The Grand Ballroom of the Imperial Palace was a sea of shimmering gold and velvet. Huge crystal chandeliers dripped with light, reflecting off the marble floors, while the scent of expensive lilies and aged wine filled the air.
At the head of the room, on a dais draped in gold, sat the most powerful women in the empire. Empress Isabella looked down upon the crowd with a sharp, regal gaze, her silver crown catching the light. Beside her sat Princess Lunette, looking bittersweet in her farewell finery, and the two women orchestrating the night's shadows: Marchioness Ophelia Calvane and Duchess Ruhina Sidereon.
Groups of high nobles lined up to greet them, bowing low. Among them was Catherine Calvane, Lethia's step-sister. She stood in a dress of innocent pastel pink, looking like a delicate flower, though her eyes scanned the room with the same cold calculation as her mother.
In the far corners, the young masters of the great houses gathered, nursing glasses of brandy and shamelessly "rating" the young ladies. But tonight, every eye from the highest lord to the youngest squire kept drifting back to the corner where Lethia Lorvil sat in her blood red silk.
Elowen looked like a forest spirit in a soft sage green dress with puff sleeves and delicate lace, her hair adorned with tiny pearls. Beside her, Serena was the picture of sophistication in a midnight-blue silk gown that flowed like water, featuring a modest square neckline and long, fitted sleeves.
But it was Lethia who stole the breath from the room.
Usually indifferent to fashion, tonight she had chosen to be a weapon. She wore a form-fitting gown of deep crimson satin. The neckline was a daring off the shoulder cut that highlighted her collarbones. With her hair swept up in a loose, messy bun and her lips painted the color of wine, she looked terrifyingly beautiful.
Hael sat stiffly, his eyes darting toward Elowen, who was pointedly looking at her fan. Serena watched them, suppressing a giggle at how ridiculous they were being.
Lethia finally broke the silence. "Elowen," she said, her voice smooth as velvet. "This engagement will not happen. You have my word. Now, just talk to Hael and save us from this suffocating environment."
Elowen hesitated, her face flushing. Lethia turned her sharp gaze to Hael. "Escort her somewhere private where you both can speak. Now."
Hael didn't need to be told twice. He stood, offered his arm to a trembling Elowen, and led her away.
Once they were gone, Serena sighed, but her expression darkened as she heard the whispers from the nearby tables.
"Is that really Duke Lorvil's granddaughter? I heard she was... ruined."
"Poor girl, it must be hard to show her face after what happened five years ago."
"The audacity to wear such a bold color with a past like hers..."
Serena's grip tightened on her glass. The cruelty of high society made her blood boil.
Lethia, however, didn't blink. "You look stressed, Serena. Go find a balcony, take a breath. I've arranged for a knight to stay with you."
"But Lethia..."
"Go," Lethia insisted softly. Serena nodded reluctantly and left.
Now, only Ciro, Lethia's personal knight, remained standing like a shadow behind her.
"What did you gather?" Lethia asked, her eyes scanning the room.
"They intend to drug your wine, My Lady," Ciro whispered, his voice laced with suppressed rage.
Lethia let out a low, wicked laugh. "Mhm. And who is the 'fated' one?"
Ciro gestured subtly toward a man across the room. It was Lord Silas, the heir of the fallen House of Thorne. He was a man with a greasy smile and a reputation for being a bottomless pit of vice and debt.
"Silas of Thorne," Lethia whispered. "My stepmother really does care for me, picking such a pathetic bastard. Aren't we a match made in heaven, Ciro?" She smiled up at him.
Ciro's fists clenched so hard his gloves creaked. He wanted to draw his sword and end Silas right there. "It is an insult to your shadow, My Lady."
"Patience, Ciro. Go take your position. Let the mouse jump into the trap."
As Ciro slipped away, Silas approached.
Ophelia watched from the dais, a small, cruel smile playing on her lips as she saw Lord Silas approach Lethia with the spiked wine.
He held two glasses of wine, his eyes roaming over Lethia's curves with disgusting hunger.
"Lady Lethia," Silas drawled, offering a glass. "A toast to your beauty? It would be a crime not to drink on such a night."
Lethia smiled a sharp, dangerous thing. "Indeed, Lord Silas. How kind of you." She took the glass, knowing exactly what was in it. Without hesitation, she tipped it back and drank. Silas smirked, thinking he had won.
Ophelia watched Lethia take the glass. She watched her drink.
