The three of them strode into the glittering crush of the ballroom, chandeliers blazing overhead like a thousand suns, the air thick with perfume, roasted pheasant, and too many nobles trying to out-laugh each other. Nicolae's gaze darted across the sea of silks and powdered wigs, feverish, hungry, like a hunting dog let off its leash. Every swish of a skirt or flash of dark curls made his pulse hitch—where is she, where's my queen, where's my hot disaster?
Bennihan's eyes, sharper than a bayonet, flicked sideways at him. "What are you planning this time, Nic?" Her tone carried the dry bite of someone who had been dragged into his messes since childhood. "Do I need to run interference before you ignite another diplomatic incident? Because history suggests yes."
Nicolae eyes darted still trying to locate his target, boots clicking against the marble, braid whipping against his back. "I'm telling you, this is going to work. She's going to see me with someone else, she'll get jealous, and bam—straight into my bed." He gestured so wildly the tassels on his uniform nearly smacked Darius in the face.
Darius, hands neatly folded behind him, tilted his head. He looked like a man attending a lecture on grain exports rather than listening to a half-drunk prince strategize about seducing the queen. "You have a great deal of confidence for someone who's been rejected more times than I can count."
Nicolae jabbed a finger at him. "That's because rejection builds character. And masochism. Mostly masochism."
"Mostly brain damage," Bennihan muttered under her breath.
Before Nicolae could launch into a defense, Bennihan Mallory Drachenberg—his baby sister, all crisp lines and military steel in her own tailored uniform looked from Nicolae's manic pacing to Darius's deadpan expression, and her lips curled in that special way only sisters mastered, halfway between disgust and resignation.
"Please tell me," Bennihan said, arms crossed, "that you aren't planning another of your catastrophic courtship strategies. The last time you tried to 'make her jealous,' you ended up with a black eye and an offended archduchess threatening to move her entire sugar trade to Zafirah."
Nicolae's grin widened. "Worth it."
Bennihan sighed the sigh of a sister who had been sighing since birth. "You're going to get yourself killed. Or worse—embarrass me again."
Darius looked between them, as though debating whether to slip away quietly. "He was just explaining his plan, Princess."
"Yes," Nicolae said, puffing up his chest. "I find a hot woman—"
"Or man," Darius interjected dryly.
"Or man, whatever, doesn't matter to Kae. I flirt, I flaunt, she goes green with envy, and suddenly she's climbing me like a tree in rutting season." Nicolae mimed climbing motions that made Bennihan rub her temple.
"You're not a tree," she said. "You're a weed."
"A hot weed," Nicolae shot back.
Bennihan ignored him. "And what role does Darius play in this carnival of idiocy?"
Nicolae swung an arm around the man's shoulder. "He's my wingman! My hype-man! My—"
Darius leaned away from the touch, voice as flat as stone. "Your alibi when this inevitably ends in bloodshed."
Bennihan's eyes, sharper than a bayonet, flicked sideways at him. Her tone carried the exhaustion of someone who had dragged him out of countless scandals by the ear. "Do I need to run interference before you ignite another diplomatic incident? Because history suggests yes."
Nicolae puffed out his chest, scanning the far corner, then the dais, then the cluster of fawning courtiers near the wine fountain. "You wound me, sister. Have a little faith."
"I'd sooner have faith in a leaky ship," Bennihan muttered, straightening the cuff of her jacket. "At least that only sinks once."
Behind them, Darius stood like a shadow, silent as always, though the faint twitch of his lips suggested he was taking quiet pleasure in Bennihan's barbs. He adjusted his gloves, eyes flicking to the crowded floor with all the energy of a man at his own funeral.
Bennihan, who had been watching Nicolae's jittering hunt for Kaelani with a practiced squint, suddenly tilted her chin toward a group of ladies huddled near the wall. Their gowns were crumpled, their powdered faces blotched with tears, and every single one of them looked as though they had been spat out of the abyss itself. "You might want to start with that bunch," she said coolly, pointing with her glass. "They look like they've just been chewed up and spit out by the Queen."
