meant every judgment, every comparison, every scheme adjusting to account for her presence.
And he could see Crown Prince Aldric watching her as well.
Seraphina reached the bottom of the stairs and was immediately greeted by Headmistress Corvina, who introduced her formally to nearby nobles. Seraphina handled each interaction with perfect poise—a gracious nod here, a polite word there, always keeping her true attention elsewhere.
On the Prince.
But she didn't approach him. Not yet. Instead, she allowed herself to be drawn into conversation with a group of high-ranking students, positioning herself where Aldric could see her but making no obvious move toward him.
She's following my advice, Priam realized with a mix of satisfaction and terror. Strategic restraint. Let him come to her.
It was working. Even from across the room, Priam could see the Prince's interest piqued. Here was a woman who didn't immediately throw herself at him, who seemed content to ignore his presence despite obviously being in his league socially. It was unusual enough to be intriguing.
"Your lady knows how to make an entrance," Marcus murmured beside him. "Half the women here are seething with jealousy right now."
"And the other half?"
"Calculating how to destroy her." Marcus's tone was light, but Priam caught the warning beneath it. "Your lady just painted a target on herself. Hope you're ready for that."
"Always," Priam lied.
The reception continued, nobles mingling and scheming, the usual dance of high society playing out. Priam kept his attention split between Seraphina and Lady Elara, watching for the scripted event he knew was coming.
There—Elara was moving toward the refreshment table. And there was one of the Prince's attendants, also heading that direction. In the game, they would collide, Elara would spill wine on the Prince's uniform, and the fateful meeting would occur.
Priam moved before he could think better of it.
He crossed the ballroom floor quickly but without running—running would draw attention. As he passed Elara, he deliberately stumbled, his shoulder bumping the edge of the refreshment table. Several glasses wobbled, and he caught them before they could fall, but the commotion was enough.
"Oh! Are you alright?" Elara asked, her voice as sweet as her appearance suggested.
"My apologies, my lady," Priam said with a deep bow. "Entirely my fault. Please, allow me to move these for safety—"
He quickly rearranged several items on the table, creating a barrier between where Elara stood and where the Prince's attendant was approaching. The man arrived, retrieved what he needed, and departed—all without the collision that should have occurred.
Crisis averted. The script broken.
"You're very thoughtful," Elara said with a gentle smile. "Most servants don't move with such consideration."
"You're too kind, my lady." Priam bowed again and retreated before the conversation could continue.
Back at his position against the wall, Marcus was giving him an odd look. "What was that about?"
"Preventing an accident," Priam said truthfully.
"Uh-huh." Marcus didn't look convinced, but he let it drop.
For the next hour, the reception proceeded without major incident. Seraphina continued her strategy of being visible but not desperate, engaging in intelligent conversation, laughing at appropriate moments, and generally being the perfect picture of a noble lady. And it was working—several people approached her, drawn by her confidence and poise.
Including, finally, Crown Prince Aldric himself.
Priam's entire body tensed as he watched the Prince excuse himself from his current conversation and move deliberately toward where Seraphina stood. This was it—the moment she'd been waiting for her entire life.
"Lady Seraphina von Ashcroft," the Prince said, his voice carrying just enough to be heard by those nearby. "I'm pleased to finally make your acquaintance. Your reputation precedes you."
Seraphina turned, and for just a fraction of a second, Priam saw naked hope flash across her face. Then the mask was back, replaced by a serene smile.
"Your Highness," she said, curtseying with perfect grace. "The honor is entirely mine. Though I confess, I'm uncertain whether my reputation is an asset or a liability."
Good. Self-aware humor. Not the desperate fawning the Prince probably expected.
Aldric smiled—genuinely, it seemed. "I prefer to form my own opinions rather than rely on reputation. Though from what I've observed tonight, you seem to value quality over quantity in your social interactions. That's refreshingly pragmatic."
"A future queen must be strategic in all things, Your Highness. Or so my tutors insisted."
"Wise tutors." The Prince's expression was approving. "Tell me, Lady Ashcroft, what are your plans of study here at the academy?"
And just like that, they were engaged in conversation. Real conversation, not empty flattery. Priam watched as Seraphina demonstrated her intelligence, discussing political theory and governance with knowledge and insight that clearly impressed the Prince. She was animated but not desperate, confident but not arrogant.
She was being herself—her genuine, intelligent, capable self.
And it was working.
Priam felt something strange in his chest—pride, definitely, but also something else. Relief? Satisfaction? Whatever it was, it felt dangerously close to emotional investment.
This is good, he told himself. This is exactly what needed to happen. The Prince is interested, Seraphina is impressing him, and the heroine didn't have her scripted encounter. I'm successfully changing the narrative.
But even as he thought it, a small voice in his mind whispered a warning: Changing the narrative has consequences. Butterfly effects. Unintended results.
He pushed the thought aside. He'd worry about consequences later. For now, this was victory.
The reception continued for another hour. The Prince eventually moved on to greet other guests, but not before expressing his hope that he would have the opportunity to speak with Seraphina again. She had handled it perfectly—pleased but not desperate, interested but not obsessive.
When the evening finally wound down and guests began departing, Seraphina found Priam in the crowd and gave him the slightest nod. A signal that she was ready to leave.
They returned to her quarters in silence, Seraphina walking with her head high, her expression unreadable. Only once they were safely inside, the door closed against prying eyes and ears, did she finally let the mask drop.
"I did it," she whispered, and her voice was trembling. "I actually did it. He was interested. He actually listened to me, talked to me like I was a person and not just—"
"You were magnificent, my lady," Priam said quietly.
Seraphina turned to him, and her eyes were bright—with triumph, with relief, with unshed tears. "Your strategy worked. He noticed me because I wasn't chasing him. He was intrigued because I was being myself instead of performing."
"You were always worth noticing, my lady. Tonight, he finally saw it."
For a long moment, Seraphina just stared at him. Then, impulsively, she stepped forward and took his hand—a gesture so unexpected that Priam froze.
"Thank you," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "Thank you for believing in me when I didn't believe in myself."
Priam's throat tightened. This was dangerous territory. She was grateful now, but gratitude could turn to dependency, dependency to obsession. He needed to step back, to maintain proper distance.
But looking at her face, seeing genuine happiness there for perhaps the first time since he'd met her, he couldn't bring himself to pull away.
"It's my honor to serve you, my lady. In whatever capacity you need."
Seraphina squeezed his hand once, then released it, stepping back and composing herself. "Of course. You're dismissed for the evening, Priam. I'll require your assistance in the morning."
"Yes, my lady."
As Priam left her quarters and made his way to the servants' area, his mind was churning. He'd successfully diverted the script. Seraphina had made a genuine impression on the Prince. The heroine hadn't had her fateful encounter.
He was changing fate.
But as he lay in his small bed that night, staring at the ceiling of yet another unfamiliar room, Priam couldn't shake a feeling of unease.
In stories, when you changed fate, there were always consequences.
He just hoped he would be ready for them when they came.
Outside, the academy slept, unaware that the carefully scripted game it was supposed to play host to had just been rewritten.
And in the morning, the real challenges would begin.