The banquet was a masterpiece of deception.
Gold masks shimmered beneath floating lanterns.
Music drifted through the air like perfumed mist.
Nobles whispered behind jeweled fans.
Danger slid between every heartbeat.
The entire palace gathered—not for celebration, but for spectacle.
And Ariaxa was the spectacle.
When she stepped into the ballroom—
Silence fell.
Her gown was molten sun-silk, liquid gold cascading down her body, glowing with soft radiance. Every step she took left a shimmer of light on the marble floor, as if she brought dawn itself into the room.
The nobles stared as though seeing a goddess walk among them.
“Light of Vharon…”
“She’s radiant…”
“Is she even mortal…?”
Ariaxa kept her chin lifted, her expression composed, serene, untouchable.
Inside?
Her veins buzzed with danger.
The bond hummed with tension.
Kaedan’s presence pressed against her mind like a shadow breathing down her neck.
He was here.
Hidden in the crowd.
Watching her.
Claiming her.
Ariaxa glided through the ballroom like the eye of a storm—
Poised.
Calculated.
Lethal in her beauty.
She accepted an invitation to dance from a high lord allied with Rhaelle years ago. His hands trembled as they touched her waist.
Kaedan—hidden in plain sight beneath a shadow-guard helm—went rigid in the corner.
His rage tasted electric across the bond.
Ariaxa resisted the urge to smile.
Good.
Let him feel it.
She danced with nobles, laughed faintly at their attempts at flattery, tilted her head as they whispered court gossip into her ear.
Every word was information.
Every smile a weapon.
Every turn of the dance floor a calculated move in a war fought with silk instead of steel.
She slipped through political circles like sunlight through lattice.
More lords approached her.
More ladies whispered conspiracies.
More spies tried to test her resolve.
Through it all—
She felt him.
Kaedan’s gaze.
Tracking her through the crowd.
Watching every touch.
Every hand that brushed her waist.
Every bow.
Every smile.
His jealousy hit her like a pulse of heat.
She returned fire.
Ariaxa lifted her eyes, scanning the masked guards.
There.
He stood half in shadow, helmet hiding his face.
But she felt him.
The bond thrummed with dark, possessive energy.
Ariaxa turned her head—
And their eyes met across the room.
A spark ignited.
Electric.
Forbidden.
Dangerous.
Her breath caught.
Kaedan’s fingers curled into fists so tight the leather creaked.
She smiled—just barely.
The bond flared.
He took one step toward her—
But stopped.
He had to remain hidden.
She had to play her part.
Their eyes held across the ballroom like two storms about to collide.
***
The music shifted.
Nobles spun in widening circles.
The air thickened with perfume and tension.
Ariaxa let herself be led into the center of the ballroom—
exactly where she needed to be.
But someone else needed her there too.
A masked noble drifted behind her, silent as a breath.
Too close.
Too still.
Too deliberate.
Ariaxa sensed the wrongness a heartbeat too late.
A gloved hand seized her waist from behind.
A dagger pressed between her ribs—
cold, sharp, perfectly placed to pierce a vital point.
A whisper brushed her ear, velvet and venom:
“The Triarchs send their regards.”
The ballroom vanished.
The world narrowed to a point of steel.
The bond exploded with Kaedan’s scream.