Nicolae spun on his heel, following her gesture, and when he caught sight of the ruined gaggle his entire expression lit up like a torch. "Where there is destruction," he declared proudly, "there is my Queen." His grin widened into something feral as he angled himself toward the velvet curtains across the ballroom. He didn't even notice the way courtiers recoiled at his booming voice; he was already drunk on the prospect of finding her.
He started forward, almost bouncing on his heels, then twisted back just long enough to throw them both a wink. "Wish me luck!"
Darius's lips curved into the faintest of smiles, but Bennihan stuck her tongue out like an impudent child, unwilling to indulge her brother's theatrics. Nicolae, giddy and full of idiotic confidence, all but skipped away, vanishing into the swirl of silks and candlelight.
The moment he was out of earshot, Bennihan's playfulness drained. She turned sharply on Darius, her expression slicing through the ballroom chatter like a blade. "So," she said, low and solemn, "why does my father have you watching Nicolae?"
For the briefest flicker of a heartbeat, surprise cracked Darius's mask. Then it was gone, smoothed over with the same warm, unreadable smile that made him impossible to pin down. "Not much escapes your notice, Princess," he said softly. "I should not be shocked—you are a strategist, after all."
Her arms crossed, eyes narrowing. "And you aren't that good at deflecting, you rat."
That drew a genuine smile from him, a tiny nod that admitted her accuracy without shame. He leaned closer just enough to ease her temper with a threadbare truth. "I am only here to make sure Nicolae doesn't kill anyone. Or set the hallway on fire."
Her eyes sharpened further. "Or get in the way of the King's plans."
Darius inclined his head, his posture graceful, unreadable, as though the words rolled past him like water. He offered no denial, only a courteous bow. "Princess, I take my leave."
And with that, he turned and sauntered off in Nicolae's wake, the lines of his shoulders calm, elegant, betraying nothing of the storm underneath.
____________________________________________________________________________
Nicolae's boots clicked sharp against the marble as he cut through the cluster of courtiers, eyes catching on a familiar laugh not far from the balcony doors. Emily was there, his baby sister, her cheeks pink with wine and delight, giggling in conversation with—Nicolae stopped mid-step, his brow furrowing. Standing beside her was a slip of a girl in a ridiculous getup, a mixture of servant's humility and scandalous flair, like a lamb shoved into a wolf's costume.
He eyed her up and down with a slow, incredulous stare before leaning toward Emily. "Why," he asked flatly, "is there a servant girl dressed as a gigolo at the ball?"
Emily's green eyes lit up with mischief. She rose on her toes and kissed her big brother's cheek, laughing at the scandalized curl of his lip. "That, dearest Nicolae, is Kaelani's idea. She's taken quite a liking to Milly here, and now she's her newest pet."
Nicolae blinked, then his lips peeled back into a grin sharp enough to draw blood. Perfect, he thought. Absolutely perfect. Kae has already marked this one as hers. If I play this right, she'll be clawing the curtains in fury before the night is out.
He turned his attention fully on Milly—Sir Hugh Jass, in his mind a far more fitting moniker—and let his wolfish charm unspool. He bowed low, eyes gleaming with mock reverence. "My, my," he purred, "I must say, I adore what you're wearing. That boldness, that… scandal. It takes a rare kind of courage to dress so dangerously at a royal gathering." His gaze flicked deliberately down Milly's outfit and back up again. "I'd love to know more about you, darling."
Milly's cheeks went pink as she giggled, shoulders hunching beneath the attention. Emily clapped her hands in delight, clearly entertained by her brother's antics. Nicolae leaned closer, every inch of him radiating the smugness of a man convinced his plan was unfolding flawlessly.
Milly tilted her head, curls bobbing as she blinked up at him, that sweet unassuming smile still in place. "Wait," she said suddenly, finger tapping her chin. "Aren't you the one who was at the house the other night?"
Nicolae's grin widened, teeth flashing like a wolf proud of his snare. "Yes, that was me," he said smoothly, expecting the usual fluttering blush, the swoon, the breathless sigh.
Instead Milly's brow furrowed in thought. "But… aren't you interested in the Queen?"
His charm flickered. "Well, yes, I—"
"And don't you want to marry her?" she pressed, head tilting further, voice lilting with the innocent curiosity of a child poking a bug with a stick.
