The air in the ballroom was getting thinner. Alisa was sure of it.
Between the heat of a thousand bodies, the oppressive scent of heavy perfumes, and the sheer weight of expectations, there was simply no oxygen left for her.
"Lady Alisa, truly, your father's tax policies are a stroke of genius, but surely a mind as delicate as yours finds such talk dreary?"
The man speaking to her was Lord Valerius, the third son of a mining magnate. He was handsome in a generic, forgettable way, with blond hair slicked back with too much oil and a smile that didn't reach his eyes. He was looking at her chest, not her face.
Alisa tightened her grip on her champagne flute. The glass was dangerously close to shattering.
"I find politics fascinating, Lord Valerius," Alisa said, her voice sugary sweet but edged with ice. "For instance, did you know that the structural integrity of a kneecap is surprisingly fragile when struck at the correct angle?"
Valerius blinked, his smile faltering. "I... beg your pardon?"
"I was speaking of... mining," Alisa lied smoothly. "Breaking rocks. Isn't that what your family does?"
"Ah. Yes. Quite." Valerius looked unsettled. He cleared his throat. "Well, I see the Duke of Westfall signaling me. If you will excuse me, My Lady."
He bowed hastily and retreated.
Alisa let out a breath she felt she had been holding for three hours. She scanned the room. Her father, President Magnus, was holding court near the orchestra, surrounded by a wall of sycophants. He wouldn't miss her for ten minutes.
She needed air. Real air. Not this recycled mixture of gossip and desperation.
She turned and slipped through the heavy velvet curtains that led to the Eastern Balcony.
The silence hit her first.
The heavy glass doors muffled the roar of the party instantly, reducing the orchestra to a dull thrum. The night air was crisp and cold, biting at her exposed shoulders. It smelled of rain and distant coal smoke—the smell of the city, not the perfume of the elite.
Alisa walked to the stone railing and closed her eyes, inhaling greedily.
"Freedom," she whispered. "For five minutes, at least."
"Be careful," a voice drifted from the shadows. "If you breathe too deeply, you might inhale a bug. I hear the moths are quite ambitious this year."
Alisa jumped, her hand flying to her throat. She spun around, her heart hammering.
She hadn't realized the balcony was occupied.
Sitting on a stone bench in the darkest corner, half-hidden by a large potted fern, was a young man.
He was wearing a midnight blue suit that hung loosely on his frame. His skin was pale, almost luminous in the moonlight, and his dark hair was slightly messy, as if he had run his fingers through it in frustration. A silver-handled cane leaned against his knee.
It was the Sleeping Prince. Kael Ravenshade.
Alisa's initial alarm vanished, replaced by a sudden, intense curiosity. She had heard the rumors—everyone had. The Broken Heir. The Corpse Who Woke Up. She expected to see a drooling invalid.
Instead, she saw a boy who looked... tired. Tired in a way that had nothing to do with sleep.
"Lord Ravenshade," Alisa said, dropping into a reflex curtsy before she could stop herself. "I didn't see you. I apologize for intruding."
Kael smiled. It was a small, lopsided thing. It didn't look dangerous or calculating like the smiles inside the ballroom. It looked genuine.
"Please, no curtsies," Kael said, his voice a soft rasp. "My legs are currently on strike. If I try to stand and bow in return, I will likely tip over the railing and land in the fountain. That would be a tragic waste of a new suit."
Alisa laughed. It was a real laugh, startling her. "That would certainly liven up the party."
"I aim to please," Kael said. He gestured to the empty space on the bench beside him. "You looked like you were fleeing a battle, Lady Silverwindcrest. Was it Valerius? I saw him cornering you near the ice sculpture."
Alisa hesitated, then walked over and sat down, leaving a respectful distance between them.
"Was it that obvious?" she asked.
"You looked like you were calculating the velocity required to throw your drink in his face," Kael noted. "I admired the restraint."
"He called my mind 'delicate,'" Alisa admitted, looking out at the city lights. "I hate that word. Delicate. Fragile. Ornamental."
"They are just words men use when they are afraid of things they can't control," Kael said quietly.
Alisa turned to look at him. His profile was sharp, etched against the dark sky. For a moment, he didn't look like an invalid at all. He looked old. Ancient.
"And you?" Alisa asked. "Why are you hiding out here in the dark? Everyone wants to meet you. You are the miracle of Oakhaven."
Kael let out a scoff that turned into a cough. He tapped his cane against the stone floor.
"A miracle," he repeated, the word dripping with irony. "That is what they call it. I call it being a circus attraction. They don't want to meet me, Lady Alisa. They want to poke the anomaly. They want to see if I'm brain-damaged. They want to count my ribs and bet on how long I'll last."
He looked at her, his gray eyes shimmering with a vulnerability that tugged at Alisa's heart.
"I got tired of being inspected," Kael whispered. "I just wanted to look at the stars. They didn't change while I was asleep. They are the only things that feel familiar."
Alisa felt a wave of profound sadness for him. To wake up after seven years, a stranger in his own life, paraded around like a prize pony by a father desperate to prove he wasn't finished.
"It must be lonely," she said softly.
"It is," Kael admitted. "But... loneliness is honest. The party inside?" He gestured toward the glowing glass doors. "That is a room full of people who hate each other, pretending to be friends. That is a deeper kind of loneliness."
Alisa stared at him. He understood.
He wasn't like Valerius, or Verrick, or even her father. He wasn't trying to impress her. He wasn't trying to use her. He was just... broken. And honest about it.
