The chandeliers dripped light like starlight, scattering silvery warmth across the ballroom floor. Erin stood near the marble refreshments table, a glass of something fizzy in her hand, though she hadn't taken a sip. It wasn't often she got a moment to herself—especially not in this house—but Xander had been pulled into a brief conversation with a business associate, and she'd taken the opportunity to breathe.
Only, breathing proved difficult when surrounded by velvet whispers and scrutinizing glances from people who thought her a misplaced servant in an arena of polished teeth and inherited arrogance.
"Is it just me, or does the room get colder when you're not smiling?" said a voice to her right.
She turned to find a tall, broad-shouldered young man with dark golden hair and an aristocratic smirk. Lord Bennett Harroway, son of Viscount Harroway—heir to a fortune, a pair of racing yachts, and an ego that could sail both.
"I don't smile much," Erin replied, deadpan.
"A shame. It would suit you," Bennett said, taking a bold step closer. "But I suppose that's what happens when you work for someone like him."
Erin's eyes narrowed, but Bennett wasn't finished.
"Cold. Disconnected. Unreachable," he continued with a dramatic sip of his drink. "You must get so… bored. Don't worry, I can't blame you for keeping your options open."
She stared at him. "Are you implying I should consider you an 'option'?"
He grinned, mistaking her icy tone for a challenge. "Why not? You're stunning. Too stunning to be polishing silver for a man who can't even crack a joke without scaring people."
"And yet," came a voice behind them, cool and precise, "he's not the one embarrassing himself right now."
Bennett froze.
Erin exhaled quietly through her nose. She didn't need to turn to know who it was.
Xander.
He stood only a few feet behind her, his presence drawing tension into the air like a coming storm. His expression was unreadable, posture loose but commanding.
Lord Harroway chuckled awkwardly. "Your Highness—I was just speaking with your assistant—"
"Maid," Xander corrected smoothly. "She's not your concern. Nor your audience."
There was a pause long enough to grow roots in.
"Of course. Just being friendly."
Xander smiled faintly, a blade in velvet. "Your father must be proud."
The jab was so smooth it took a beat before Bennett's cheeks flared. But he had enough sense to back away with a tight nod, vanishing into the murmuring crowd.
Xander shifted slightly, turning to Erin without softening his expression. "Did he touch you?"
"No ne didn't," she said, voice low. "He tried words instead."
"I'll make sure he forgets them."
Before she could reply, another voice cut in—a little louder, more theatrical, and wholly unwelcome.
"Well, well. If it isn't the lone wolf himself," said Prince Callen of Rellmere, striding forward with a drink in hand and an amused entourage in tow. A royal by blood, but too distant in line to carry real weight—though that didn't stop him from swinging his title around like a cudgel.
Callen grinned. "Didn't know you were into maids now, Xander. Or is it something deeper? Has the infamous ceo finally grown a heart?"
Erin's spine stiffened, but Xander didn't so much as flinch.
The air around him dropped five degrees.
He turned, slowly, deliberately, to face the prince. His eyes were neutral. Dead calm.
"There's a difference between being feared and being forgotten," he said. "You should be careful not to confuse the two."
Callen blinked.
"I—was joking," he said, laugh a little too high.
"So am I," Xander murmured. "You'll know when I'm not."
Callen paled. A few of his hangers-on coughed and began retreating. The prince followed with as much grace as his shredded dignity would allow.
As the tension thinned and the hum of conversation gradually resumed, Xander turned back to Erin.
"You shouldn't be alone here," he said.
"I can handle myself."
"I know," he said, eyes scanning hers. "But I'm still not going to leave you standing in a den of jackals just to see what happens."
She stared at him. "You didn't have to say anything. Not to them."
"I didn't do it for you," he said flatly, though there was something slow and dangerous curling at the edge of his voice.
"No?" she asked, voice softer.
Xander's gaze dipped to her lips for a fraction of a second—barely there, but enough.
"Don't get the wrong idea," he said, almost as if to himself. "You're just under my protection. That's all."
But his voice lacked its usual chill. And when he offered her his arm, he didn't look at her face.
She took it anyway.
They walked off the ballroom floor together, not speaking, not needing to.
Behind them, the murmurs began again—quiet, confused, and full of speculation