The palace ballroom had always looked like a dream—
Tonight, it looked like a lie.
Candlelight poured from a hundred chandeliers.
Golden masks shimmered.
Velvet and silk swept the marble floors in waves of curated elegance.
It was the Crown Prince's first official celebration since his return.
"A night of masks and mystery," they called it.
But I had no mystery left.
Not for him.
---
"You'll be careful?" Cladus asked quietly at my chamber door.
He wore no mask.
Just midnight blue and silver, tailored sharp.
His sword belted at his side like a reminder: I'm here.
"Always," I replied. "It's not me who should worry."
"Then who should?"
I gave him a slow smile.
"Everyone else."
---
The moment I stepped into the ballroom, the crowd noticed.
Whispers bloomed behind lace fans.
Eyes turned.
Glances flitted between me and the dais, where he stood.
Auren.
Unmasked. As always.
Crimson cloak over black and gold.
One gloved hand resting casually on the hilt of his ceremonial dagger.
The other holding a glass of wine he didn't sip.
He saw me.
Of course he did.
And he smiled like the devil who knows you still taste the apple.
---
"Lady Elara," he said when we met on the dance floor, offering his hand. "I saved the first waltz for you."
"How generous," I murmured.
"I've always been generous with the women I like."
"You liked me once."
"I still might."
---
The music rose.
He pulled me into motion.
Smooth, practiced steps.
His fingers warm at my waist.
"You're quiet tonight," he said, tilting his head. "Plotting my demise already?"
"Only if you dance poorly."
He laughed again—soft, rich, too familiar.
"You always knew how to make me laugh."
"I always knew how to distract you."
"It worked," he whispered, spinning me gently. "I'm distracted."
---
For a moment, it felt too close to before.
The low strings. The closeness. His eyes.
The mask slipping.
And then—
He leaned in, voice low.
"Tell me, Elara… why do you look at me like you know the end of the story?"
My breath caught.
But I didn't answer.
Instead, I stepped back just slightly—
Breaking the hold.
Breaking the spell.
"Because I do."
I curtsied. Walked away.
And didn't stop until the corridor swallowed the music.
---
Outside, the air was colder.
My heart beat faster than it should've.
It wasn't the memory.
It was the nearness.
His scent. His smile. The way he moved like I was already his again.
I hated that it still felt like something.
---
"Lady Elara."
I turned.
Cladus.
Of course.
No mask. Just him.
"You left in the middle of the dance."
"You were watching?"
"Always."
I looked at him. Really looked.
The way he stood—solid, unshaken, real in a way Auren never was.
"It was easier," I said softly, "when I remembered to hate him."
Cladus didn't reply.
Instead, he did something devastatingly small.
He held out his hand.
"May I have this dance?"
No music. No crowd. Just moonlight and roses.
I placed my hand in his.
"You may."
His hand curled gently around mine.
Not possessive. Not claiming.
Just there—warm, steady, present.
And when his other hand found the small of my back, I didn't flinch.
I let him guide me.
No orchestra. No gilded audience.
Only the hush of the gardens and the faint rhythm of our breaths.
We moved slowly.
As if the world wasn't spinning, and nothing had ever broken us.
As if we weren't built from secrets and ruined things.
"This is a terrible waltz," I said quietly.
"I never claimed to be a dancer," Cladus replied, voice low.
"You're better than him."
"At dancing?"
"At everything."
His mouth twitched—half a smile, half something he didn't let become more.
"You shouldn't say that," he murmured. "Not when he's looking."
I stiffened, just slightly.
"He's watching?"
"He always watches you."
"Good. Let him see."
Cladus didn't ask what I meant.
He only kept holding me—one slow turn, then another, under the violet haze of moonlight.
And maybe it was reckless.
Maybe it was cruel.
But when I rested my head briefly against his shoulder, he let me.
He didn't move. He didn't breathe wrong.
He just stood there with me, like we'd never been anything but this—
Two people dancing in a quiet garden,
While the past watched from behind a golden mask.