The symphony of elegant strings filled the ballroom.

The scent of roasted roa boar from the northern forests mingled with the lighter aroma of honeyed pheasant, while servants circulated with bottles of Asterian red wine, a vintage saved for occasions exactly like this.

Couples had paired off and moved to the dance floor, swaying gracefully to the rhythm.

Alaric had somehow found his way back to the refreshment table, a fresh goblet of wine in hand, his cheeks carrying that telltale flush again.

"Shall we?" Selene appeared at his elbow, extending one gloved hand with deliberate grace.

Alaric looked down at her hand, then up at her face, eyebrow rising. He took another sip of wine before accepting her fingers.

"Do I have a choice?"

A low laugh escaped her lips.

"Not particularly." She adjusted her grip on his hand, firm but not forceful.

"You see, as a married woman, I don't need to dance with just anyone who asks. But avoiding the floor entirely?" She tilted her head, emerald eyes glinting. "That would be rude an occasion like this, wouldn't it? Besides," she added, a sly glint in her eye.

"I might even teach you a few steps, if you don't know them. It'll also be quite the display of an heir's skill."

She let the sentence hang, but her meaning was clear. His performance reflected on her, on their house.

And with that, she smiled and tugged him gently toward the stage.

"So," she said, stopping just at the edge of the dancing couples and dropping into an exaggerated curtsy that somehow managed to be both mocking and elegant, "would my dear nephew honor his devoted aunt with a dance?"

Alaric smirked and played along, offering a bow.

As he straightened, he caught her hand and pulled her in, closer than etiquette normally allowed. Close enough that she had to tilt her head back slightly to maintain eye contact.

"Then by all means," he murmured, his wine-warmed breath ghosting past her ear, "let's get this over with."

Selene's lips twitched at the sudden closeness, but she quickly composed herself.

You won't be drinking at the next gathering, she thought, amused but warning herself internally.

The orchestra swelled into the next movement, and they began to move.

Alaric's hand settled at her waist, hers on his shoulder. Their other hands clasped, raised to the proper height. For all his earlier protests, he moved with surprising confidence.

Around them, other couples spun past. The Duke and Duchess moved with mechanical precision, their faces pleasant but empty.

Marcus had somehow managed to secure a dance with some merchant's daughter who looked thoroughly unimpressed.

Near the edge of the floor, Cordelia was laughing at something her partner had said, while Catherine appeared to be leading hers rather than the other way around.

Various young lords were approaching Verelia, who declined each with polite but firm words.

Alaric caught Livia watching from near the tables. When their eyes met, she quickly looked away, cheeks flushing.

"Stop watching everyone else," Selene murmured. "Focus on your partner, your footwork's getting sloppy."

He corrected automatically, as muscle memory took over. They turned again, Selene's gown flaring slightly with the movement.

From across the room, Viviane watched them with narrowed eyes. She leaned toward another Lady, whispering something that made the other woman's eyes light with interest.

"We have an audience," Alaric murmured.

"We always do. Ignore them."

"Easy for you to say. You're not the one who just destroyed her son."

"No," Selene agreed, guiding him through a more complex turn.

"I'm just the one who'll have to clean up whatever retaliation she attempts. So perhaps next time, a bit more restraint?"

"Where's the fun in that?"

She stepped on his foot, deliberately, precisely, just enough to make her point.

"Ow."

"Oops. How clumsy of me."

The music began to slow, signaling the dance's end.

Other couples were already beginning to separate, offering polite bows and curtsies before seeking new partners or retreating to the edges.

Alaric and Selene bowed to each other courtly before stepping away from the dance floor along with the other couples.

He slipped his hand from hers and returned to the refreshments, lifting another glass of red wine with the same casual defiance that had carried him through the evening.

Selene watched him go with a slight shake of her head, then made her way to one of the smaller tables set along the ballroom's edge.

She settled into the chair with practiced elegance, content to observe rather than mingle for the moment.

Her gaze drifted across the room, eventually landing on Verelia.

The birthday girl sat at her own table, spine straight as a sword, occasionally lifting her wine goblet to her lips.

Young lords approached in steady succession, each one bowing, speaking what were undoubtedly charming words, offering their hands for the dance.

Each one received the same polite but firm dismissal, her expression never changed.

Meanwhile, near the refreshment table, Livia stood with an untouched glass of wine, half-listening to Eleanor describe someone's absolutely tragic choice of gown color.

"Milady?"

She turned to find a young man young nobleman, not more than a few years older than her, bowing before her. His smile was bit too eager.

His sandy hair was swept neatly back, and his doublet, though finely embroidered, lacked the weight of old blood. He was of decent family, ambitious enough to try his fortune tonight.

"Terrence Ashford," he introduced himself, extending a hand. "Would you honor me with the next dance?"

Livia's fingers tightened around her wine goblet. "I..."

