Vivienne's POV
You're shaking, Eleanor said, adjusting my midnight blue gown one final time.
I'm fine. I forced my hands still. It's just nerves.
It's terror. Eleanor met my eyes in the mirror. And you have every right to be terrified. These people destroyed you once. They'll try again if they suspect anything.
Then I won't give them reason to suspect. I straightened my shoulders despite the pain from yesterday's wounds, hidden beneath layers of silk and determination. Tonight, I'm Lady Vivienne Laurent. Wealthy widow. Bored with provincial life. Nothing more.
Eleanor's expression said she didn't believe me. Remember, you're not going in there to get revenge tonight. You're going in to observe. To learn their weaknesses. To
To smile at the people who murdered my life and pretend I'm someone else. I stood, ignoring how my hands trembled. I know the plan, Eleanor. I've been preparing for this moment for two years.
Preparing and surviving are different things.
The carriage ride to the palace felt both endless and far too short. Every bump made my healing shoulder throb. Every turn brought me closer to the lion's den.
They won't recognize you. They think you're dead. You're safe.
But I didn't feel safe. I felt like a ghost walking back into the world that killed her.
The Grand Autumn Ball was already in full swing when I arrived. Through the palace doors, I could hear music, laughter, the sound of people living lives they didn't deserve.
Lady Vivienne Laurent of the southern provinces, the herald announced.
I stepped into the ballroom.
Every conversation stopped. Every head turned. Hundreds of eyes fixed on me at once.
For one terrible moment, I froze. These people, I knew them. Had danced with them, laughed with them, trusted them. Before everything fell apart.
Don't freeze. Don't give them anything to remember.
I walked forward, chin high, moving like I owned the palace. Like I belonged here more than any of them.
The whispers started immediately.
Who is she?
I've never seen her before
That gown must have cost a fortune
So young to be widowed
Beautiful though—
I let them stare. Let them wonder. This was the moment I'd planned for endless frozen nights in the Borderlands. The moment I walked back into their world as someone new.
Then I saw her.
Celeste stood near a group of noble ladies, emeralds dripping from her throat—emeralds that should have been mine. My stepsister looked older, harder, more calculating than I remembered.
She glanced up, bored, scanning the new arrival like everyone else.
Our eyes met across the ballroom.
For one heartbeat, her expression shifted. Not recognition—not quite. But something. A flicker of familiarity. A whisper of unease.
Her wine glass trembled in her hand.
She feels it. She doesn't know why, but she feels the danger.
Then the moment passed. Celeste looked away, dismissing me as just another courtier. But I saw her lean toward the woman beside her, whispering urgently.
To Celeste's left stood Vincent Harcourt. My former fiancé. The man who'd sworn eternal love, then destroyed me for political gain.
He'd grown a beard, but his eyes were the same—weak, ambitious, empty. Those eyes found me now and widened. He stared like he'd seen something impossible.
Do you remember me, Vincent? Do you see the girl you betrayed in this stranger's face?
I forced myself to look away. To keep walking. To not react.
Further back, half-hidden by a marble column, my father stood with other lords. Lord Marcus Ashford looked older, grayer, smaller than I remembered. He gripped his cane with white knuckles as I passed.
Did he feel it too? The ghost of his discarded daughter haunting this ballroom?
Lady Laurent. A smooth voice made my skin crawl. Lord Chancellor Beaumont appeared beside me, silver-haired and smiling like a snake. What an unexpected pleasure.
My heart hammered. This was the man who'd orchestrated everything. My mother's murder. My exile. The conspiracy that destroyed my life.
And yesterday, he'd sent assassins to finish the job.
Lord Chancellor. I curtseyed, fighting to keep my voice steady. The honor is mine.
I don't believe we've met, and yet... His eyes studied my face with unsettling intensity. You seem somehow familiar. Have you visited our kingdom before?
Never, my lord. Perhaps I simply have one of those faces. I smiled sweetly. People always think they know me.
Hmm. He didn't look convinced. Well, welcome to court. I do hope you'll find our capital... hospitable. Though I must warn you—the roads can be quite dangerous. Just yesterday, I heard about a terrible carriage attack. Masked assassins, they say.
