[ 20 min ago... ]
The Ahn family carriage had barely cleared the main gate when another, slightly less fancier one bearing the Vale family crest rolled to a stop. The door opened, and an attendant handed down its sole occupant.
Lady Vale stepped onto the cobblestones, a vision of calculated elegance in a gown of pale lavender silk, its high neckline and tailored sleeves projecting an air of refined modesty that belied her ambitious thoughts. She smoothed her skirts, offered a cool nod to her driver, and ascended the palace steps.
Inside the ballroom, the air hummed with pre-celebration chatter. Her eyes, sharp and assessing, scanned the crowd until they found her usual circle: Felicity, Miranda, and Julia, clustered near a towering ice sculpture.
"There you are!" Felicity exclaimed, fanning herself dramatically. "The ride from the eastern district was utterly tedious. Tell me your journey was more exciting."
"It was adequate," Lady Vale replied, her smile not quite reaching her eyes.
"Oh, but when will it start?" Julia whispered, her cheeks flushed. "And have you seen any interesting prospects? I heard the Duke of Evermoor's son is here…"
Their gossip was cut short as a new arrival caused a palpable shift in the room's energy. A man strode through the grand entrance, commanding attention without a word.
He was dressed in immaculate robes of deep cobalt blue, trimmed with silver thread that mirrored the glint of his cold, blue eyes. His blonde hair was swept back from a handsome, imperious face. It was Marquess Roswald de Clein.
A collective, barely audible sigh rippled through her group of friends. "Oh, look, it's him!" Miranda breathed, her eyes wide.
Roswald's gaze swept over the crowd, and upon noticing their staring group, he offered a slow, polished smile that made Julia gasp and clutch Felicity's arm.
Lady Vale felt a superior smirk tug at her lips. 'Squeal all you want,' she thought inwardly. 'I'm the one he looks for. I'm the one he wants.'
Just then, Felicity's attention was caught by another figure across the room. She pointed subtly with her fan. "Oh, isn't that Cassian Ahn? Lady Vale, your… fiancé?" she asked, her tone laced with pity. "He seems quite familiar with Madam Ashdown."
Lady Vale's smugness evaporated as her gaze landed on Cassian. He stood conversing easily with the formidable tavern owner, looking healthier and more composed than she had ever seen him. A wave of revulsion washed over her.
'Look at him. Chatting with merchants. He will never be a Marquess. He will never command a room like Roswald. To think I am bound to that…'
The thought of Roswald's greatness, the title of Marchioness that was so nearly within her grasp, solidified her resolve. Her parents might have signed the contract in a moment of foolish hope, but she would be the one to sever it.
Tonight. She would find a moment to corner Cassian and make it undeniably clear that their farce of an engagement must be over.
She took a determined step forward, ready to cross the ballroom and seal her destiny.
But just as she moved, a loud, clear voice of the royal announcer boomed through the hall, silencing all conversation.
"His Imperial Majesty, Emperor Charles II, and Her Imperial Highness, the Princess Yuliana!"
The moment was lost. With a frustrated inward sigh, Lady Vale dropped into a deep curtsy with the rest of the assembly, her plans temporarily put on hold.
* * *
The grand ballroom became a sea of bowed heads and rustling silk as the Emperor and his daughter took their places upon the dais. The formal procession of congratulations began immediately, a slow-moving river of nobility flowing toward the throne.
Lady Vale moved with her circle, the picture of composed grace. When it was her turn, she stepped forward, curtsying with flawless precision.
"Your Highness," she said, her voice a sweet, practiced chime. "The Vale family offers its most sincere congratulations on your coming of age. May your future be as radiant as your presence here tonight."
Princess Yuliana offered a regal nod, her lips curved into the faint, polite smile required by protocol. "You are too kind, Lady Vale. Thank you."
But Vale's sharp eyes caught it instantly. The Princess's gaze was distant, her green eyes looking through her rather than at her. Her mind was clearly elsewhere, her responses automatic, a monarch performing a duty.
A flicker of contempt warmed Vale's chest. 'Little spoiled brat,' she thought, the words a venomous whisper in her mind. 'Standing there in your silks, bored by the very people who uphold your kingdom. You have no idea of the real games being played.'
Maintaining her own perfect smile, she moved aside, allowing the next noble to take her place. As she melted back into the crowd, she scanned the room, her thoughts already returning to her primary objective: finding Cassian.
It was then she saw him.
Marquess Roswald was making his way toward the dais, a figure of cobalt and silver cutting through the crowd. Her heart gave a little flutter.
This was her moment to reinforce their connection. As he passed within a few feet of her, she tilted her head, letting a subtle, intimate smile play on her lips—a silent acknowledgment meant for him alone.
But his eyes never wavered from their path. They were fixed ahead with an intent, calculating focus that made her breath catch. She followed his gaze.
He wasn't looking at the Emperor.
