Aveline stood at the threshold of the court hall as moonlight seeped through stained glass, pooling on the red velvet carpet. Candlelight flickered beneath golden lanterns, wrapping the palace in a dreamlike haze. Tonight marked the kingdom's grand "Crimson Rose Banquet," where the air in the brilliantly lit hall lingered with rose fragrance and the laughter of nobles. Aveline adjusted her hair in an ancient mirror reflecting dancing flames, her ruby lips parted in a faint, enigmatic smile. Clad in a pink-gold evening gown embroidered with intricate rose patterns, her skirt flowed like butterfly wings brushing the floor. A silk sash cinched her slender waist, accentuating every curve, while crystal earrings dangled from her ears, rendering her as delicate as a fairy of morning dew.
The moment she stepped into the hall, Aveline became the focal point. Noble gazes converged on her: aristocratic ladies whispered praises, young barons gaped in awe. The ballroom at the hall's center glowed under soft lights as the court orchestra struck up a melodious waltz. Aveline smiled demurely, curtsying with poised elegance, each step falling perfectly in time. Murmurs rustled around her like falling petals, but she kept her mind calm, maintaining that composed arc of her lips. The hall's opulence—draped silk, golden harps, candlelight dancing on marble columns, red roses clustering everywhere—made the night both magnificent and menacing. Aveline knew better than to act rashly; in this gilded feast, any ripple could unleash unforeseen trouble.
As she scanned the room, a trace of unease lingered in her heart. Then her eyes fell on a tall, handsome man by the ornate colonnade—Lucian. Dressed in midnight-blue court attire, his figure stood ramrod straight, a steel dagger sheathed at his waist exuding a frosty aura. In the night's glow, his raven hair curled softly, a few platinum strands peeking over his forehead, while his chiseled jawline and deep eyes sparkled with untouchable edge. Aveline's heart fluttered: this was the Marquis Lucian she'd encountered by chance during the last court intrigue. She took a deep breath, schooling her features into nonchalance, hiding every fleeting glance behind the gown's demure smile.
When the musicians played a waltz, a courteous knight approached briskly. "Mademoiselle, may I have this dance?" It was Sir Edgar, a familiar noble in silver-gray livery, every inch the gentleman. Aveline nodded politely, and his steady steps led her to the ballroom's heart. As the melody unwound, shifting lights and shadows mingled with the rhythm, casting candlelight and moonlight across her skirt. Edgar's hand on her waist felt like a guardian's, each turn as smooth as the wind. The rustle of her embroidered sash released hints of lilac and sandalwood, sweetening the air itself. She closed her eyes, letting imagination carry her to the lavish ball of every maiden's dream—the hubbub fading as her heartbeat synchronized with the music.
At the first piece's end, applause and laughter erupted. The orchestra switched to a lively serenade, but when Edgar tried to invite her again, Aveline waved gently: "Forgive me, Sir Edgar, I need a moment to rest." She moved forward, her gaze drawn to Lucian across the dance floor. He stood with hands behind his back, every inch cold and noble. Just then, their eyes met—by silver candlelight, his gaze was deep and piercing, like starlight cutting through the night to her core. Aveline's heart skipped a beat; she furrowed her brows slightly, yet returned a serene, mysterious smile.
Lucian nodded subtly, then whispered to a nearby servant. Turning, he approached Aveline with elegant resolve, extending his hand: "Mademoiselle Aveline, may I have the honor of this dance?" His voice was low and warm, his touch sending faint warmth through her. Entranced by his gaze, Aveline found the world softening around her. She raised her hand in a courteous gesture, a faint smile curving her lips.
As the second melody began, Lucian's left hand settled on her waist, his right clasping her fingers. They melted into the spinning crowd, their steps perfectly intertwined. The close contact made Aveline's heart race; his warm breath brushed her ear, his cologne mingling with the night's coolness to send shivers across her cheeks. Amid the music, his voice whispered: "Lovely as the banquet is, I sense your heart isn't in the dance." Aveline started, the words hitting her hidden unease. She composed herself quickly, smiling: "Marquis Lucian teases me. All I see is the banquet's beauty." Her voice was soft, each syllable laced with tranquility. Lucian didn't respond at once, instead asking: "When all are lost in the music, Mademoiselle Aveline, what do your eyes truly seek?" Aveline's eyes reddened slightly, her lashes fluttering as she replied: "Only your handsome smile, Your Highness." The words were a flattery, yet skillfully veiled her inner turmoil. Lucian merely nodded, not pressing further, only holding her hands tighter, enfolding her securely in his arms. By flickering candlelight, he seemed to listen to her barely audible breaths, the hall's notes sounding for them alone.