Finally, she thought, her heart racing with dark triumph. The Lorvil stain will be scrubbed away tonight.
Across the room, Serik stood with Crown Prince Lucian. He looked striking in his formal black military uniform, the silver medals on his chest glinting. But his attention was not on the Prince.
His eyes darkened as he saw Lethia drinking with Silas. Why is she with that moron?
He noticed the slight glassiness in her eyes, the way she leaned back into her chair. His heart hammered against his ribs. Something was wrong. Excusing himself from the Prince, Serik strode across the ballroom, his cape billowing behind him.
Ciro, watching from the shadows, almost stepped forward, but Lethia gave him a sharp, secret hand signal to stay back.
Just as Silas reached out to touch Lethia's shoulder, Serik's hand clamped onto Silas's wrist like a vice.
"I believe the Lady has had enough of your company, Lord Silas," Serik said, his voice a low growl.
"What is the meaning of..."
"Leave," Serik commanded, his amber eyes glowing with a terrifying intensity. Silas, recognizing a man who could kill him in seconds, scrambled away.
Serik didn't wait. He swept Lethia up, his arm around her waist to support her as she stumbled. He navigated her through a side door and into a private rest room, closing the door behind them.
Inside, the dim light made the air feel heavy. Lethia was disheveled, her breath coming in short huffs as the drug began to hit her system.
"What were you doing?" Serik demanded, holding her shoulders to keep her upright. "That drink was spiked!"
"I know," she whispered, a dazed but wicked smile on her lips.
Serik froze. "If you knew... why did you drink it?"
"Because, Sir Knight... I was supposed to be caught in a scandal with that man tonight. That was the plan."
"A scandal?" Serik's voice cracked with disbelief. "Why would you want to disgrace yourself for a plan?"
Lethia clutched his lapels, pulling herself closer. She was losing her balance, and Serik had no choice but to pull her flush against his chest.
"Let me go," she murmured, her voice thick. "My plan can't fail. It's the only way to destroy this engagement."
"Absolutely not," Serik snapped, his grip tightening. "I will not let a lady be disgraced by a man like that. I don't care what your reasons are."
"What do you know?" Lethia laughed, a hollow, bitter sound. "You know nothing! I can't be disgraced... because I have no grace left. I lost it five years ago. The whole empire knows it."
Serik's jaw tightened. He looked into her eyes.
"You didn't," he said, his voice surprisingly soft. "You didn't lose your grace. Since when is grace related one's past? Grace is about how you survived. How you rose. It has nothing to do with the past, My Lady."
Lethia froze. The room felt still. For the first time in years, someone wasn't looking at her with pity or disgust. He looked at her with respect. The words soothed a part of her soul she thought was dead.
As her senses cleared slightly, she looked up at his handsome, stern face. A new, more dangerous idea took hold.
"If you won't let me have a scandal with Silas..." she whispered, her fingers tracing the silver embroidery on his uniform, "then how about you have one with me instead, Sir Knight?"
Serik's heart skipped a beat. Before he could speak, Lethia's lips met his.
It started as a small, desperate smooch, then moved into soft, feverish kisses. Serik tried to pull back, his mind racing. "Lethia, stop..."
"Am I not attractive enough?" she breathed against his lips, her eyes hooded and dark. "Or was everything you just said about my past... a lie? Do you find me repulsive too?"
Serik's heart stopped. The thought of her believing that was unbearable.
His resistance snapped.
Lethia smiled...
What a foolish man...
He pulled her in, his hand cupping her cheek while the other anchored her waist. He kissed her back slowly at first, then with a deep, consuming passion. His tongue flicked against hers, tasting the sweetness of the wine and the fire of her defiance.
Lethia arched her back, her chest heaving against his firm self. Her hands wandered downward, unbuckling the stiff leather strap of his chest harness to get closer to the heat of his skin. Serik groaned into the kiss, his hand sliding from her cheek down to the small of her back, dragging her hips flush against his until there wasn't a breath of air between them.
He began to trail kisses down her collarbone, his stubble grazing her porcelain skin. She felt the strength of his arms, the hardness of his body, and a scorching desire.
She was the one who began to tug at the buttons of his vest, her movements clumsy, wanting to feel the heartbeat she had just been rescued by. Serik was lost, his senses drowned in the feeling of her soft curves and the frantic way she was reaching for him.
It was in this moment of tangled limbs, heavy breathing, and half undone silk that the lock clicked.
CLANG.