The threat was crystal clear: I know you survived. Try again and I'll finish what I started.
How terrible, I replied evenly. I shall have to be very careful then.
Oh, I think you're already quite careful, Lady Laurent. His smile sharpened. Perhaps too careful for a simple widow.
Before I could respond, trumpets blared.
His Majesty, King Theodore! His Royal Highness, Crown Prince Adrian!
The crowd parted like a curtain. At the far end of the ballroom, an elderly man in royal robes sat slumped on an ornate throne. King Theodore—broken by war, barely aware of his surroundings.
But beside him stood a man who stole my breath.
Crown Prince Adrian.
He was taller than I'd expected. Dark hair, sharp aristocratic features, and eyes the color of storm clouds. Power radiated from him like heat from a fire. When he looked across the ballroom, nobles dropped their gazes. Conversations hushed.
This was the man I needed to seduce. To manipulate. To use as a weapon against my enemies.
Just another tool. Just another part of the plan.
Then those storm-gray eyes found me.
The room disappeared.
There was only him, staring at me with an intensity that made my skin burn. Not the way other nobles looked at me—with curiosity or attraction or calculation. He looked at me like he was trying to solve a puzzle. Like he could see through every lie I'd carefully constructed.
My breath caught.
Does he know? Did Beaumont warn him?
Protocol demanded I approach the throne. I forced my legs to move, each step measured and perfect despite my racing heart. Every eye in the ballroom watched me walk toward the Crown Prince.
The King barely noticed as I reached the dais. His rheumy eyes were unfocused, mind somewhere far away.
Your Majesty. I sank into a deep curtsy, biting back a gasp as my wounded shoulder screamed in protest.
Lovely, lovely, the old King mumbled absently, already looking away.
I rose and turned to the Crown Prince. Adrian still hadn't taken his eyes off me. The weight of his gaze felt like standing in a lightning storm—dangerous, electric, impossible to escape.
Your Highness. I curtseyed again, lower this time.
He stood.
The ballroom gasped. Crown Prince Adrian never left his throne during formal receptions. Never approached guests personally. Never showed interest in anyone.
Until now.
He descended the dais steps with predatory grace, each movement deliberate and controlled. The crowd parted before him like he was Moses and they were the Red Sea.
He stopped directly in front of me. Close enough that I had to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. Close enough that I could see gold flecks in all that gray.
Lady Vivienne Laurent. His voice was deep, rich, revealing nothing. Welcome to our court.
Every nerve in my body screamed danger. But I couldn't run. Couldn't hide. Could only stand there and face him.
Thank you, Your Highness. My voice came out steadier than I felt. I'm honored to be here.
His eyes searched my face, looking for something I couldn't name. Behind us, the ballroom held its collective breath.
I find myself curious, he said quietly, just loud enough for me to hear. Why would a wealthy widow from the peaceful southern provinces choose our kingdom? We're not known for being... gentle with newcomers.
The question landed like a challenge. Like he knew I was hiding something and wanted to see how I'd respond.
Careful. Don't give him anything to suspect.
Perhaps I was bored with peace, Your Highness. I met his gaze without flinching. Perhaps I wanted somewhere more... interesting.
Something flickered in his eyes. Surprise? Intrigue? Interesting is a dangerous word in this palace, Lady Laurent.
Is that a warning or a threat, Your Highness?
The corner of his mouth twitched—almost a smile. A piece of advice. From someone who knows this court well.
We stood there, locked in a silent battle of wills. Him trying to unravel my secrets. Me desperately hiding them.
Finally, he stepped back. Enjoy the ball, Lady Laurent. I suspect we'll be speaking again very soon.
It wasn't a request. It was a promise.
He turned and walked away, leaving me standing alone in the center of the ballroom with my heart hammering and every eye watching.
Across the room, Celeste's face had gone pale. Vincent stared at me like he'd seen a ghost. Beaumont's expression was calculating, dangerous.
And I realized with cold certainty: this was just the beginning.