As the music faded, they slowed to a stop. The audience erupted in applause for their elegant dance. Lucian released her hands, stepping back to bow courteously. Aveline nodded in return, watching him retreat to his place. In the night's depths, wordless affection and suspicion settled between them like sugar coating—Aveline's heart both sweet and aching, yet she maintained that serene smile.
As the night deepened and the banquet dispersed, Aveline excused herself to seek coolness in the garden. Moonlight spilled over trimmed hedges and stone paths, evening primroses swaying in the breeze, their scent calming her thoughts. She wandered to a garden side gate, where a faint rustle caught her attention: a figure in a black cloak approached the gate. Tall and lean, the only visible feature were sharp eyes glinting in the shadows. The figure drew near, metal locksmith tools flashing from their sleeve. Aveline tensed, retreating behind a marble column to observe silently. The person raised a small key, which clicked as it unlocked the gate, swinging it open.
Leaning forward cautiously, Aveline heard footsteps from the garden's end. The cloaked figure whirled—by moonlight, she saw arched brows and icy eyes. Their gazes met in an instant—Aveline felt that cold stare pierce her chest, stealing her breath. Sensing her presence, the figure quickened their pace, vanishing into the corridor's darkness, leaving only ragged breaths echoing in the garden. Aveline held her breath, heart pounding: this scene hinted at a profound conspiracy. She felt like she'd stepped into a dream, the familiar sensation urging her to uncover the truth. Under the moon, she rearranged her wind-tossed hair, wrapped in a crimson-black cloak, and cautiously made her way back along the stone path.
Returning to her elegant chamber, Aveline's mind remained restless. Only a few dim candles lit the room as she removed her shawl, combing tangles from her hair. A soft knock sounded at the door—Lucian arrived promptly, concern etched on his face. His golden eyes warmed in the candlelight: "You're back safely. I was worried." Aveline smiled, hiding her agitation: "All is well, just a chill in the night." She seated herself by the chair, weariness clouding her eyes.
After checking they were alone, Lucian leaned closer: "You looked troubled earlier. Did something happen?" His voice was low, his eyes searching the shadows, as if still tracking the cloaked figure. Aveline took a deep breath, whispering in his ear: "I saw a man in black at the garden gate, looked like a thief." Lucian's brows furrowed immediately, pulling her into his arms: "Are you hurt?" Aveline shook her head, leaning into his warmth: "I'm fine, just startled. Did you notice anything unusual at the ball?" She pressed against his chest, warmth and lingering fear mingling in her heart.
Lucian didn't answer at once, brushing a stray hair from her shoulder, his gaze serious: "It seems I wasn't the only one who noticed that intruder." His deep voice held a magnetic tone, making Aveline shiver. She looked away, speechless. Lucian lifted her hand to his lips: "Now, I promise—you needn't fear." Aveline's heart skipped a beat at his unexpected tenderness. They stared at each other in silence, his lashes casting shadows in the candlelight. He looked down, wordless, then slowly leaned in, pressing a long, burning kiss to her jade-like neck.
In an instant, heat surged through Aveline. Her hand instinctively found his velvet-gloved wrist, the white-gold silk smooth against her skin. He hugged her tighter, the kiss spreading from his lips to ignite her chest. "Your Highness..." she breathed, fingers grazing his throat. Before Lucian could respond, she pulled him closer. Rising, she wrapped her arms around his neck, her eyes hazy with arousal: "I... need you." Her voice trembled, but her sincerity rang clear. Lucian's arms coiled around her waist, pressing her against his chest as their breaths mingled raggedly in the candlelight.
The wooden chair creaked under their fervor as Aveline clung to his upper body, silk shirt buttons coming undone under her fingers. By flickering candlelight, she saw Lucian's eyes blaze with heat, each kiss more insistent than the last. In that suspended moment, time stood still, only their hearts beating as one. Aveline's mind swirled: once far from home, now in the court; justice and betrayal tangled, yet she'd bared her softest self to this powerful man before her. They surrendered to passion, the fire burning on.
When the heat subsided, Aveline realized she'd clenched her gown's hem so tightly her nails dug into Lucian's broad back. He knelt on one knee, his burning thigh pressing against hers, leaving traces of tenderness and desire. Lucian paused, his gaze as forgiving as the sea: "Aveline, if you'll only—" His words were cut off as their lips met again. Moonlight streamed through the window, the hall silent except for their soft pants and lingering breath. There was no past or future now—only her steady heartbeat in his arms, and his reassuring whispers on her lips.