The melody drifted soft as smoke, Selene's fingers light on the keys while Isolde's voice wove through the room, warm and steady. Eva lingered near the edge of the gathering, her wine glass cool in hand, the weight of Lady Erin's touch still faint on her shoulder.
Lord Valen approached with the unhurried confidence of a man used to being welcomed. "My lady," he said, inclining his head, eyes gleaming with mischief, "you've held the table like a commander and the room like a queen. Tell me, which role do you prefer?"
Eva's lips curved, but her eyes stayed level. "Neither," she replied softly. "A commander leads men into danger. A queen holds a kingdom in her grasp. I prefer not to mistake either role for a game."
Valen laughed, low and indulgent, leaning closer as though testing boundaries. "Ah, so stern. Forgive me, I only meant to say you carry yourself with a kind of gravity. One notices."
Before Eva could respond, Lucarion's voice cut across the space — not loud, but threaded with authority. "She carries more than gravity. She plays."
The music faltered for a half-beat before Selene picked it up again. Valen arched a brow. "Plays?"
"The piano," Lucarion clarified, his gaze fixed wholly on Eva. "I heard her, days ago. A melody. Was it from your homeland?"
Eva stilled, chest tightening with surprise. That solitary moment—her hands on the keys, the unguarded notes tumbling out—had felt private, almost sacred. She lifted her gaze slowly, careful to mask the flicker of shock.
"No, my lord," she said evenly, quieter than before. "It was no song. Just a melody that came to me in the moment. An expression, nothing more. I don't recall the notes."
Lucarion's gaze lingered, unreadable.
Valen chuckled, breaking the moment with an easy grin. "A pity. I would have begged a performance." He lifted his glass toward her in mock salute. "But I suppose some gifts are not meant for audiences."
He lingered, studying her with the same gleam that had carried him through dinner. "Then perhaps," he said, tilting his head, "if not the piano… do you dance, my lady?"
A ripple of amusement stirred the gathering — Isolde's lips curved faintly, Selene's brows lifted. Even the musicians glanced up, the melody softening as though waiting.
Eva traced the rim of her glass. "I have danced," she said calmly, voice steady as if recalling a distant memory. "Though I doubt my steps would suit the refinements of your court."
Valen grinned. "All the better. I would rather misstep to a new rhythm than repeat the same tired figures." He offered his hand with a flourish. "Indulge us, Lady Eva?"
For a brief moment, Eva felt Lucarion's gaze sharpen across the room — heavy, unspoken — but she did not look his way. She set her glass aside and placed her hand lightly in Valen's.
"If the court wishes to see me stumble," she said, faintly smiling, "then let it be in dance, not duty."
A murmur stirred among the guests as Valen led her to the open space by the piano. His grin was triumphant yet tempered with charm, as though he'd claimed a small victory.
"Play us something lively," he called to Selene. She obliged, fingers shifting into a quicker rhythm, while Isolde's voice lifted, playful and bright.
Valen's hand was warm at her waist, his steps confident. He moved with ease, intent on showing her off rather than guiding her.
Eva matched him, precise and unflinching, every movement a careful balance between restraint and response. The watching eyes mattered little — what mattered was the weight of the gaze she refused to acknowledge, the one that had not left her since the music began.
When Valen spun her, the flicker of candlelight caught her face. Laughter, brief and genuine, slipped free, and the room shifted: not just a lady of duty, but a woman alive in the moment.
Selene shifted into a sprightlier tune, fingers gliding, while Isolde's voice lifted in harmony.
Not to be outdone, Lord Therin rose and offered his hand to his wife. Lady Erin smiled knowingly, letting him lead with practiced ease.
Isolde, watching, tilted her head toward Lucarion, expression expectant. He acknowledged the glance, but instead of rising, his gaze flicked toward Kael.
"My commander is more suited for such grace," Lucarion said smoothly. "Kael, would you not oblige Lady Isolde?"
Kael rose, bowing slightly as he extended his hand. "An honor." His face remained composed, but the fleeting look toward Lucarion said clearly, you owe me.
Only Lucarion and Darian remained seated, the two brothers watching as the room swayed. Eva, turning beneath Valen's hand, caught the firelight in her bronze hair, laughter escaping as though she had momentarily forgotten the weight of eyes.
Darian leaned back, glass in hand, grin slow and cutting. "What a specimen you've found, brother. She's got a fire — balances your ice."
Lucarion's gaze stayed on Eva, mouth curving faintly, almost a smirk. "Then I have to be careful not to melt."
Darian chuckled, raising his glass in mock salute. "And she must be careful not to be smothered."
He swirled the wine, eyes tracking Eva as easily as Lucarion's. "Tell me something, brother — what's with that stare? You haven't looked away from her all night."
Lucarion said nothing, the faint curl of his mouth the only acknowledgment.
"And yet," Darian pressed, voice low and amused, "she's careful not to look back. Deliberate. What's that all about?"
Lucarion finally turned, amethyst gaze cutting toward his brother. "She knows my eyes are on her. That's enough."
Darian chuckled, unfazed. "Careful. Some men would take advantage of being overlooked."
Lucarion's smile sharpened. "Then you should warn your friend Valen not to forget himself. Otherwise I'll put his head through the nearest wall."
Darian's grin didn't vanish—he liked to provoke—but something in the hardness of Lucarion's tone curbed him. "Noted," he said, amusement cooling into concession.
The moment stretched, taut with expectation. Lucarion rose, moving across the room with predator-like precision, parting the crowd. Conversation thinned; even the music softened.
He reached the dancers. One precise movement, and Lucarion bowed, offering his hand to Eva as if he'd done it a hundred times before. He did not ask — he took. Valen stepped back, smile intact but tempered, and Eva's fingers closed over Lucarion's.
The contact was different — cool at first, deliberate. Lucarion's hand at her back was steady, commanding. Around them, the room seemed to hold its breath.
They danced. Where Valen's touch had been flirtation, Lucarion's was assertion — controlled, close, defining the shape of the evening. Eva moved with him, composed, guarded.
From the gallery, Darian leaned, his voice low enough for only his brother to hear. "Fire and ice indeed."
The steps carried them through the room, precise yet fluid, as though the space had shrunk to only the two of them.
"Dancing… it becomes you," he murmured, low, meant for her alone. "It gives you a look of joy that I like to see."
Eva tilted her head, faintly smiling. "It doesn't just look right," she murmured. "It feels good too. Perhaps you should try it yourself."
His eyes lingered, calculating. She allowed a faint smirk. "I see your scrutiny," she said lightly, voice steady, "have I not behaved properly?"
Lucarion's voice slipped closer, low enough for her ear alone. "Is that what you think I am doing?"
His hand at her waist pressed, almost imperceptibly.
Eva swallowed hard, her steps steady though her throat betrayed her.