Nicolae faltered, his mouth half-open. "Well… yes, of course, but—"
"Then why are you talking to me instead of the Queen?" Milly asked, eyes round with genuine confusion. She wasn't flirting, she wasn't swooning—she was interrogating him like a tax collector.
"Well, I…" Nicolae tried again, but his words fell into the hungry silence.
Milly only leaned closer, the questions coming quicker now, relentless little blades slipping beneath his armor. "If you want the Queen, why would flirting with her servant make her jealous? Wouldn't that just make her think you're unfaithful? Or worse—stupid?"
Nicolae's tongue tripped in his mouth. For once, his smile wasn't working. He was used to women going glassy-eyed the second he smirked, used to sighs and melted resistance. Instead, he was being pummeled by logic in a pretty dress. His face stiffened, the confidence in his stance wobbling like a drunk on ice.
Emily snorted into her hand, trying not to laugh, green eyes sparkling with wicked amusement as she watched her big brother get dismantled by a girl half his size.
Nicolae swallowed, cheeks heating, a vein twitching in his temple. What the hell is this? he thought, Since when do they fight back?
Emily, who adored her older brother no matter how many messes he dragged her into, pinched Nicolae's cheek affectionately. "Brother, you should know better than to go after Kaelani's inner circle. She surrounds herself with a certain type—women who won't fall for your antics."
Nicolae grinned, undeterred. Giving up was not in the cards for him, not with Kae somewhere within earshot. He leaned closer to Milly, his voice low, his eyes gleaming with the thrill of the hunt. "Well, the Queen is not interested in me, and I am looking for someone who might be. I find you very… uhh… interesting. So I thought we could talk—"
"Ohhhhhh, there's cake! Can I have some, Your Grace?" Milly squealed, her eyes darting to a passing tray of desserts like a crow spotting shiny coins. Her attention span fluttered away, leaving Nicolae mid-sentence, his charm wasted on the back of her curls.
Emily threw her head back with laughter, intoxicated and merry. "Stay here, Milly—I'll get you a slice. And you—" she poked Nicolae's chest, "behave." With that, she brushed past him, skirts swishing as she vanished into the crowd.
The moment Emily was gone, Nicolae placed a hand slyly on the wall beside Milly, caging her with his arm. She hardly noticed, her gaze still tracking Emily's progress toward the dessert table. Nicolae cleared his throat, forcing his voice into a silken purr. "So… Hugh Jass…"
Milly promptly spat her drink across her lap, dissolving into giggles. "Kaelani gave me that name! Do you think it's beautiful?"
Nicolae shut his eyes briefly, sighing. Of course Kae had named her servant something that obscene. He tilted his head, pressing onward, unwilling to surrender. His voice dropped lower, his lips curving into a wolfish smile. "I think we should test our compatibility. Wouldn't you love to know what it's like being with a prince?"
Milly blinked at him, confused, her lashes fluttering as he leaned in, his mouth just inches from hers. Her eyes went wide, but not with attraction—with bewilderment—when suddenly Nicolae let out a strangled yelp. His head snapped back, his braid pulled tight in a gloved fist.
Kaelani was behind him.
She yanked his hair until his spine arched against her chest, her lips brushing his ear, her voice dripping with condescension. "How is it," she purred, "that I leave for a few minutes and return to find a dog sniffing around my Hugh Jass?"
Milly burst into laughter, clutching her sides, the unintended innuendo far too perfect to ignore. Nicolae, however, was drowning in the exquisite cocktail of pain and humiliation that curled like fire through his chest and into his groin. His knees trembled, his breath hitched. "Uhnnnn… uhhhhh…"
Kaelani sneered, giving his hair one final vicious tug before lifting her foot and planting it firmly on his backside. "Back off, blondie." With a push, she sent him stumbling forward.
Nicolae rubbed his neck, half-praying she'd do it again, half-burning with need. He turned back quickly, searching her face for some glimmer of jealousy, but Kaelani wasn't even looking at him. She was cupping Milly's cheeks with mock-tenderness, doting on the girl instead. "Aww, did that mangy mutt touch my little Sir Jass?" she crooned. Milly giggled, delighted.
