Lucius stared at his sister, who was lazily glaring at him from across the room. Mother is right—I have to rein myself in.
His smile softened, all warmth and ease, but his eyes never lost their sharpness.
As always, his sister looked cute. But now, she was regal, graceful—and though he tried to deny it… utterly captivating.
His gaze flickered across the ballroom. Princes, dukes, nobles—they were all watching her. Wanting her.
He smirked. Too bad. She was already his.
Approaching, he moved with practiced ease, bowing low as he extended a hand.
"Dear sister, would you honor me with this dance? I recall you're quite fond of it." His voice was nothing but gentle persuasion.
He tilted his head. "Or… does sister detest dancing with me?"
He ignored the look she gave him, his own eyes deepening, unwavering.
"I assure you, sister," he murmured, fingers still outstretched, "I am a worthy partner. And the best available choice."
Taking her hand, he led her onto the dance floor, his grip light yet unyielding.
Lucius guided her with effortless grace, every step precise, ensuring Alexia never faltered. The music wove through them, but beneath his practiced elegance, his body burned—a dormant volcano threatening to erupt.
Still, he held on. He would hold on.
As he twirled her, he reached back, claws sliding out just enough to draw a thin line of blood at the nape of his neck. The sting was grounding. His vision sharpened, the heat within him momentarily soothed.
Then she tilted her head ever so slightly, and without thinking, he inhaled her scent—delicate, intoxicating.
His body reacted worse this time. Fiercer.
Lucius pressed his wrist against a hidden blade, letting pain steady him once more.
That was how the dance continued. Step after step, wound after wound. He would endure it. Even if it killed him.
Smiling, he pulled her closer, fingers tightening at her waist.
Nothing—nothing—would take her from him.
When the music ended, Lucius was panting lightly, but contentment gleamed in his eyes.
He caught the worry flickering across Alexia's face and smiled.
"Lucius. Are you—"
"Eager to watch the fireworks with you? Yes. At midnight." His voice was smooth, unwavering, as he gracefully led her back to Belinda.
Before leaving, he brushed a stray lock of her hair behind her ear. A fleeting touch. Then he turned and walked away, disappearing down a quiet corridor.
Out of sight, his control wavered.
Pressing against the cool wall, Lucius exhaled sharply, a low hiss of pain escaping through gritted teeth. His fingers curled around something delicate.
A strand of Alexia's hair.
With odd fascination, he held it up, watching how the light caught on its soft texture.
Then, unable to stop himself, he brought it to his nose and inhaled.
"Damn it."
His body burned, fire licking through his veins, his breath coming in harsh, uneven pants. Sweat dripped onto the blue marble floors. Yet he couldn't let go.
His vision blurred. His head spun.
Then—
A sharp, coppery tang filled his mouth.
The taste of blood.
Clarity returned like ice water down his spine. Slowly, deliberately, he pulled out a crystal locket from beneath his shirt.
With the utmost care, he placed the strand inside, sealing it away as if it were something sacred.
Once it was secured against his chest, he straightened, smoothing out his expression.
"Just a few more hours. I still have to celebrate her birthday."
And with that, he stepped back into the ballroom.
***
Belinda swayed slightly, her cheeks flushed from too much wine. She took another lazy sip, eyes half-lidded as she studied Alexia.
"You look stressed," she remarked, voice languid, as if the world was moving in slow motion.
Alexia didn't respond. Midnight was approaching, and she was too focused on the countdown ticking away in her mind.
Belinda, undeterred, continued her one-sided conversation.
"I wonder if the prince will ever get married," she mused, tilting her glass and downing another sip.
Alexia shot her a glance. The woman was wobbling now, struggling to stay upright in her seat. A hiccup escaped her lips, but—gods help her—she still kept drinking.
Alexia waved a hand in front of her face. No reaction.
Then, with absolutely zero self-preservation, Belinda giggled.
"If I didn't know any better, I'd think your brother wanted to… sle—" She hiccupped, swaying dangerously.
Alexia's stomach dropped.
Belinda blinked blearily, then grinned. "I mean—marry you."
And she had the audacity to giggle like she didn't just set the whole damn room on fire.
Then—another sip.
Alexia stared at her, expression unreadable.
Somewhere in the distance, the clock ticked closer to midnight.
And for the first time in her life, Alexia genuinely considered snatching a wine glass out of someone's hand for their own safety.
"But that's stupid..." Belinda slurred, blinking slowly.
Alexia exhaled, trying to keep her patience.
"Maybe you'd have a couple of kids first," Belinda continued, nodding sagely, as if imparting deep wisdom.
Then, with absolutely no warning, she set her wine glass down and lurched to her feet.
"I have to tell—" Hiccup.
Alexia didn't know what she planned to "tell," but she had no interest in finding out. She grabbed Belinda's wrist before she could wobble off to cause irreversible damage.
"We are not having kids," Alexia stated firmly.
Belinda froze.
Her drunken haze seemed to clear just enough for realization to dawn—and promptly send her spiraling.
Her face paled. Eyes widened.
"Does that mean... I'm having kids?" she whispered, voice cracking as tears welled up.
Alexia opened her mouth—to say what, she wasn't sure—but Belinda was already gone.
"I'm too young to be a mother!" she wailed, clutching her chest like she'd been struck by lightning. Then, with a dramatic sniffle, she turned teary eyes to Alexia.
"Wait… Is it you?"
Before Alexia could comprehend that accusation, Belinda grabbed her waist and collapsed into a tragic heap at her feet.
"You have to take responsibility!" she sobbed, hiccuping pathetically.
Alexia's face burned.
"Belinda, no one is having kids!"
"Liar!" Belinda wailed louder, clinging tighter. "Women have kids! I'm going to be a woman this year! You can't abandon us!"
