Dinner at the palace that night was a performance.
Everything always was.
The long table glittered with crystal and gold, every place setting perfectly aligned, every guest dressed like they had stepped out of a fashion editorial for gods. Politicians laughed too loudly. Diplomats leaned in too closely. Alliances were being made and broken with every sip of wine.
Amara sat beside her fiancé, Prince Adewale, smiling when she was expected to, nodding when it was required, feeling like an actress who had forgotten her lines.
Across the table sat Prince Kofi.
He looked infuriatingly at ease, laughing with a minister from the coast, sipping his drink like he hadn't nearly unraveled her entire world in a library aisle earlier that afternoon. Every time their eyes met, something unspoken crackled between them.
Do not look at him, she told herself.
Her gaze disobeyed.
Adewale leaned toward her. "You've been quiet."
"I'm tired."
"You should be. These past two days have been… eventful."
That was one way to put it.
"You embarrassed me," he added softly, too softly for anyone else to hear. "Do you know how it feels to have people whispering about your fiancée and another man?"
Amara stiffened. "I didn't do anything."
"You danced with him."
"Because the Queen ordered me to."
"You smiled at him."
Her jaw tightened. "I smile at everyone."
"Not like that."
She had no answer for that, and they both knew it.
Across the table, Kofi's gaze sharpened, as if he sensed the tension. He lifted his glass slightly in her direction, a small, insolent salute. She ignored him, though it took effort.
The Queen rose, drawing attention like gravity.
"Tonight," she announced, "we celebrate the beginning of a new chapter between Aderra and Zuberi. Let this dinner mark the start of peace."
Applause followed. Polite. Measured.
Kofi stood. "If I may," he said smoothly, "I'd like to add something."
Every eye turned to him.
"My people and yours have lived too long in shadowed history," he continued. "We should not let old wounds dictate our future."
His gaze drifted to Amara, just briefly.
"Sometimes," he said, "the bravest thing is to look at your enemy and see a human being."
The room hummed with unease.
Amara felt suddenly seen in a way that made her chest ache.
After dinner, the guests dispersed into smaller conversations. Amara escaped to the balcony, the cool night air brushing her flushed skin. Below, the palace gardens glowed with lanterns, a sea of soft gold.
She was gripping the railing when footsteps approached.
"You run beautifully," Kofi said.
She didn't turn. "Go away."
"I tried that. Didn't work."
"Everything you do makes my life harder."
He leaned beside her, close enough that their sleeves brushed. "You could tell me to stop."
"I am telling you to stop."
"But you don't mean it."
She finally faced him. "You're cruel."
"I'm honest."
"You humiliated me."
"I admired you."
Her breath hitched.
"I see how trapped you are," he continued quietly. "How they smile at you and cage you at the same time."
"You don't know me."
"I know enough."
For a moment, the palace disappeared. There was only the two of them and the truth flickering between their words.
"I'm engaged," she whispered.
"Yes."
"I'm loyal."
"I'm aware."
"Then why are you doing this?"
He searched her face, his expression suddenly stripped of its teasing edge. "Because I think you deserve more than a life chosen for you."
The sincerity in his voice frightened her more than his arrogance ever had.
Before she could respond, Adewale appeared in the doorway.
"There you are," he said sharply. His eyes flicked to Kofi. "I was looking for my fiancée."
Amara stepped back, the spell breaking.
"Of course," she said.
Kofi inclined his head politely. "Prince Adewale."
Adewale did not return the gesture.
As Amara was led away, she looked back once.
Kofi was still watching her.
And the line she was not supposed to cross had never looked thinner.