By every reasonable expectation, Lethia's attention should have remained entirely upon the dance.
She had spent days reminding herself why keeping her distance from Serik was necessary.
He could have become her greatest ally, perhaps even the most loyal person at her side, but Lethia could not bring herself to use someone whose feelings were sincere.
She had crossed many lines in her life, but not that one.
And worse still, she knew the emotions Serik stirred within her were dangerous.
Attachments created weakness, and weakness had no place in the future waiting ahead of her.
Yet in the middle of a turn, a strange heaviness settled in her chest.
Like something had quietly disappeared.
Yet suddenly mid-turn a strange sensation settled heavily across her chest.
As though something unseen had shifted.
Before she realized it, her eyes lifted instinctively toward the shadowed corner of the ballroom.
It was empty.
Serik was gone.
No steady amber gaze watching from afar.
He left.
The thought arrived before she could stop it.
And suddenly, despite the crowded ballroom and glittering splendor surrounding her, something felt terribly vacant.
As though his silent presence had anchored the entire hall far more than she had realized.
***
Lethia stood near the edge of the ballroom with a glass of chilled juice in hand, the exhaustion from the dance finally settling into her bones.
After only a single waltz, she had informed Vasileios with little patience left that she could not endure another moment on the dance floor and promptly abandoned him there.
To his credit, Vasileios accepted the rejection with graceful disappointment before redirecting his attention toward Serena instead.
Serena, who had immediately brightened at the invitation, confessed with dramatic sorrow that she had nearly forgotten how to dance at all after spending most of the year trapped inside the estate alongside Lethia.
Nearby, Rysa leaned closer to Lethia with an apologetic smile.
"Please do not mind my brother too much," she said sweetly.
"If he becomes troublesome, you may simply glare at him until he retreats. It works surprisingly well."
Lethia was about to respond when a new figure approached their small corner.
Tall and sharply dressed in dark embroidered layers of black and bronze, the man carried himself with confidence, his presence immediately drawing attention.
It was Julian Vance, the youngest son of Marquis Vance.
He stopped before Rysa and bowed lightly.
"My lady," he said smoothly, extending his hand, "would you honor me with a dance?"
The question clearly caught her off guard.
Rysa stiffened almost instantly. Instinctively, her hand rose toward the soft strands of hair covering her scar, as though years of habit had awakened at once.
She stepped back slightly.
And without realizing it, her fingers curled tightly against the fabric of Lethia's skirt.
Lethia noticed immediately.
Her gaze cooled.
"Lady Rysa is rather tired this evening," she said before Rysa could force out an answer. "I hope you understand, Lord Julian."
For the briefest moment, annoyance flickered across Julian's face.
After all, he had asked Rysa, not the woman speaking in her place.
Still, the irritation vanished behind a charming smile.
"Of course," he replied smoothly, though something unpleasant lingered beneath his tone. "Still… opportunities such as this do not appear often."
His eyes drifted intentionality toward the scar hidden beneath Rysa's hair.
"One should be careful not to refuse kindness too quickly. Especially when gentlemen willing to overlook certain things are so rare."
Rysa shrank back even further after his words, her face paling as she instinctively hid completely behind Lethia.
Lethia let out a quiet scoff, slowly folding her arms across her chest.
"And what exactly are you trying to imply, Lord Julian?"
For a brief moment, Julian looked caught off guard.
Still, he recovered quickly, offering a smooth smile as though he had said nothing improper at all.
"You misunderstand me, Lady Lethia. I merely meant that Lady Rysa should not isolate herself so much from society. Opportunities are important for young ladies, especially..."
"Especially what?" Lethia interrupted coldly.
The sharpness in her voice cut through his sentence instantly.
Julian's smile stiffened.
Lethia's gaze remained fixed on him, calm yet utterly merciless.
"A man who cannot speak plainly and instead twists his meaning behind polite words is hardly a gentleman to begin with," she said evenly.
"So whether you are capable of overlooking a scar is quite irrelevant."
The corner of her lips curved faintly not warmly, but dangerously.
"And secondly, men incapable of accepting refusal with dignity are among the most pathetic cowards I have ever encountered."
Julian's expression darkened at once.
"I believe you are speaking rather harshly for a simple misunderstanding," he replied, irritation slipping through his polished tone.
"I approached Lady Rysa with sincere intentions."
Lethia laughed softly.
The sound carried no amusement whatsoever.
Her eyes swept over him lazily.
"Right! you also said something about opportunity... from where I stand, it was you who approached Lady Rysa first. So I do not believe she is the one desperate not to miss an opportunity."
A faint pause followed.
"After all," Lethia continued smoothly, "regardless of anything else, she remains the daughter of a duke."
The meaning behind her words landed instantly.
Julian's status as a marquis's younger son placed him far beneath Rysa in rank.
And everyone standing nearby understood exactly who held the greater advantage in that conversation.
The air around them had gone noticeably quieter.
A few nearby ladies exchanged startled glances behind their fans, clearly shocked that someone had insulted Julian Vance in the middle of a ballroom.
Even several young lords standing nearby suddenly found the chandeliers above them deeply fascinating, unwilling to involve themselves in whatever execution was currently unfolding before their eyes.
