Music flowed through the grand hall like silk poured from crystal.
The royal orchestra played a slow waltz, each note gliding across polished marble floors and rising toward chandeliers dripping in gold light. Nobles circled the ballroom in graceful patterns, fabrics whispering, jewels flashing, laughter soft as perfume.
At the center of it all—
Neo and Ark.
They moved like royalty born for admiration. Ark's posture was flawless, one hand firm at Neo's waist, the other guiding her fingers with princely precision. Neo's gown shimmered with every step, her skirt blooming like petals whenever she turned. They looked perfect. Untouchable. Envied.
Eyes followed them.
Whispers followed them.
"They truly suit each other…"
"Like a painting…"
"The future king and queen…"
Ark smirked faintly, confident in the attention.
Neo's smile shone.
They believed they owned the room.
Until—
the doors opened.
---
A hush.
Not loud. Not sudden. Just… silence spreading like frost across glass.
Heads turned.
A silver glow stepped inside.
Iris.
Her gown flowed like liquid moonlight, silver threads catching every candle flame and scattering it across the hall. Her hair fell long and pale down her back, and her eyes — cold, golden, untouchable — held the quiet of winter skies. She did not walk.
She arrived.
Beside her—
Eira.
His coat was gone, draped somewhere behind. Without it, his broad shoulders and sculpted frame showed plainly beneath fitted black attire. The soft lantern light traced the sharp line of his jaw, the calm strength in his posture, the quiet confidence in his gaze.
He did not try to draw attention.
Which is why he did.
People stared.
Not politely.
Not subtly.
Openly.
The music faltered for half a breath before continuing.
Neo noticed.
Ark noticed.
And for the first time that night—
they were no longer the center.
---
The song changed.
A new melody began — slower, deeper, intimate.
Iris turned to Eira.
"Dance with me."
Not a question.
A statement.
Eira exhaled softly. "…You're commanding now?"
"I always was."
He smiled faintly. "True."
He took her hand.
The hall seemed to lean closer.
---
They stepped onto the floor.
At first, they moved like any pair.
Then—
they didn't.
Eira's hand settled at her waist, firm yet careful, fingers resting as though she were something fragile despite knowing she wasn't. Iris's gloved hand slid into his shoulder, her other hand fitting into his palm like it had always belonged there.
They began.
Slow turn.
Glide.
Step.
Their bodies aligned instinctively, rhythm catching them like a current. Iris spun once, dress flaring in a silver circle, and Eira drew her back smoothly, her back brushing his chest for a heartbeat before she faced him again.
Gasps whispered through the crowd.
They didn't rush.
They floated.
Every step looked effortless. Every turn looked rehearsed. But nothing about it was practiced. It was instinct — two presences matching without thought, without hesitation.
Eira guided.
Iris followed.
Then she led.
Then neither led.
They simply moved together.
Her gaze never left his.
His never left hers.
The world blurred around them.
The music softened.
The hall disappeared.
And for those watching—
it felt less like a dance
and more like witnessing something private.
---
At the edge of the floor, Ark's jaw tightened.
Neo's smile faded slightly.
People were no longer watching royalty.
They were watching them.
---
The final note lingered.
Eira dipped Iris gently, one arm supporting her back as her hair cascaded toward the marble. Their faces hovered close — not touching, just breathing the same air.
Applause erupted.
Louder than before.
Not polite applause.
Real applause.
---
Later that night, as guests mingled and laughter returned, Eira stepped aside near a pillar to breathe.
He sensed her before she spoke.
"Eira."
Neo.
He turned.
She approached with that familiar soft smile — the one she used when she wanted something. She slipped her hand into his as if it had always belonged there, fingers locking around his naturally, easily.
Iris, standing nearby, noticed instantly.
Her golden eyes narrowed just slightly.
Neo tilted her head sweetly.
"You disappeared for so long. You didn't even visit me first when you returned."
Eira said nothing.
Neo squeezed his hand lightly. "You were always like this. Quiet. But devoted."
Her thumb brushed his knuckles.
"You used to follow me everywhere when we were children. Remember?"
Eira's jaw tightened almost invisibly.
He didn't pull away.
Iris saw that too.
Neo's voice softened, almost teasing.
"You still haven't changed, have you?"
Silence.
Then—
Iris spoke.
Calm. Cool. Gentle.
"Childhood memories are precious," she said. "Especially when they are all someone has."
Neo's eyes flicked to her.
Iris stepped closer to Eira's side, posture elegant, expression serene.
"But devotion," she continued softly, "is different from habit. One is chosen. The other is clung to."
Neo's smile thinned.
Iris's gaze didn't waver.
"And Eira," she added, voice smooth as glass, "does not cling to things that lower his standards."
The air sharpened.
People nearby pretended not to listen.
Every single one listened.
Neo's fingers tightened slightly around Eira's hand.
"Oh?" she said lightly. "And you would know his standards?"
Iris tilted her head.
"Yes."
A pause.
Then—
she rose onto her toes, took Eira's collar gently, and kissed him.
Not rushed.
Not shy.
Slow.
Certain.
Possessive.
The hall went silent again.
Eira froze.
Iris pulled back just enough for her lips to brush his once more before she whispered:
"He loves me."
It was a lie.
But no one there doubted it.
---
She turned, still holding his hand.
"Come," she said calmly. "The air outside is nicer."
And she led him away.
Eira, stunned, followed.
---
Across the hall—
Vesa leaned against a column, watching with a grin.
"…Well," he murmured, sipping his drink, "that was entertaining."