Across the room, Ms. Tempers watched with wide eyes. The queen was not the one jealous here—it was the Fifth Prince, his every twitch betraying an ecstasy too raw to disguise.
"Kae," Nicolae tried again, his voice husky, "I am enamored by this young lady, and—"
Kaelani flicked open the fan she'd stolen moments ago, snapping it up between them. "Silence, peasant. You will not touch my harem."
His grin returned, feral and hungry. "You… have a harem? Can I—"
"No blondes allowed." Her words cut him down with the ease of a knife. She hooked her arm through Milly's, gesturing to Ms. Tempers as well. "Come, my darlings. Let's find Emily."
The trio swept off, skirts swirling, laughter trailing behind them. Nicolae stood abandoned, fists flexing, knuckles popping—a nervous tic that betrayed the storm inside him. His pulse thundered with humiliation and desire in equal measure. His Queen had cast him aside, but god, every cruel word only made him want her more.
____________________________________________________________________________
Darius stood with a knot of officers near the wine fountain, all sharp uniforms and grave talk of borders, taxes, and the war that refused to end. He was halfway through a measured observation about supply chains when Nicolae barged in like a cannonball through silk drapes. There was no greeting, no apology, not even a nod of recognition for the men who stiffened at the intrusion. Nicolae's voice rang out above the hum of the crowd, raw with urgency.
"Darius—it failed. I need consolation."
He hadn't even broken stride. He walked past the startled officers without sparing them a glance, calling Darius to his side as if dragging him on an invisible leash. Darius offered the other men a smooth, polite bow, excused himself with two words, and then followed after the storm that was the Fifth Prince.
They stopped in a shadowed corner of the ballroom, a vantage point that still afforded a clear view of Kaelani, but far enough away that she would not notice their plotting. Nicolae's chest rose and fell with all the theatrics of a man freshly wounded. He raked a hand through his hair, wincing when his fingers brushed the sore spot. "It didn't work. She…" His voice dropped, meant to sound wounded, but his cheeks betrayed him with a fevered blush. "…she pulled my hair." His body shivered, recalling the sensation, and his lips pressed together as if holding back a groan.
Darius's smile came easily, a small curve of lips that betrayed nothing but patience. "Well, that could be," he said slowly, "because you are using the wrong target."
Nicolae rubbed his chin, squinting like a general before a map. "Target, huh? What do you suggest?"
Darius let out a soft sigh, the sort that suggested he had just resigned himself to tutoring a particularly stubborn child. His voice lowered, deliberate, coaxing. "Tell me, Your Highness—who does Kaelani want to sleep with most at this very moment?"
Nicolae froze, brows furrowed in thought. "Uh… everyone but me, apparently?"
The sigh that left Darius this time was long, like a man surrendering to fate. "Me," he said gently. "She wants me. Remember what I told you out in the hall?"
Nicolae snapped his fingers, pointing up at him with sudden clarity. "That's right—you did say that a long time ago."
"No, Your Highness," Darius corrected patiently, "it was not a long time ago. It was less than twenty minutes." He tilted his chin toward the Queen, drawing Nicolae's gaze across the ballroom.
And there she was. Kaelani lounged in her chair like a cat in heat, lips wrapped around the rim of her champagne flute, tongue flicking to lap at the last traces of foam. Her eyes were locked on Darius across the room, her smirk daring him to react.
Nicolae's face soured instantly. "She never does that to me."
Darius turned back, his hand rising almost lazily to grip Nicolae's chin between two gloved fingers, turning his head with the authority of a man accustomed to obedience. His voice was soft, but every word struck like steel. "She does that to me because she knows she cannot have me. So perhaps, Your Highness, you should be using me."
For a moment Nicolae simply stared, blinking, his lips parted like a man caught between revelation and rage. His mind ground and sputtered, gears turning painfully slow. Then at last, his eyes widened, an "oh" forming on his mouth as the cogs clicked into place. Plan B was born, and his grin returned like a wolf catching the scent of prey.
____________________________________________________________________________
The herald's voice boomed over the chatter, silencing the nobles with ceremonial gravitas. "The first dance of the evening shall commence—let the couples come forth."
