I should've been asleep hours ago.
But the party felt endless. The conversations dragged on and the music spun through the corridors. My mind simmered with boredom, and the parade of appearances and fake giggles seemed to have no end.
I was leaning against one of the high balconies that bordered the main hall, watching the crowd below. The music echoed — winds and strings filling the space — but my body begged for silence, for rest, for something... real.
For hours I'd been complaining inside:
*Why does this have to last so long? Is the Duke trying to impress everyone before throwing me back into the shadows again?*
Before I could make sense of it, a soft but firm voice interrupted my thoughts:
— **"Enjoying the party?"**
I looked to the side and found a young woman with flaming red hair cascading down to her waist. Her expression was curious and innocent.
— **"It's surreal, at the very least, wouldn't you agree?"** she said with a half-smile. Direct — very different from the other noble girls in attendance. My muscles tensed at the thought of interacting.
I tried to pull away.
— **"Pleased to meet you. I'm Iris Valerius,"** she insisted, lifting her chin, a sly look watching my reaction. **"But you can call me Lady Iris."**
Before I could respond, I felt the weight of her gaze scanning me from head to toe. Her eyes carried a teasing amusement.
— **"Are you really going to treat me like this? Like a statue?"**
I pretended not to notice the provocation — but I didn't reply either.
— **"I'm only asking for a dance. Don't be so cold,"** she said aloud, in a tone that echoed through the corridor. A few people nearby glanced over, others pretended not to notice — but it was obvious that had been her intention.
My heart froze for a second. That kind of invitation at a ball... I'd learned well.
Refusing it was ignorance — and seen as an insult.
Then I realized the reason she had been staring so intensely — my clenched fists, the cold look in my eyes, the scars from the recent duel.
— **"Just one dance,"** she repeated, this time gently.
I sighed. This was just another farce.
But Miralda always said: *"Refusing a dance could harm your reputation."*
I saw it in her eyes — that familiar noble instinct to measure every gesture.
I knelt. My right arm, the one that didn't tremble, extended in a classic gesture.
— **"It would be an honor."**
I brought her hand to my lips. The kiss was light, delicate. She smiled, clearly pleased.
— **"Thank you."**
Together we descended the steps from the second floor.
The music, once distant, was now around us — rich, surrounding.
At first, the steps were traditional, almost rehearsed — no improvisation.
She led gently, creating space and flow.
— **"Good footwork,"** she said, raising her gaze to me. Her eyes were emerald green, shining with a strange allure. **"Better than I expected."**
I narrowed my eyes slightly.
A hidden threat? A compliment, maybe?
I kept my posture.
— **"Thank yo—"**
She leaned forward, brushing her shoulder lightly against mine.
— **"You dance well… for someone who came from the streets,"** she whispered in my ear.
I froze instantly.
— **"What do you mean by that?"** I asked, voice trembling.
— **"Don't worry about what I meant. You'll know soon enough,"** she whispered again in my ear.
Soft seconds passed.
With each song, her embrace tightened. Her body pressed slightly closer, hand at my waist like she wanted to test my limits.
We reached the center of the ballroom.
She leaned in once more.
— **"You have beautiful eyes, you know?"**
I tried to pull back gently.
The moment had turned into provocation — subtle seduction, with no clear rules.
She raised her head and met my gaze.
Her lips approached mine — slowly, deliberately — an invitation halted only by sheer willpower.
— **"Are you really going to turn me down like that?"** she asked, voice now with a slightly more serious tone.
My eyes burned — anger? Fear?
Or both?
She kept closing the space between us, her body pressing into mine.
I could feel every curve offered like a transaction.
— **"This is a ballroom,"** I said, voice restrained but firm. **"Not a brothel."**
She laughed, provocative, taking one short step back, only to slide back to my waist.
— **"Maybe I'm used to something different."**
The conversation had crossed an invisible line.
But I held my mental ground — silence, posture, awareness.
Suddenly, a knight approached, the Royal Crest etched on his shoulder armor.
— **"Forgive the interruption, Your Highness, but your grandfather requests you take your leave. He is departing."**
The music began to slow down.
I expected her to use the moment to persuade me further.
Instead, she bowed her head slightly and smiled.
A ceremonial farewell?
— **"It was… interesting, Clint Ravenhart,"** she said in a tone even more provocative, hinting that she already knew I wasn't truly the Duke's son.
**"Don't worry, no one else knows your secret... yet,"** she whispered in my ear and walked off, smiling as if nothing had happened.
— **"Until next time."**
As I watched her leave, I saw she was walking just behind **King César of Kamira**.
She lifted one corner of her lips in a faint smile toward me and gave a light wave goodbye.
---
The corridor fell silent once again.
The music faded, and for a moment, time seemed to stop.
Only the echo of footsteps still lingered.
My mind was still replaying every whisper, every touch, every word.
Trying to piece it all together.
How did she know who I was?
Why was she with the king?
Who exactly was the Valerius family?