The Grand Winter Masquerade was the highlight of the royal season — a glittering affair of gold chandeliers, twinkling crystal glasses, and nobles wearing more feathers than a peacock on parade. I had no intention of showing up.
And yet, here I was.
Not because I suddenly developed a taste for champagne or awkward noble small talk — oh no — but because Prince Caelan sent a very polite letter that basically translated to: "Attend the ball or I'll drag you here myself."
So I came. In the most scandalous crimson gown my designer could conjure, paired with a mask of black lace that screamed villainess, but make it fashion.
"You're late," Caelan's smooth voice slid over me like warm honey. He stood by the marble staircase, a vision in silver embroidery, his mask framing those annoyingly perfect cheekbones.
"I was busy," I replied sweetly. "Plotting my next world domination. You know how it is."
His lips twitched in that you're impossible but I secretly like it way, but before he could reply, Duke Lysander appeared — all dark elegance and smugness, holding two glasses of champagne.
"Your Highness, Lady Seraphine," Lysander greeted, offering one glass to me instead of Caelan. His smile was sharp, his eyes sharper. "You look… dangerous tonight."
"Compliment accepted," I said, taking the drink. "And here I thought you preferred your women demure and boring."
"Oh, I prefer them entertaining," he murmured, gaze lingering a second too long.
Caelan stepped forward, his tone suddenly cooler. "Lysander, shouldn't you be charming someone else's date?"
"I don't see her wearing your crest yet," Lysander replied, voice smooth as silk. "So technically…"
Oh great. Two handsome men about to duel over me in the middle of a royal ball.
"Gentlemen," I interrupted, "before you start posturing like roosters, may I remind you that I'm here for the free food and not your egos?"
But of course, the universe had other plans.
Halfway through the evening, the music shifted to a slower, more intimate waltz. Caelan offered his hand. Lysander immediately mirrored him.
I should have picked one. I should have acted with dignity.
Instead, I smirked and said, "Why not both?"
Cue the most chaotic, jealousy-fueled three-person dance the ballroom had probably ever witnessed. Nobles whispered. Fans fluttered. Somewhere, the heroine Aria looked like she'd swallowed a lemon.
It was glorious.
Unfortunately, my fun ended when a hooded figure brushed past me and slipped something into my hand. A folded piece of parchment.
I opened it discreetly — and my stomach dropped.
"They know you're not the real Lady Seraphine. Midnight. The balcony. Come alone."
For the first time that night, the champagne turned sour in my mouth.
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END OF CHAPTER 27