All eyes turned toward the gleaming expanse of the marble floor. Traditionally, this was a tender display: a duke and his duchess, young lovers stealing their first public waltz, a moment to bless the festivities with romance. Tonight, however, the gathered courtiers nearly swallowed their own tongues.
Gasps, muffled laughter, and a few delighted shrieks rippled through the crowd as two tall figures strode side by side into the center of the floor. Not a simpering noble maiden and her decorated suitor. Not a pair of blushing betrothed. No—tonight the opening act was none other than Prince Nicolae Wilhelm Drachenberg and the ever-unflappable Captain Darius.
The ballroom stilled, as if the chandeliers themselves were holding their breath. The musicians faltered, bows hovering over strings, flutes frozen at lips. A violin gave a pitiful squeak and cut off.
Kaelani, who had been halfway through draining another glass, dropped her jaw so far it nearly bounced off her cleavage. Her eyes bulged with disbelief, the champagne dribbling over her lip as she forgot to swallow. "What in the—"
Meanwhile, Darius extended his gloved hand with practiced elegance, his expression composed and princely, as though nothing in the world were unusual about inviting another man into a lovers' waltz. Nicolae, to his own horror and glee, accepted it. The two strode into the center of the ballroom with regal poise, heads high, shoulders squared, as though daring the kingdom to challenge them.
When they stopped, Darius's hand slid with calm authority to Nicolae's waist. The other hand held his firmly, their fingers interlaced. Nicolae squirmed, the tips of his ears burning. "Darius," he hissed, "I'm the more masculine one—I should be leading. This is ridiculous."
A chuckle rolled from Darius's chest, smooth as wine. He bent close, his lips nearly brushing Nicolae's ear. "Anymore ridiculous than two men dancing together in the first couples' dance of the night?"
Nicolae opened his mouth to argue, but before he could squeeze out a retort, the music began. A slow, tender ballad poured from the instruments, one designed to swell and quicken as it went. The notes floated like a spell over the air, binding them to the rhythm before either could step back.
And so it was that the Mad Dog Prince and the King's silent shadow took to the floor, every gaze in the ballroom glued to their audacious spectacle.
The music swelled, strings rippling like water as the couples turned. Nicolae and Darius moved in step, boots clicking against marble, their uniforms sharp against the golden wash of candlelight. It should have been scandalous—two men twined together, spinning across the floor in the opening waltz—but to them it felt almost natural. Soldiers in the barracks had always drilled with each other, trading partners in dance as much as in sparring. Footwork was footwork, balance was balance. But to the aristocracy, it was a horror.
Whispers hissed from every corner. Two men? Dancing? In public? Fans fluttered furiously, monocles nearly popped free from sockets. Old dukes clutched their pearls, matrons fainted against their husbands' sleeves. Nicolae and Darius? They didn't spare a glance. They glided as if they had been partners for a lifetime.
"Your posture is excellent," Darius murmured, his voice warm and smooth. "Strong shoulders, steady hands. Quite elegant, Your Highness."
Nicolae turned crimson, fighting to keep his face stoic. His jaw tightened, but his voice cracked low, urgent. "Is she looking at me? Is she jealous? Does she look… horny?"
Darius gave a sigh so soft it nearly drowned in the violins. He glanced toward the dais, then back at Nicolae. "She is no longer there."
Nicolae's head whipped around so fast his braid nearly smacked a passing viscount. His heart sank. The spot where Kaelani had been holding court was empty. "What—where did she go? Why is she gone? This is stupid, we did this for nothing!" His voice pitched high, like a boy who'd lost his toy.
Darius's lips curved into a sly smile. He leaned in, his breath brushing Nicolae's ear. "Not for nothing." His gaze shifted.
Nicolae, uncouth and overeager, snapped his head to follow. And there—just a few steps away on the marble floor—was Kaelani, dragging Emily in a twirl so sharp the poor girl nearly lost her slipper. The Queen's face was a mask of determination, her lips curled into a wicked grin as she guided Emily into a shamelessly romantic hold. Her skirts fanned like storm clouds, her tiara glittered like a weapon. She was not just dancing—she was competing.