Alexia pinched the bridge of her nose.
This was, without a doubt, the worst conversation of her life.
"My dear Princess, do you need assistance?"
A smooth voice came from behind her.
Alexia turned slowly—very slowly—while Belinda continued to clutch her waist like a lifeline.
Standing before her was a muscular man, draped in unchecked luxury, his gaze filled with undisguised interest. He was just a bit taller than her.
And, unintentionally, the first thing out of her mouth was—
"Are you a dwarf?"
Silence.
The man blinked.
Alexia's stomach dropped. That sounded wrong. She hurried to explain.
"I mean, you look like a dwarf—according to the descriptions I've read about."
Why was this getting worse?
Before she could dig herself any deeper, Belinda suddenly gasped, her grip on Alexia tightening.
"Are you cheating now? Fine then!" she declared, chest heaving dramatically. "But you have to pay child support."
The nobleman coughed lightly into his fist before smiling.
"I am, in fact, a dwarf, Your Highness. I wasn't aware dragons took such an interest in our kind."
His gaze flicked over her from head to toe, assessing. Then, tilting his head, he smirked.
"And for a dragon, you're not exactly… towering." A pause. His grin widened. "You might be the first one I don't have to look up to."
Belinda, still latched onto Alexia's waist, scowled fiercely.
"Cheating scum," she muttered darkly.
Alexia's face burned—whether from anger or sheer embarrassment, she had no idea.
The nobleman chuckled. "Is this… delightful girl your friend?"
Alexia forced a smile. "Can I deny her?"
He nodded, completely unbothered. "Fair enough."
And then he just grinned at her, gaze lingering like he was enjoying this way too much.
"May I know who you are? It's not exactly polite etiquette to be mysterious." Alexia smirked, her composure returning.
The nobleman placed his hands behind his back, standing with practiced ease. "My princess may call me Prince Alastor of Terra."
Alexia tilted her head. "Prince Alastor may call me… Chaos."
His lips quirked up. "Fitting."
"And you're right—it's nice to finally talk to someone at eye level for once."
Alastor chuckled. "Then, would Princess Chaos grant me a dance?" He extended his hand, then cast a glance at Belinda.
"And perhaps use it as an opportunity to escape your delusional friend?"
He smiled, warm and amused.
"Take me as your savior, if you will."
Alexia hesitated, but Belinda was now shaking her, eyes shining with urgency.
"Go! Our children need you!"
Alexia pinched the bridge of her nose. "Fine. I'll let myself be the damsel."
She took Alastor's hand, and with rushed steps, they disappeared onto the dance floor—leaving Belinda tragically alone.
Belinda sniffed. No one was paying attention to her.
Unacceptable.
So when a random man passed by, she grabbed the hem of his garment, her fingers trembling.
The man blinked, pausing as she looked up at him with teary eyes.
"My husband was stolen," she whispered, voice trembling.
The stranger tilted his head, confusion flickering in his striking green eyes. His short silver hair shifted slightly as he bent down, watching her with quiet curiosity.
Then, without a word, he pulled out a notepad and began scribbling at an impressive speed.
When he was done, he turned the page toward her.
Who stole your husband? How can I help? My name is Elias, by the way.
Belinda squinted at the words, but in her current state, they swam before her eyes.
Noticing her struggle, Elias sighed before standing. With an ease that suggested he had done this far too many times before, he helped her to her feet.
Then, without hesitation, he began leading her toward a corridor.
Dazed, Belinda stumbled along after him, still clutching his sleeve like a lost child.
Elias exhaled quietly, shaking his head with an amused smile.
What had he gotten himself into this time?
****
"What?!"
Alexia stared at Alastor like he had just declared that monkeys could fly.
…Wait. Could monkeys fly?
She furrowed her brows in thought.
Alastor chuckled, smoothly guiding her with the music. "Yes, Princess. I know you're different. And so am I."
He twirled her effortlessly, his steps fluid. Then, with a smirk, he leaned in slightly.
"So why should we obey social norms?"
Alexia's gaze flickered toward her father.
He hadn't even wished her a happy birthday. Hadn't so much as looked at her.
Her fists clenched. Her chest tightened.
Then, slowly, a smirk spread across her face.
"Let's go wild."
Alastor's grin sharpened. "I was waiting for you to say that."
He spun her once more—before coming to an abrupt stop.
And in that moment, the night truly began.
Side by side, they stepped forward in perfect sync before breaking apart, spinning around each other, and clapping.
The nobles paused, their conversations halting as all eyes turned toward them.
The commotion drew Luther's attention. His brows furrowed as he watched, confusion flickering across his face.
Alastor suddenly bent down, gripping Alexia by the waist and hoisting her into the air. He spun her effortlessly before releasing her—
Only for Alexia to leap from his arms, landing in a slide that—through some miracle—dragged Alastor with her.
They froze.
Then, exchanging a grin, they nodded.
With a playful sway, they moved in sync once more—spinning, pausing, and facing each other.
Their shoulders rolled as they swayed forward and backward, taking turns leaning in as if in some secret, ridiculous battle.
Laughter bubbled between them.
Alexia flicked her hair dramatically, moving her body to a rhythm that did not exist.
Alastor, ever the dedicated dance partner, mimicked her movements with perfect seriousness.
She took a step forward and he took one back. Then she spun, falling backwards.
He caught her, before they separated spinning in different directions and then stopping.
They panted, noticing the nobles watching them, smiled and doubled down.
" This is actually fun!" Alexia exclamed, clearly enjoying herself.
" I can promise you a lifetime of fun and chaos if you want." Alastor replied his eyes focused on her.
Then he smiled softly to himself.