Jules paced her room, smoothing her petticoat as she went. She bit at her fingernails, nerves crawling beneath her skin. The pressure was heavy tonight—this ball had to be flawless. The coven needed to see her as capable, resolute. She had to rule alone, and they had to believe in her.
A knock sounded at the door.
Jules opened it quickly—and froze.
Isolede stood on the other side.
Jules's breath caught. She knew the Supremes had arranged the ball in her honor, but their personal appearances were rare. Too rare. A flicker of unease crept through her. Had she already done something wrong?
"Are you going to let me in?" Isolede asked, one brow arching.
Flustered, Jules stepped aside at once.
"Right—yes. Of course," she stammered.
Isolede swept inside, her royal-blue gown whispering across the floor.
"I wanted to offer you some advice," she said, approaching Jules. "I am the only female Supreme. As a woman in power, you will face prejudice. That is the unfortunate reality."
Jules nodded silently.
"But," Isolede continued, her expression softening, "if you ever need a mentor—I will be nearby."
Jules hesitated. She wasn't sure how to take it. Was Isolede truly this invested… or was there something deeper beneath the offer?
"Thank you," Jules said at last.
Isolede inclined her head.
"I'll see you at the ball."
Jules brushed out her curls and painted her lips a deep red to match her wine-colored gown. The floor-length dress skimmed the ground as she fastened the corset at her back. Its bodice was structured, the neckline open at the throat. Her hair fell sleekly behind her shoulders. She clasped a ruby necklace around her neck and studied her reflection one last time.
The Supremes were hosting a ball for her initiation. The weight of her new role pressed heavily on her shoulders.
She gripped the doorknob until her carriage arrived outside the old Opera House. Snow dusted the stone steps as she descended, tying her shadowy shroud to protect her hair. Ambros waited at the bottom, dressed in a dark tailored suit, his gaze lingering on her.
"You look beautiful," he said, offering his hand.
He helped her into the carriage, and soon they were on their way.
The circular drive was crowded with guests in elegant gowns and suits, all gathered to celebrate Jules. Inside, marble floors gleamed beneath candlelit chandeliers, piano music drifting softly through the hall. Jules removed her shroud as Ambros guided her into the ballroom.
Every head turned.
Time seemed to pause as she entered. Ambros squeezed her hand, and she smiled back at him. Together, they moved toward the center of the dance floor, whispers rippling through the crowd—excitement, anticipation, admiration for the new Vicar.
Ambros extended his hand.
"You've learned how to stand alone," he murmured. "This is me asking to stand beside you."
He looked at her as though she were something extraordinary—something rare. Jules felt it every time she entered a room: her presence, her gravity. She took his hand.
One arm settled at the small of her back, the other clasped hers as they swayed to the piano's slow melody. Jules rested her head against his shoulder. He drew her closer. For a moment, the world narrowed to just the two of them.
From their seats at the front of the ballroom, the Supremes watched—and nodded in approval.
Jules looked up at him.
"You never tried to shape me."
Ambros met her gaze, his eyes warm and gentle.
"You were never meant to be shaped."
He opened his mouth as if to say more—but stopped himself.
When the dance ended, applause thundered through the room. Jules dipped her head in acknowledgment.
"To our new Vicar!" Ambros called, lifting his glass.
The room echoed the toast in unison.
Jules turned to greet the guests—when the front doors opened.
A hush fell over the ballroom.
Murmurs spread. Heads turned. Jules strained to see over the crowd, her pulse quickening. She looked toward the Supremes and saw their expressions shift—tighten.
Her chest constricted.
Jules pushed through the gathering until the crowd parted.
She stopped short, breath stolen.
Standing before her was a man she barely recognized.
Lucian Corvus.