"I hate it too," Alisa confessed, the words spilling out. "The etiquette. The masks. My father calls it 'The War of Tea Parties.' I have to smile at people I despise. I have to wear corsets that crush my ribs. I have to pretend I don't know how to solve the trade deficit just so Lord Valerius doesn't feel threatened."
She clenched her fists in her lap.
"I want to scream sometimes. I want to tear the dress off and put on armor and actually do something."
She stopped, realizing she had said too much. She barely knew this boy.
But Kael didn't look shocked. He looked at her with a quiet, intense respect.
"Armor suits the soul better than silk," Kael said. "I think you would make a terrifying knight, Lady Alisa."
Alisa felt a flush rise to her cheeks that had nothing to do with the cold. "You are mocking me."
"I never mock the truth," Kael said. He leaned back, resting his head against the stone wall. "We are a matched set, you and I. Two people trapped in roles we didn't choose. You, the Golden Daughter who wants to fight. Me, the Broken Heir who just wants to... exist."
"Is that all you want?" Alisa asked. "To exist?"
Kael looked at his hands—those pale, trembling hands resting on the cane.
"For now," he said. "Survival is a full-time job when your body is a traitor. But... if I could choose?"
He looked at her again. The moonlight caught the gray of his eyes, and for a split second, Alisa saw something shift in them. A flash of steel. A depth that was endless.
"If I could choose," Kael said, "I would tear down the masks. I would burn the script and see who these people really are when the music stops."
The intensity was magnetic. Alisa felt pulled toward him. He was fragile physically, yes, but his spirit... his spirit burned with a quiet fire she had never seen before.
Then, the moment broke. Kael winced, rubbing his leg.
"Ah," he groaned softly. "My apologies. The cramps. My muscles are protesting the exertion of sitting still."
The dangerous philosopher vanished, replaced by the sickly boy.
Alisa's instinct to protect flared up. "Are you in pain? Should I get your father? Or a healer?"
"No," Kael waved a hand weakly. "Just... old age catching up with a twenty-year-old. I'll be fine."
He looked at her with a gentle, self-deprecating smile.
"Thank you, Lady Alisa. For sitting with me. For treating me like a person, not a ghost."
"Thank you for listening," Alisa said. "And... please. Call me Alisa."
"Alisa," Kael tested the name. "Then you must call me Kael. 'Lord Ravenshade' makes me look for my father."
They smiled at each other in the moonlight. It was a conspiratorial smile. A secret pact between two outcasts hiding on a balcony.
"Alisa!"
A booming voice shattered the peace.
The glass doors slid open. President Magnus stepped out, flanked by two guards. His white coat was pristine, his presence filling the small space instantly.
"There you are," Magnus said, his eyes darting from Alisa to Kael. His expression was unreadable for a microsecond before smoothing into a warm, paternal smile. "And with young Lord Ravenshade, I see."
Kael grabbed his cane and struggled to stand. He wobbled dangerously.
Alisa instinctively reached out to steady him, her hand gripping his arm. It was thin, surprisingly hard under the fabric, but trembling.
"Father," Alisa said, stepping between Magnus and Kael slightly. "We were just... getting some air. Lord Kael was feeling faint."
Magnus walked over, his heavy boots loud on the stone. He looked down at Kael.
"Rowan has been looking for you, boy," Magnus said. His voice was polite, but his eyes were cold, analyzing Kael like a specimen in a jar. "He was worried you had collapsed."
"I am... apologies, Mr. President," Kael rasped, bowing his head submissively. "The heat... the crowd... I am not used to it yet."
Magnus placed a heavy hand on Kael's shoulder. Kael buckled slightly under the weight.
"Strength returns slowly," Magnus said, squeezing. "Or sometimes, not at all. You should be careful, Kael. The world is heavy for those with weak spines."
It was a veiled insult. Alisa bristled.
"He is recovering, Father," Alisa said sharply. "He is doing remarkably well."
Magnus looked at his daughter, surprised by her tone. Then he smiled, a slow, knowing smile.
"Of course," Magnus said. "Come, Alisa. The last dance is starting. You promised it to Lord Valerius."
Alisa felt the cage door slam shut. "Father, I—"
"Now, Alisa."
The command was absolute.
Alisa looked at Kael. He looked helpless, leaning on his stick, dwarfed by her father's presence. He looked harmless.
"I have to go," Alisa whispered to Kael.
"Go," Kael said softly. "Don't fight the tide tonight, Alisa. Save your strength."
Magnus offered his arm to Alisa. She took it, stiffly. As she was led back into the suffocating light of the ballroom, she glanced back over her shoulder.
Kael was standing alone in the shadows of the balcony. He looked small. He looked lonely.
He is kind, Alisa thought, her heart aching for him. He is gentle. And he sees me.
She vowed, right then and there, that she would be his friend. She would protect him from the vultures like Verrick and the judgment of men like her father.
As the glass doors closed, cutting off her view, she didn't see Kael's posture change.
On the balcony, in the dark, the "weak" boy stopped trembling.
Kael brushed the spot on his shoulder where Magnus had touched him. He brushed it as if removing a speck of filth.
His gray eyes narrowed, fixing on the back of the President's head through the glass.
You squeeze too hard, Magnus, Kael thought, his grip on the cane tightening until the silver groaned. You think you are holding a bird. But you just put your hand in a trap.
Kael turned back to the view of the city, the gentle soul gone, the predator returning.
"She is innocent," Kael whispered to the wind. "I will have to be careful not to break her when I break you."