The ballroom glittered like scattered stars. Crystal chandeliers spilled light across polished marble, gilded columns, and swirling gowns. Music trilled from the orchestra, nobles laughed and twirled, and trays of roasted pheasant, spiced wine, and delicate pastries floated through the crowd. Laughter and chatter wove together, filling every corner of the gilded hall.
Aurelian (present: Cael) barely noticed any of it. He didn't care for the dancing, the food, or the laughter. He came for one reason only:
Lioren (present: Illyen).
The young priest's son leaned casually against the terrace railing, fingers tracing the marble, shoulders relaxed as if the world belonged to him alone. Even from across the room, Aurelian's chest tightened at the sight. Every polite bow, every swirl of a gown, every ripple of laughter—he ignored it all.
Then a ripple of laughter drew his attention. Seraphine Montclair, a noble girl with bright eyes and rosy cheeks, stepped forward, her smile warm and flirtatious. She had admired Lioren for weeks and now approached him, extending her hand with a hopeful, polite request. "Shall we dance, Lioren?"
Aurelian's jaw tightened. He did not care for Seraphine; he did not like girls like her. But the thought of her touching Lioren, of laughter exchanged between them, was unbearable.
Without hesitation, he stepped forward. "Excuse me, Seraphine," he said, bowing gracefully, "I would be honored to take this dance instead."
Seraphine blinked, surprised, then curtsied. "Of course, Your Highness," she said lightly, and Aurelian led her to the floor.
Every step, every turn, every bow was flawless. To the nobles, it looked like a courteous, polite dance. To Aurelian, it was a delicate battlefield. He smiled faintly at Seraphine when she spoke, answered her politely, even laughed lightly at her jokes—but his eyes never left Lioren, who now glanced across the floor toward the dancers, unaware of the prince's focused attention.
Even as they spun and glided across the ballroom, Aurelian's mind remained elsewhere. He watched Lioren's relaxed posture, the way his hair caught the chandelier light, the gentle curve of his smile. Every polite interaction with Seraphine was a mask, a shield to keep her away from the boy who had captured his attention long before any noble gathering could claim it.
The song ended, and Aurelian bowed to Seraphine, who curtseyed in return. Applause rippled across the floor. He straightened, eyes immediately seeking Lioren (present: Illyen), whose gaze had returned to the terrace, unaware of the subtle tension unfolding.
Then the teasing began.
One of his friends nudged him, laughing. "Ha! You danced with Seraphine all night! Surely your heart belongs to her now?"
Aurelian's gaze swept to Lioren. "I warned you," he said softly, voice low but sharp, "do not speak her name. Or any other. I am… occupied."
The friend laughed nervously, shrugging. "Occupied? By Seraphine?"
Before anyone could tease further, Darian, who had been watching quietly, stepped forward, brow raised. "Wait," he said slowly, voice carrying just enough to be noticed, "all this time… you've been watching the priest's son, Lioren (present: Illyen)? Every ball, every gathering? Is there… a reason?"
A murmur ran through the group, half teasing, half curious. Aurelian's jaw tightened, but his polite mask remained in place. His eyes, however, never left Lioren.
"Some things," he said softly, almost to himself, "cannot be danced around."
The friends exchanged knowing looks. Only Darian seemed to understand, a small smirk tugging at his lips. Laughter, music, and swirling gowns continued around them, but Aurelian's gaze remained unwavering, locked entirely on Lioren, just as it had for years.