Nicolae's breath hitched. His pale cheeks flushed scarlet, his eyes went glassy with hope. "She… she… she's jealous," he stammered, his voice catching like a prayer.
Darius's smile deepened, calm as a predator circling prey. "I told you," he said, dipping Nicolae smoothly into a turn. "Now let's give her something to really be jealous over."
And then the captain guided him into a grand, sweeping waltz, their movements so fluid they seemed almost choreographed by the gods themselves. Nicolae spun, his braid flaring, while Darius caught him with steady, sure hands. Maidens of every station gasped and shrieked, clutching each other as the scandal unfolded. Whispers rippled like fire through dry grass. The Fifth Prince and the Captain… could it be true? They were being turned into a romance novel right before everyone's eyes.
Darius spun Nicolae, guiding him as though they were lovers. The crowd was spellbound. They were magnificent.
Kaelani, however, was not about to be outdone. Her eyes blazed, her grip on Emily nearly crushing as she tried to steer them closer, angling to intercept the men when it came time to switch partners. Her intent was written plain across her face: to step on Nicolae's boots, grind her heel into his toes, and hiss back off.
But Darius was always calculating. Always just out of reach. He shifted the pace, swept Nicolae wider, his steps precise, ensuring the distance between them and the Queen remained teasingly wide.
"Slow down!" Nicolae hissed, his voice a strangled mix of desperation and fury. "When we switch partners—I need to dance with Kae!"
Darius only smiled, guiding him into another dizzying spin, his voice low and merciless. "Not yet, Your Highness. Let her burn a little longer."
At the far end of the ballroom, the first murmurs of scandal reached the royal dais like smoke drifting from a fire. Fans snapped open with vicious little flicks. Laughter bubbled here, gasps there, the gossip traveling faster than spilled wine. Two men, soldiers no less, dancing as though they were lovers. The Drachenbergs, seasoned predators of gossip themselves, leaned in eagerly. For once, the scandal was not their own.
King Hanz, however, did not share in the amusement. He scoffed loud enough to turn heads, and when his eyes found the sight—his own heir twirling across the marble floor in another man's arms—his stein slipped from his hand and crashed to the ground, foam and ale spreading like blood at a crime scene. His jaw clenched as if it might shatter.
King Hanz, however, did not share in the amusement. He scoffed loud enough to turn heads, and when his eyes found the sight—his own heir twirling across the marble floor in another man's arms—his stein slipped from his hand and crashed to the ground, foam and ale spreading like blood at a crime scene. His jaw clenched as if it might shatter.
Ritchor, never one to let sense guide his tongue, leaned forward eagerly, his face alight with idiot wonder. "So… do we get two groomsmen cakes or just one big sausage roll?"
The king's palm cracked across the back of his skull before the words had even finished leaving his mouth. Ritchor yelped and hunched down like a beaten dog, whining into his collar while the rest of the royal family pretended they hadn't heard him at all.
Bennihan, mid-argument with a general, caught sight of Nicolae being spun in Darius's arms and inhaled sharply at the wrong moment. The hors d'oeuvre in her throat lodged and then shot free, spattering to the marble. "What in the seven hells did I just watch?" she choked, eyes watering.
Merin, standing coolly beside her, didn't even flinch. He glanced, shrugged, and returned to his conversation. Nothing about his brother shocked him anymore.
Hanz, on the other hand, looked ready to storm the dance floor himself, fists balled, veins standing out at his temples. It took the queen's hand on his arm to hold him back. "Not here," she hissed. "You'll make it worse."
By then, the dance had reached the point where partners switched, though Nicolae and Darius were clearly doing their best to delay the order. Kaelani, impatient and brimming with wine-fueled wrath, took matters into her own hands. She all but dragged Emily by the wrist, cutting across the floor in a flagrant break of etiquette. Emily giggled and stumbled, too intoxicated to resist, while Kaelani's eyes locked on the two men.
"I see you have a date tonight, NICOLAE," she spat when she finally reached them.
Nicolae puffed his chest, trying to appear unbothered, though the way his body shivered betrayed him. She could practically see his nipples stiff through his coat at the thrill of her attention.
