The music resumed after Adrian's dance with Cassia, but its rhythm seemed altered—faster, harsher, as though mocking his unsteady pulse. He felt eyes upon him, dozens, perhaps hundreds, yet the four gazes that mattered most burned through the glittering crowd like blades.
Selene did not move toward him. She remained at a distance, speaking with masked figures in velvet and silk, yet Adrian felt her power as if she had bound him with invisible cords. Every flicker of her dark eyes reminded him that he had betrayed her subtle claim.
Liora was less restrained. She pressed her goblet down with such force that crimson wine spilled across the marble, and when her amber gaze found him, it was not lust but fury he read there—fury wrapped in longing. Her lips trembled, but whether with words unsaid or with the urge to kiss and strike him both at once, Adrian could not know.
Althea, gentle Althea, watched with sorrow etched into her features. She had never demanded, never accused, yet her silence struck him more deeply than Liora's rage. It was as though she whispered, I expected better of you, though her lips did not part.
Cassia, in contrast, laughed. Her hand lingered on his arm, her golden gown shimmering like captured fire. She thrived in the chaos she had sparked, delighting in the storm that now surrounded him. To her, his shame was sweet, his weakness a melody to be played.
Adrian's chest tightened. He longed for escape, yet every door seemed farther away, every shadow filled with the risk of pursuit. He whispered to himself, I am still free. I can still choose. But the words rang hollow.
"Why do you tremble?" Cassia teased, leaning close enough that her breath warmed his neck. "This is only a dance, Adrian. Only laughter, wine, and silk. Why do you look as though you've been condemned?"
"Because I am," he muttered, too softly for her to hear.
The music shifted, swelling as masked dancers encircled them. The party had turned into a theatre, every movement choreographed, every laugh rehearsed. Adrian realized with a pang of dread that this was no spontaneous celebration—it was a ritual. A ritual of temptation, rivalry, and judgment. And he, unwilling yet complicit, was its centerpiece.
At last, Selene crossed the floor. The crowd seemed to part for her, as if instinctively recognizing her dominion. She stopped before Adrian, her hand brushing aside Cassia's arm with the gentlest of gestures—yet Cassia retreated, her smile sharp but conceding.
"Walk with me," Selene said. It was not a request.
Adrian obeyed, his body moving before his will could object. They stepped through an arched doorway into a narrower hall, its tapestries depicting ancient hunts and forgotten feasts. The air was cooler here, the silence pressing.
Selene halted beneath a candelabrum, her eyes unreadable. "Do you understand now, Adrian?"
He swallowed, unable to meet her gaze. "Understand what?"
"That freedom is an illusion. You think you chose Cassia, but it was your hunger that chose for you. The flame has already claimed you. You are no longer innocent—you are bound."
Her words fell heavy, striking something deep within him. He wanted to deny her, to insist that he still had control, that he could resist if he wished. Yet the memory of Cassia's laughter, the thrill of her body pressed against his, rose unbidden and silenced him.
Selene leaned closer, her voice low, intimate, terrible. "There will be no turning back. Each indulgence draws new chains. Soon you will beg for them, and you will not even recognize your own voice."
Adrian shuddered, torn between terror and desire. He longed to flee, yet part of him yearned for the chains she promised.
Footsteps echoed. Liora entered, her face flushed with anger. "Selene," she hissed, "you play with him like a spider with its prey. But I will not allow it."
Her eyes turned to Adrian, fierce and burning. "You are not her puppet. Do not let her bind you. Desire can be freedom too—it can be fire, not chains."
Selene's lips curved in a thin smile. "And fire consumes, little one."
The two women stood opposed, their beauty like twin weapons—Selene cold and sovereign, Liora wild and untamed. Adrian stood between them, heart pounding, breath short, feeling as though the walls themselves pressed closer.
In that instant, he understood: the second party was no game, no indulgent masquerade. It was war. And he was not the general, nor even the soldier—he was the prize.
He sank against the wall, trembling, his thoughts racing with fear, longing, shame. I must choose, he thought, but every choice is ruin.
Behind him, faintly, came the sound of Cassia's laughter echoing through the hall. And somewhere beyond, Althea's quiet sorrow waited like a shadow he could not escape.