His entire attention was locked on Princess Yuliana.
A cold, uneasy feeling coiled in Vale's stomach. This wasn't the look of a subject paying respect to his future ruler. It was the look of a hunter assessing a prize. It was the same look he sometimes gave her just when they first met.
The smile froze on her face. For a terrifying second, she felt utterly invisible. She quickly turned away, pretending to adjust her glove, the heat of a blush rising on her neck.
'It's nothing,' she told herself firmly, forcing her composure back into place. 'He is a Marquess; he must pay his respects. His ambition is for his business, and I am part of that plan. He needs me to be free of Cassian.'
But the seed of doubt was planted, and it sat cold and heavy in her gut as she continued through the crowd, the image of Roswald's rapt focus burned into her mind.
* * *
[ Present... ]
The doors swung shut behind them, leaving a stunned silence in their wake.
For a full three seconds, no one in the immediate vicinity spoke. Then, the ballroom erupted in a torrent of hushed, frantic whispers.
The most shocking event of the evening was not the Emperor's entrance, but the Princess's abrupt exit on the arm of a near-nobody.
From across the room, the sound of Felicity Rowan's sharp gasp was audible. She clutched Miranda's arm, her eyes wide as saucers. "By the skies! Did you see that? The Princess just... took him. She took your Cassian, Vale!"
Miranda fanned herself vigorously, a wicked grin spreading across her face. "And she didn't just guide him, she held his hand. My, my. Is the royal eye wandering toward your betrothed, darling? How dreadfully exciting!"
Lady Vale stood frozen, a porcelain statue in lavender silk. The carefully constructed smile on her face felt like it was cracking.
She had watched the entire scene unfold as if from a great distance: the Princess's intense focus, the linking of arms, the final, possessive tug of the hand. A hot, acidic wave of humiliation washed over her.
'How dare he?' The thought was a scream in her mind. 'How dare he, the boy who trailed after me like a lost puppy, now allow himself to be paraded around by the Princess? He is making a spectacle of himself, and by extension, of me! He humiliates me even when he's not trying to!'
Forcing a light, tinkling laugh, she waved her hand dismissively. "Oh, don't be absurd. You know Cassian has only ever had eyes for me. The poor Princess is probably just bored, and he's a novelty. A noble who cooks? It's like a trained monkey performing a trick." Her voice was airy, but the grip on her fan was white-knuckled.
Internally, she seethed. But she had her anchor. She had her victory. She had Roswald. While Cassian was playing the fool for a spoiled royal, she had secured the interest of the most powerful, eligible marquess in the empire.
She turned, seeking his gaze, ready to share a look of mutual understanding, a silent joke at Cassian's expense.
She found him. He was standing not far away, having witnessed the entire exchange. But he wasn't looking at her.
His eyes were fixed on the garden doors with an intensity that was terrifying. All traces of his usual polished amusement were gone. His jaw was clenched, his body rigid.
This wasn't the mild irritation of a rival being slightly annoying; this was the cold, focused fury of a man who had just seen a key piece of his grand strategy snatched from the board.
The anger in his gaze was so raw, so personal, it was like a physical force.
The ice in Vale's stomach returned, colder and sharper than before. The comforting narrative she had built for herself—that she had traded up, that she had someone better—suddenly felt fragile.
Because the man she thought was hers wasn't looking at her for comfort. He was staring at the door the Princess had just walked through, his ambition burning brighter than any thought of her.
For the first time, a terrifying question whispered in Lady Vale's mind: Was she a partner in his plans, or was she, like Cassian, just another piece on his board—one that was suddenly looking less valuable than the prize that had just been stolen away?
* * *
A silent, volcanic rage burned in Roswald's chest. He watched the garden doors swing shut, and it felt like a personal insult.
That insignificant, pathetic worm, he seethed internally, his knuckles white where they were clenched behind his back. First, he clings to Vale, a useful piece I need to secure her family's merchant connection. Now, he dares to lay his filthy hands on the Princess?
His plan had been so clear, so elegant. Use Vale to get her family's connection and influence, then position himself to catch the eye of the royal family, perhaps even as a future son-in-law.
The Princess was the ultimate prize, the final step to cementing the de Clein name not just as wealthy, but as true, unshakeable royalty.
And now Cassian Ahn, the boy he had left for dead in a warehouse, was stumbling through his carefully laid chessboard, knocking over pieces with his mere existence. The Princess's interest wasn't a flirtation; it was a threat.
It was a door to power that Roswald had been patiently approaching, and Cassian had just stepped through it as if he owned it.
His gaze swept past Lady Vale, who was looking at him with a confused, almost pleading expression. She was suddenly… mundane. A provincial prize. The real game was now happening in the garden, and once again, Cassian Ahn was in his way.
'This really is getting annoying,' Roswald vowed, the thought as cold and sharp as a blade. 'I didn't go far enough in that warehouse. This time, I will erase you completely.'