"I swear to god, Nicolae, if you don't—"
But before she could rip him apart, Darius turned smoothly, cutting between them with the kind of precision one used to parry a sword strike. His hand remained steady on Nicolae's waist as he bowed politely. "Excuse me, Your Highness," he said, his voice smooth as silk, "but you are interrupting my dance."
Kaelani blinked, her fury snagging. For Darius, her tone shifted; she couldn't afford to alienate him. "Darius, he is doing this on purpose. Stop—"
Her words were cut off again as another couple waltzed between them, as the dance required. Kaelani's patience snapped. "OMG, get the fuck out of my way!" she bellowed. The couple scattered instantly, bolting from the floor like frightened deer.
When the path cleared again, her eyes locked on Darius. "Look, Darius, I think it's obvious you're trying to get on my nerves, and it's working."
Nicolae perked up at that, his lips twitching. He tried to play indifferent, letting Darius swing him again, but he couldn't resist pouring fuel on the fire. "Kae, don't be jealous. You don't want me, so I found someone who respects me. Who wants me. Tough luck, cookie."
That did it. The partners switched. Emily fell into Darius's arms, giggling wildly, and Kaelani landed squarely in Nicolae's grasp.
The tiger had the goat. And this goat begged to be devoured.
Her body hit his with the force of a storm. He tried to rest a hand on her waist, but she slapped it away, eyes blazing. "I lead."
He melted instantly. "Yes, Your Majesty," he murmured, surrendering, placing his hand on her shoulder as she claimed his waist. For any other man, it would have been emasculating. For Nicolae, it was paradise. If she poured oil over his head and set him ablaze, he would burn smiling.
Her breath hit his ear, sharp as a blade. "What the hell are you doing with him? He's mine. Back off."
Nicolae turned his face aside, feigning boredom, though his voice shook with smug delight. "Sorry, Kae. I can't help where my heart falls. You didn't want me, and he does, so… tough luck, cookie."
"Gruuuppp—" The guttural sound burst from his throat as her heel stamped down on his foot. Pain and ecstasy tangled in his groan.
Meanwhile, Emily, oblivious and beaming drunkenly in Darius's arms, piped up. "Soooo… are you going to marry my brother? Will we be siblings?"
Darius laughed, low and warm, though his brows arched at the absurdity. "It is not so serious. And besides—Nicolae cannot get over Kaelani. It would be futile."
Emily nodded solemnly, then hiccupped, her words slurring but earnest. "Well, Kaelani will never marry. So at least Nicolae could find happiness in another. I want him to be happy. Maybe he'll see your feelings someday."
For once, Darius's composure cracked. His lips parted, his eyes flickered, surprise catching him off guard. Emily only giggled, waving across the floor at Milly, who was deep in chatter with a blushing young soldier.
Darius let out a soft, indulgent chuckle at Emily's rambling, hoping her words were nothing more than wine-loosened nonsense and not the slip of a truth he had worked so hard to bury. Surely she is drunk, not perceptive, he thought, smoothing his expression into that effortless calm he wore like armor. "Do not worry," he told her gently, "Nicolae would never look my way."
Emily pouted, then brightened. "That's a shame. I rather like you." She twirled, half-tripping into Darius's lead, and he rewarded her with a swirl back into Kaelani's direction. But instead of catching Emily, the Queen brushed her aside with a flick of her fan. Emily went spinning past, squealing with laughter as she crashed into the next couple.
Kaelani stepped in without apology, snapping her fan open to hide Nicolae's face as though he were a nuisance to be erased. She reached for Darius, and he accepted her hand smoothly, folding her into the rhythm of the waltz. Nicolae went crimson, his eyes glued to them even as Emily sidled back into the circle. "Hi, Nicolae," she said with breezy mischief, slipping into his arms. "Ready to finish the dance?" He opened his palms to take her, but his gaze never left Kaelani and Darius. His heart hammered against his ribs.
"So, Darius," Kaelani teased, her lips close enough to brush his jaw. "You look a little too softly into Nicolae's eyes. Makes me think you might actually like him." She said it playfully, but her eyes hunted for truth.
Darius inclined his head, a smile smooth and courtly. "You know such behavior is not permitted in Aschenmark. It is… frowned upon."
