“Well, well,” Calla’s voice cuts through the ballroom’s golden hum like a blade through silk. “Look what the cat dragged in.”
I turn to face her, my midnight blue gown catching the candlelight. She stands there in her ivory perfection, diamonds glittering at her throat like captured stars.
“Calla,” I reply coolly, though my heart hammers against my ribs. “You look… expected.”
Her smile sharpens to a razor’s edge. “And you look… ambitious. Tell me, darling, who did you have to bribe to get that invitation?”
“Perhaps the same person who taught you to walk without tripping over your own venom.”
A few nearby nobles turn at our exchange, their fans fluttering with anticipation. Blood in the water, and they can smell it.
“How droll,” Calla purrs, stepping closer. “Though I must say, you’ve done wonders with… whatever fabric that is. Quite creative, really, the way you’ve disguised a grain sack as a gown.”
The words hit their mark, but I refuse to flinch. “At least I earned my place here through talent rather than… family connections.”
“Talent?” Her laugh rings like breaking crystal. “Oh, sweet Helena. Is that what we’re calling it now?”
Across the ballroom, I catch sight of Henry standing beside two figures who command attention without effort—the King and Queen of Ildareth. Their eyes sweep the room with predatory precision, and when their gazes land on me, I feel stripped bare.
“Nervous about meeting the royal family?” Calla follows my gaze, her smile turning viciously sweet. “Don’t worry, darling. I’m sure they’ve been properly… prepared for your introduction.”
“Well, Henry did say I should come.” I keep my voice casual, but the way her eye twitches tells me the barb hit home.
“Did he now?” Her tone could freeze hellfire. “How thoughtful of His Highness to extend such… charitable invitations.” Calla follows my gaze, her smile turning viciously sweet. “Don’t worry, darling. I’m sure they’ve been properly… prepared for your introduction.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Oh, nothing,” she says airily, accepting a glass of champagne from a passing servant. “Just that reputations have a way of preceding us, don’t they?”
Before I can respond, the music shifts. The opening notes of the Crown’s Waltz fill the air, and couples begin to pair off across the marble floor.
“Excuse me,” I say, turning to leave.
“Leaving so soon?” Calla’s voice stops me cold. “But the evening’s entertainment is just beginning.”
I turn back to face her, my spine straight as steel. “I’m not your entertainment, Calla.”
“Aren’t you?” She steps closer, champagne glass in hand. “You lumber into our world, steal our stage, seduce our prince—”
“I haven’t seduced anyone.”
“Haven’t you?” Her eyes glitter with malice. “Poor Henry, so confused by your… charms. Though I suppose even princes can develop a taste for the exotic.”
The insult lands like a physical blow, but I hold my ground. “At least I don’t have to poison other people to feel powerful.”
“Poison?” Calla laughs, but there’s an edge to it now. “Oh, darling, you haven’t seen poison yet.”
She takes a step forward, and I think she’s going to strike me. Instead, she stumbles—a perfectly choreographed accident that sends her champagne glass tilting toward my bodice.
Crimson wine splashes across my midnight blue gown like blood across night sky. Gasps ripple through the watching crowd, followed by barely suppressed laughter.
“Oops,” Calla says with theatrical innocence. “How clumsy of me.”
For a moment, I stand frozen, feeling every eye in the ballroom fixed on me. The old Helena would have fled in tears. The old Helena would have been destroyed by this moment.
But I am not the old Helena.
I throw back my head and laugh—loud, genuine, fearless. “Well,” I announce to the watching crowd, “I suppose even the wine wanted to dance tonight.”
A few people chuckle uncertainly. Then more join in. The laughter shifts, no longer mocking but appreciative.
“You should really watch where you’re going,” Calla hisses, her composure cracking.
“And you should really learn to hold your liquor,” I reply sweetly, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Though I suppose grace under pressure isn’t something they teach in finishing school.”
The crowd erupts in surprised laughter. Calla’s face flushes scarlet, her perfect mask finally slipping.
“You little—”
“Ladies.”
The voice cuts through our confrontation like a sword through silk. We both turn to find Prince Henry approaching, his formal attire immaculate, his expression unreadable.
“Your Highness,” Calla recovers first, dropping into a perfect curtsy. “How lovely to see you.”
“Calla,” he acknowledges with cool politeness before turning to me. “Lady Helena. You seem to have encountered some… difficulty.”
“Nothing I can’t handle,” I reply, meeting his gaze directly.
“Indeed.” Something flickers in his eyes—approval, perhaps? “Might I suggest we not keep the musicians waiting?”
He extends his hand toward me, and the ballroom falls silent. Every eye, every breath, every heartbeat seems to pause.
“I—” I start to protest, but his expression stops me.
“The Crown’s Waltz traditionally opens with the heir to the throne,” he says, his voice carrying to every corner of the room. “Unless, of course, you’d prefer to decline?”
It’s a challenge delivered with princely grace. Refuse, and I confirm every cruel thing they’ve ever said about me. Accept, and I step into the spotlight with the most dangerous man in the kingdom.
I place my hand in his, feeling the warmth of his skin through my gloves. “I would be honored, Your Highness.”
The crowd parts like the Red Sea as he leads me onto the dance floor. Behind us, I hear Calla’s sharp intake of breath, but I don’t look back.
“Quite the performance,” Henry murmurs as we take our positions.
“Which part?” I ask, my voice steadier than I feel.
“All of it,” he replies, his hand settling at my waist. “Though I particularly enjoyed your wine commentary.”
The music begins, and we move together across the marble floor. Despite everything—the wine stain, the watching crowd, the electricity crackling between us—I don’t stumble. Don’t falter. Don’t fall.
“You’re full of surprises, Lady Helena,” he says as we turn.
“And you’re full of contradictions, Your Highness.”
His lips curve in what might be a smile. “How so?”
“You spend weeks tormenting me, then ask me to dance in front of the entire court.”
“Perhaps I’m testing a theory.”
“Which is?”
His eyes meet mine, and for a moment, the ballroom fades away. “That you’re exactly as dangerous as I thought you were.”
The music swells around us, but all I can hear is the thunder of my own heartbeat. “And what happens when the dance ends?”
“We find out if either of us survives it.”
The final notes ring out, and he bows deeply. I curtsy in return, my wine-stained gown pooling around me like spilled blood.
The ballroom erupts in applause, but I barely hear it. All I can focus on is Henry’s hand still holding mine, and the way he’s looking at me like I’m a puzzle he’s finally beginning to solve.
“Thank you for the dance, Your Highness,” I say formally.
“Thank you for the education, Lady Helena,” he replies, his voice low enough that only I can hear.
He releases my hand and steps back, but his eyes never leave mine. Across the room, I catch sight of Mirelle watching us. She looks pale. Ashamed.
Before I can make sense of it, Henry leans in.
“Come with me,” he says quietly. “There’s something you need to see.”