Her eyes flicked sideways, almost involuntarily, to where Alaric stood barely three steps away.

He was leaning against the table, seemingly absorbed in studying the contents of his goblet, the candlelight catching the sharp line of his jaw as he drank. He hadn't even looked her way, yet his presence seemed to press on her chest more than the expectant young man before her.

Though she gathered herself quickly, offering a soft smile.

"I must decline, my lord. I have already arranged my next dance."

Without waiting for his response, she turned toward a nearby table where a golden-brown haired boy sat, looking thoroughly bored as he surveyed the crowd with his blue eyes.

"Brother," she said, approaching him with measured steps. "Shall we dance?"

Caleb looked up, his expression shifting from boredom to mild interest. He rose with a slight smile, offering his arm.

"Of course. I was getting tired of watching everyone else stumble through the steps anyway."

He glanced briefly toward where Ashford had stood, then back to his sister with a knowing look. "Smart choice."

Then as they moved toward the dance floor, Cordelia watched the exchange with keen interest. A mischievous smile played across her lips as she turned to where Alaric stood, still nursing his wine.

"Lord Glimor," she said sweetly, appearing at his side with practiced timing. "How nice that you're enjoying the refreshments."

Alaric glanced at her, eyebrow raised. "Lady Cordelia. Enjoying the evening?"

"Oh, immensely." She spoke. "Though I find myself without a partner for the next dance. Would you do me the honor?"

Her eyes sparkled with barely contained mischief as she extended her hand toward him.

"A dance?" he asked.

"Unless you prefer standing here with your wine all evening," she said with mock sweetness. "I promise to be a more entertaining partner than the refreshment table."

The music swelled, and Caleb led his sister into the opening steps with confident ease, clearly comfortable being seen on the dance floor.

Alaric set down his goblet with a slight smile. "Very well. I suppose one dance won't kill me."

"How gracious of you," Cordelia replied, her smile widening as she took his arm with, and moved toward the dance floor where other couples were already positioning themselves for the next set.

Livia felt the shift in the room's attention before she saw it. She glanced up from adjusting her glove to find Cordelia leading Alaric onto the polished marble, her friend's smile bright and deliberately innocent.

The music began. Alaric's hand settled at Cordelia's waist with the same casual confidence he'd shown with Selene, though Cordelia's laugh was warmer, more deliberately charming.

Livia's steps never faltered, but her brother noticed the way her shoulders tensed.

The final notes of the waltz faded into silence, and couples across the floor stepped apart. Cordelia curtsied to Alaric, her eyes sparkling with mischief as he offered a bow in return.

"That was... educational," she murmured, loud enough for nearby dancers to hear.

The couples began to disperse, some heading toward the refreshment tables, others lingering at the floor's edge in anticipation of the next set.

Then Duke Rithvale stepped forward onto the marble dais and raised his crystal goblet high above the crowd.

Every conversation died mid-sentence, every head turned toward the platform where the Duke stood.

"On this most delightful day," his voice resonated through the vast space with authority, "We celebrate not only my beloved daughter's birthday, but also the strengthening of bonds between noble houses."

Verelia remained perfectly still, sitting beside her mother on her table, though her fingers tightened slightly on the stem of her goblet.

The Duke paused deliberately, his gaze moving over the assembled nobles like a hawk surveying prey.

Then his eyes settled, unmistakably, on where Alaric stood.

The Duke's lips curved into a smile.

"It is with joy, that I announce the engagement of my daughter, Verelia Rithvale... to Alaric Glimor, heir of House Glimor."

A ripple of murmurs spread through the assembled nobles like wildfire.

The shock was palpable, heads turned, eyes widened.

"Lord Glimor?" someone breathed near the windows.

"The heir who just arrived?" another voice carried from the crowd.

"But he's barely been in society—"

"Shh, they'll hear—"

Duke Rithvale raised his hand, and the whispers died instantly.

"And what better way," he continued with that same satisfied smile, "to seal such joyous news… than for the betrothed to share the floor together?"

The nobles still lingering on the dance floor began to retreat. The orchestra, following some unseen signal, began shuffling their sheets for the next piece.

Across the ballroom, Alaric's gaze snapped to Selene, who sat at her table with perfect poise, not a hint of surprise on her face. She raised her goblet slightly when their eyes met, slowly, but deliberately, she smiled.

Alaric exhaled deeply, the sound barely audible. His shoulders rolled once, working out tension that had nothing to do with dancing and everything to do with the cage that had just snapped shut around him.

With measured steps, he crossed the ballroom toward the raised platform where Verelia sat beside her mother at their table. The crowd parted before him like water, every eye tracking his movement.

He stopped before the dais and offered a bow, not deep, but respectful enough for the circumstances.

"Lady Verelia," his voice carried just enough to be heard by those nearby, "would you honor me with this dance?"