---
The crimson gown was a statement, a challenge thrown at the feet of the glittering court. It was a color reserved for queens and courtesans, not for a demure noble lady betrothed to the crown prince. And yet, here I was, gliding through the ballroom, a solitary, dangerous flame in a sea of pastels.
The whispers followed me like a shadow. *Did you see what she's wearing? How tasteless. Is that even proper? She's so cold now. What has gotten into her?*
Good. Let them talk. Let them build the narrative I wanted them to.
My eyes scanned the room, bypassing the fawning courtiers and the bland faces of the noble ladies I once considered friends. I was looking for something specific. I found him near the balcony, a figure of silent, imposing power that stood out even in the crowded hall.
**Duke Alaric Valerius**. The Duke of the North.
