Eveline moved through the ballroom like smoke. The music shifted into a slow waltz, couples filling the floor, but all eyes seemed to drift toward her.
"You seem to draw attention wherever you walk,"
Tristan remarked quietly from the far corner, glass in hand.
"What can I say?" Eveline replied with a faint smile. "I'm beautiful."
From the corner of eye, she spotted a familiar figure. Feeling unsure she stood up to confirm her suspicion.
The music changed to waltz, couples gathering around the dance floor, making it lively. "Can I bother you for a dance," Tristan stood up, looking at Eveline, distracted by Tristan, Eveline couldn't find who she was searching for again, she glanced at Tristan, "why not," she replied taking his hand
In another corner of the ballroom, Anthony sat down, the wheelchair could not conceal his elegance, "She's making you careless," Alaric said, appearing beside him with that dangerous, teasing smile. "It's… obvious."
Anthony's expression remained unreadable, almost bored. "And what's the worst that could happen?" he murmured, lifting his glass deliberately.
Alaric's eyes drifted. On the floor, Eveline twirled in Tristan's arms, steps light, measured, utterly captivating. The veins in Alaric's hands flexed with a tension he could not mask. Seeing her, seeing another man holding her, even in a proper dance ignited something he had tried to bury.
"Why don't you remember?" he muttered under his breath, voice tight. A memory pressed in, sharp and fragmented, refusing to fade, "do you want to die," a little girl's voice echoed.
Across the room, Tristan moved with effortless grace, guiding Eveline as though the dance were a language only they spoke. "Madame Rubin taught you well," he murmured.
Eveline laughed softly, letting it reach him. "She hated mistakes," she said lightly, "and I never forgive them."
Anthony's attention flicked subtly to the ex-fiancée, who now lingered at the edge of the ballroom beside a servant. Her eyes met his, sharp and deliberate, almost daring, and for a heartbeat he felt the crack of distraction carelessness born of longing. He looked away, trying to hide his feelings, the wheels of his chair cutting silently over the marble floor.
Alaric's smile remained, but it was thin. His eyes tracked Eveline, noting her every motion, the way the silk of her gown caught the light, the way she commanded attention without asking for it. Jealousy rose like fire in his chest, uncomfortable and undeniable.
Then the music stopped. Silence hit the room like a weight.
The Queen stepped forward.
Whispers curled around her as she approached Eveline, moving with the aura of someone who had always commanded. Tristan released Eveline's hand with a subtle bow, and she froze just enough to acknowledge the shift without betraying surprise.
"Your name?" the Queen asked, voice soft but undeniable.
"Eveline," she said, bowing slightly.
"You will serve as my lady-in-waiting."
Gasps rose through the ballroom like a sudden wind. Eveline's pulse quickened, but her face remained calm.
"This is my first night at court," she said carefully, "why grant me such privilege?"
The Queen's lips curved faintly. "You look less foolish than most."
A voice muttered from the crowd, cruel and unthinking. "But she's a whore."
The Queen did not flinch. "And I am your Queen," she replied softly. "I require no counsel from brainless mouths." She turned and walked away, leaving Eveline in a quiet storm of whispers and tension.
Anthony's gaze lingered on Eveline one last time, cold and unreadable, before returning to the ex-fiancée, the memory of searching and losing threading through him like a knife he refused to pull free.
Alaric, standing slightly apart, exhaled slowly, eyes still fixed on Eveline as she processed the Queen's declaration. His jaw tightened. Desire, jealousy, and memory collided in a tangle he could not yet unravel.
Tristan offered a quiet nod. "Come," he said, and she followed him back, but couldn't help but meet the hungry gaze of Alaric, her chest couldn't help but tighten, she quickened her steps.