Kaelani's smile sharpened. "Of course. But not in Nubarra. Not in my country. And you, Captain, are from my country too." She searched his eyes, the music spinning them, pulling her words into the shadows between each step.
He rarely had to rely on tricks, but with her he chose the pivot. "You care for Nicolae," he said softly, steering the conversation with a soldier's precision. "Why string him along?"
For a breath, her mask slipped. Her eyes flickered with something pained, something almost tender. "That is not why I reject him. Not even close." Her voice went quiet, shaded with sadness. Darius recognized truth when it rang; this one rang like iron struck.
He pressed, voice low. "Then tell me—what is the real reason you push him away?"
Kaelani's lips curved into a sly, dangerous grin. "I'll tell you… if you take me into the next room and warm my undergarments for me."
Darius exhaled a long, quiet sigh, though a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. He bowed his head with gallant grace. "Alas, Your Majesty, I am a poor laundress," he murmured. "But if commanded, I would make the attempt."
The music swirled them closer, closer, their hands brushing as if nothing were amiss. Kaelani's eyes gleamed with secrets. Darius's mask never slipped. Nicolae, watching them from the other side of the circle, thought he might combust.
Kaelani's eyes lingered where they should not. Darius's features were carved clean and sharp, his jawline hard as Nubarran steel, his chin noble enough to hold a crown. She had never seen the fullness of his hair—he always wore the traditional head wrap of their homeland, a proud symbol of custom that separated him from these pale courtiers. That simple cloth, wrapped with reverence, pulled her toward him more than any jewel could.
Something about Darius unraveled her. He was not handsome in the way Nicolae was handsome—bright, brash, dangerous like a blade flashing in firelight. No. Darius was handsome like the hearth after battle, like the sun at the end of prayer. He was home. He was warmth. And she missed home so badly she found herself searching for scraps of it in anything—food, fabric, faces. Tonight, all that longing coiled in him.
The music swelled, then shifted into its final passage, signaling the last return to original partners. Kaelani slipped past Nicolae without a glance, her skirts brushing his boots like a dismissal. Emily fell into her arms again, the two women collapsing into giggles as they twirled each other.
Nicolae, however, was far from happy. He was in Darius's arms, and he was seething. His voice grated through clenched teeth. "What the hell, Darius-"
"I talked about you to the Queen." Darius's reply was curt, clipped like a commander dressing down a cadet.
Nicolae's head snapped around, fury slipping into sudden hunger. "Oh? Really? You did well then. What did she say? Was it about me?" His eyes gleamed, wild and fevered.
Darius was tired. Tired of being the rope in their tug-of-war. His patience thinned into a single thread. "She said you should give up."
Nicolae's jaw dropped. He nearly tripped over his own boots, though Darius steadied him easily. He kept his voice low for dignity's sake, but his tone spiraled into hysteria. "Are you kidding me? After all this? She was jealous! Jealous!"
"She was jealous of you," Darius corrected evenly, "not for you."
Nicolae scoffed, throwing his head back, his braid whipping like a banner. "So what do you suggest, Darius, huh? That I just sit here like some neutered dog? What then?"
Their eyes locked. For the first time, Darius let himself hold the gaze fully, his brown eyes reflected in Nicolae's icy blue, the distance between them a thread of heat. His lips curved, not cruelly, but with the soft amusement of a man about to detonate a bomb. "We end the dance in a way that will ensure the Queen never questions if we are a couple."
Nicolae blinked, uncomprehending. He opened his mouth to ask how, but the music chose that moment to crash to its finale.
Darius led the final step with soldier's precision, and Nicolae found himself dipped low, spine arched, his back nearly parallel to the marble. Gasps rippled as though the whole ballroom inhaled at once. Nicolae's braid brushed the floor, his eyes blown wide. And then, with perfect timing, Darius bent low and pressed his lips firmly against Nicolae's.
The kiss sealed the air.
The strings snapped silent. The flutes died. Not a single note or whisper dared intrude. For the second time that night, the ballroom dropped into stunned, suffocating quiet. Not a sound. Not a breath. Every fan froze in mid-snap. Every noble hung open-mouthed.
Nicolae whimpered against the kiss. Kaelani's champagne flute shattered in her hand.