The capital was alive with anticipation. Banners snapped in the crisp breeze, the streets humming with vendors, and the faint scent of roasted chestnuts and steel polish lingered in the air. Within the palace, everything was ready.
Liam, commanding in his white knight's regalia, stood at the head of the Royal Guard—his division tasked with protecting the royals. Behind them, the black-armoured knights of the North, led by their formidable Duke, formed a dark wall of steel, and to their right, the crimson-clad knights of the Red Duchy gleamed like fire under torchlight.
Every noble house had sent their own warriors—counts, marquises, even lower barons—each eager for the prestige the tournament could bring. For the victor, it was not only glory but a chance to petition the king for a personal boon. And as always, the prize would go to the one with the highest kill count in the hunt.
Tradition dictated the festivities begin with the Grand Ball.
One by one, nobles swept into the gilded hall. Murmurs of politics and court gossip wove through the air, punctuated by laughter and the clink of crystal. Theo stood near the dais, already deep in conversation. Beside him, Abigel wore the black uniform of the North—its cut severe, its golden braids catching the light as they traced over his broad shoulders.
His presence was already a statement, but the true shock to the gathered crowd had been Theo's decision to name him heir. Whispers had spread like wildfire, yet no one dared challenge it openly.
A knot of minor lords had gathered around Abigel, vying for his attention with talk of border politics, trade routes, and hunting strategies. A cluster of young noblewomen lingered nearby, their gazes lingering longer than propriety allowed, hoping for the briefest flicker of interest from the Northern heir.
Then, the herald's voice rang out.
"Presenting, Her Highness, the Princess… and the Young Duchess of the South."
The hall stilled.
Aria entered, clad in the deep green and gold uniform of the South Duchy—a perfect mirror of authority and elegance. Her silver hair had been braided in the traditional southern style, the plait sweeping over her shoulder like a river of moonlight. Around her neck, the emerald necklace of her house gleamed, catching the candlelight as if it held its own fire.
She walked with her head high, each step measured, her presence commanding without a word. In that moment, she was Selene's daughter in every possible way—regal, untouchable, and dangerous to underestimate.
From across the hall, Abigel's eyes found her. His breath caught—not because she was beautiful, but because something about her was different tonight. Sharper. Colder. A part of her he had never seen before.
And he hated the way the other men noticed it too.
When a young count leaned in to speak to her, Aria felt the weight of his stare—a heat at her back, unwavering and unyielding. Slowly, she turned.
Their eyes met.
For a long heartbeat, neither moved. The noise of the ball faded to a distant hum. It was just the two of them, locked in a silent exchange thick with unspoken words.
Caisson's voice echoed through the grand hall, sharp and commanding.
"Long live the king."
The nobles bowed their heads in unison.
"Today, I announce the start of the hunting competition. As per tradition, everything will be followed." His speech was brief, laced with the authority of a ruler who did not need to waste words. After a few more ceremonial phrases, he stepped back, and the music swelled once more, sweeping the atmosphere back into its lively rhythm.
Lilly made her way through the crowd toward Aria, flanked by Lina and Maria.
"Aria," Lilly greeted warmly, grasping her hand. The other two curtsied in respect.
"Hello, ladies," Aria replied with a polite smile.
"Aria, we need to ask you something," Lilly began, but her gaze shifted past Aria—toward Abigel, who was surrounded by a ring of nobles discussing politics.
Following her friend's eyes, Aria found him easily. The tall figure in the North's black uniform, gold trim catching the light, stood like a shadow against the polished marble. His attention seemed firmly locked on the discussion around him, though Aria could feel his awareness shift the moment she looked at him.
"What is it, Lilly?" Aria asked.
"Lina would like to speak with the Young Duke. Could you introduce them?" Lilly said, her tone carrying the faintest hint of pleading.
Aria hesitated. "He seems busy… it might not be the right moment."
"Come on, Aria—you're friends with him. Just help us out, please?" Lilly pressed, her eyes widening in a practiced, almost childish plea.
With a quiet sigh, Aria relented. She couldn't bring herself to refuse her childhood friend. "Fine."
The three of them crossed the hall toward Abigel. The conversation around him slowed as they approached.
"Lady Aria," the surrounding nobles greeted, bowing their heads.
"Young Duke," Aria said formally.
Abigel turned to her, his expression unreadable. He took her hand and, without breaking eye contact, brushed his lips lightly across her knuckles.
The warmth of his touch sent an unsteady jolt through her chest—one she immediately tried to suppress.
"I would like to introduce my friends to you," Aria said, her voice carrying over the music. Her friends dipped into graceful bows—except for Lilly, who remained by her side, fingers curled warmly around Aria's hand.
Abigel's gaze flicked to their joined hands. "It seems one of the ladies has forgotten the rules," he remarked, tone deceptively light but his eyes sharpening on Lilly.
"Oh—my apologies, Your Highness!" Lilly stammered, bowing quickly and releasing Aria's hand.
Before the air could settle, a voice called from behind them. "May I have this dance, Princess?"
Count Edward's request made Abigel's expression harden almost imperceptibly. Aria caught the faint tightening at his jaw.
"I am sorry, Young Count," she replied with a polite smile. "I must decline."
Edward looked mildly taken aback but bowed in acceptance.
"Looks like he didn't know," Lina murmured to Lilly, earning herself a sharp glance from one of the court ladies nearby.
A light conversation began—though Aria found herself mostly silent, her mind half on the tension radiating from Abigel, who also seemed disinclined to speak.
Then came another request. "Young Duke, may I have this dance with you?" Maria asked boldly. In the hush that followed, Aria knew what everyone else did—refusing a lady so openly could tarnish Abigel's reputation.
Before he could answer, Aria stepped forward with a small, knowing smile. "Why don't I have a dance with you instead?"
Maria blinked but quickly accepted. Aria took her hand without hesitation, leading her to the dance floor. She moved with the surety of someone long trained , slipping naturally into the leading role while Maria took the steps of the lady. The shift drew curious murmurs from the onlookers, and Aria caught, just for a moment, Abigel's eyes fixed on her—dark, unreadable, and far too intent.