The palace shimmered like a mirage, wrapped in gold and glass. Crystal chandeliers spilled light across the marble floors, and music floated through the grand hall like perfume.
Every noble in Valemire was there—ladies in silks, lords in velvet, masks glittering under the chandeliers. Yet beneath the laughter and waltz, Seraphina felt the air thrumming with tension.
Everyone had come to see him.
The cursed prince who'd returned from death itself.
She stood near the edge of the ballroom, her face half-hidden by a black lace mask. Her gown was deep velvet, the color of dried blood, cut to fit like shadow and fire. No one recognized her. They only whispered.
> "Who is she?"
"A new noble, perhaps. Look at that dress—how daring."
"And that necklace! The Draven crest…?"
Seraphina's lips curved faintly. She had chosen it deliberately—the serpent and sword, once a mark of his power. Tonight, it was bait.
---
A sudden hush swept through the hall as the herald announced,
> "His Grace, Prince Lucian Draven!"
Every heart seemed to stop.
He entered not as the boy she remembered, but as something carved from the bones of storms. Black uniform, silver embroidery, gloves of midnight. His hair was longer, his jaw sharper, but his eyes—those eyes—still carried the same cold fire that had ruined entire kingdoms.
For one heartbeat, Seraphina forgot to breathe.
Lucian's gaze swept the crowd like a blade. He smiled, a courteous mask, greeting nobles, bowing to the queen. But then—he stilled.
His eyes found her.
Across the hall, through the veil of people and candlelight, the curse recognized its other half.
---
She turned away first, pretending disinterest, though her pulse thundered like war drums.
A shadow fell beside her a moment later.
"May I have this dance?"
His voice was low, smooth—too controlled. The sound of someone who had practiced gentleness until it became dangerous.
She looked up slowly, as if seeing him for the first time.
"Your Grace honors me," she said, her tone polite and distant.
He took her hand. Warm. Solid. Too real.
As they moved onto the dance floor, every eye followed. The orchestra swelled. He led perfectly, flawlessly, but she matched him step for step, her every motion deliberate rebellion.
> "You wear my crest," he murmured near her ear.
"Do I?" she replied coolly. "It suited the gown."
"Few would dare."
"Few remember what it once meant."
He smiled faintly. "You speak as if you do."
Their eyes met. And for a moment, she saw something flicker behind his calm—recognition, confusion, then a flash of pain so quick it could've been imagined.
---
The music slowed. They circled each other, closer, closer, until her breath brushed his collar.
> "Have we met before?" he asked softly.
Her fingers tightened on his shoulder. "In another life, perhaps."
> "Then let me hope I did not wrong you there."
Her lips curved like a knife. "You did."
The final chord echoed through the ballroom. The crowd applauded, oblivious to the tension burning between them.
Lucian bowed. "Then perhaps," he said, voice softer now, "this time I can make it right."
> "You cannot," she whispered.
And she left him standing in the center of the floor as the next song began—his hand still raised, his expression unreadable, his curse stirring awake behind his eyes.
---
Later that night, as she walked down the empty corridor toward her carriage, she felt it again—that pull. The air thickened, shadows stretched.
> "You shouldn't have come back," she whispered to the dark.
A voice answered from behind her.
> "And yet, you waited for me."
She turned—Lucian stood at the end of the corridor, his gloves off, a faint mark glowing on his palm—the same sigil that once bound their souls.
Her heartbeat stumbled.
> "You remember," she breathed.
> "No," he said quietly. "But my curse does."
The torches flickered. Somewhere deep inside the palace, something ancient stirred, whispering her name.