Rysa, meanwhile, seemed torn with horror as she clung silently to the back of Lethia's sleeve.
Julian himself looked as though he had just been publicly slapped.
Before the tension could worsen further, another man stepped smoothly into the conversation.
"Now, now," came an amused voice, "must we truly draw blood in the middle of a royal ball?"
A tall young noble approached with practiced ease, placing a friendly hand upon Julian's shoulder.
It was Cedric Zale the son of Count Zale and one of Julian's closest companions.
Unlike Julian's arrogance, Cedric carried himself with lighter charm, the sort meant to smooth conflicts before they became scandals.
He offered the ladies an elegant bow.
"My deepest apologies," he said smoothly. "My dear friend occasionally mistakes persistence for charm. A tragic flaw we have all suffered through for years."
Julian shot him an offended look.
Cedric ignored it completely.
"I believe," he continued pleasantly, "Lord Julian has suddenly remembered another engagement elsewhere in the ballroom."
His grip on Julian's shoulder tightened slightly.
Julian forced a strained smile, clearly unwilling to continue losing this battle publicly.
"…Of course," he muttered stiffly.
Cedric turned back toward the girls with an easy grin.
"Please forgive the disturbance, ladies."
Then, before Julian could embarrass himself further, Cedric began steering him away through the crowd.
Rysa watched them leave before leaning toward Lethia.
"…That may have been the most terrifying thing I have ever witnessed."
Lethia sighed shaking her head.
"The audacity they have."
By now, Lethia was utterly exhausted. She waited patiently until Serena returned to take her place beside Rysa. Only then did she slip away, eager to step outside and draw in a breath of fresh air.
***
Lethia leaned against the cold balcony rail and finally allowed the tension in her shoulders to ease.
Behind her, the banquet hall remained crowded with noise, candlelight, and endless conversation, the air unbearably warm after hours of dancing and social performance. Out on the terrace, however, the night carried a sharp winter chill that cut cleanly through the exhaustion clouding her mind.
She rested her forehead briefly against the stone pillar beside her, arms folded tightly across her chest.
Her business in the capital was nearly finished. Her departure had already been arranged for the following month, and only a handful of tedious matters still tied her to this place. Soon she would return to her estate, far from suffocating ballrooms, court politics, and nobles who smiled too easily.
For the first time that evening, peaceful silence settled around her.
That peace shattered instantly as a loud commotion erupted somewhere below near the lower corridors outside the ballroom entrance shouting, crashing, several voices speaking over one another.
Lethia opened her eyes slowly before letting out a tired sigh.
I couldn't care less, she thought, her body heavy with exhaustion. I am simply too tired.
Her entire body ached with exhaustion. Whatever foolish drunken dispute had broken out below was none of her concern.
She closed her eyes again.
"SERIK!"
Lethia's eyes snapped open. Serik? What happened to him?
Without another thought, she pushed away from the railing and hurried toward the staircase.
The heavy skirts of her dark red gown swept violently across the marble as she descended, gathering the fabric in one hand to keep from stumbling. The noise grew louder with every step, drawing her toward the outer corridors near the guest chambers and restrooms.
By the time she arrived, a crowd had already formed.
Nobles clustered together in alarm, servants whispering anxiously as they struggled to see past the gathering.
Pushing through the onlookers, she finally saw the center of the violence.
Julian was sprawled on the floor, blood dripping from a split lip and a gash across his forehead. Pinning him down was another man, raining fists upon him.
Lethia could see Serik's blond hair completely disheveled, stripped of its usual perfection. His back faced her, hiding his expression from view, but she could see his body trembling violently. Even from where she stood, she could feel something agonizing radiating from him, as though every blow he dealt was driven by a pain tearing him apart from the inside out.
A fist crashed hard into Julian's face again.
"Serik, enough!" Killian hissed sharply under his breath.
"Your father is here tonight, have you completely lost your mind?"
Killian gripped desperately at the Serik's shoulders, trying to drag him backward before another strike landed.
Lethia's breath caught as she stepped closer.
Julian noticed her standing there.
Despite the blood pouring down his face, a twisted smile slowly spread across his lips.
Serik looked down at Julian with a gaze so cold it made the surrounding nobles fall silent.
"Apologize," he said softly.
The deadly calm in his voice was far worse than shouting.
"Or I will cut that tongue out."
But Julian only laughed harder, blood smearing across his teeth.
He ignored the warning completely, far too confident that Killian's restraint would prevent Serik from truly harming him.
A bloody grin twisted across Julian's face.
"How pathetic, Serik," he sneered loudly, making certain every nearby noble heard him clearly. "You are willing to spill blood over a ruined woman. "
The corridor went still.
Julian's eyes slid toward Lethia with deliberate cruelty.
"I wonder," he continued viciously,"if she'll be as loud and tight for you as she was for the bandits who took her, or if you'll just have to settle for the scraps they left behind."
A collective, horrified gasp rippled through the crowd.
Several noblewomen gasped outright, some covering their mouths in disgust while others stared at Julian in stunned disbelief. Even the drunken murmurs from nearby corridors had fallen silent.