The chandeliers burned too brightly.Kael Veyron stood at the edge of the ballroom, the gold and marble glaring back at him like a mockery of everything he had lost.
Laughter echoed across the vast hall—sharp, brittle, false. Nobles in silks and velvet whispered behind their fans, their jeweled fingers like knives stabbing through polite smiles. He always noticed.They all did.The fallen heir of House Veyron, once the seventh Duke family, now a relic to be pitied, mocked, or conveniently forgotten.
When he entered earlier, no herald had called his name.No voice had lifted to announce his bloodline.The silence had been louder than any insult.
For a moment, anger had surged hot and bitter in his veins—anger at the Holy Families who had plotted his family's fall, at the court that had turned its back, at the smirking lords who now wore stolen glory like ill-fitted crowns.But before Kael could let it fester, a small hand had slipped into his.Lira's.
Her smile, so bright and stubbornly innocent, had steadied him like a shield against a storm."You're strong, Kael," she'd whispered, as if that alone was enough to silence the world.
And for a moment, it was.
He exhaled slowly now, adjusting the stiff collar of his borrowed coat. He would not give them the satisfaction of seeing him broken. Not tonight.
A sudden murmur rippled through the gathered crowd, drawing his attention to the center of the ballroom.
There, a duel had broken out.One young noble and one butler circled each other, swords flashing under the chandeliers. One of them was Anwir: an unfamiliar face to Kael, but even at a glance, he moved like someone dangerous — too precise, too focused for a mere dandy's skirmish.
The other noble, already flushed and breathing hard, lunged forward. A textbook strike, careless with overconfidence.
Kael's eyes narrowed. Amateur mistake.
Anwir's figure blurred — no, shifted — a flash of unnatural movement slicing through space itself. In a heartbeat, he disappeared from his spot—
—and appeared an instant later, right in front of a girl reaching for a tray of sweets.
Lira.
Her breath caught audibly, heart skipping a beat as Anwir materialized before her like a phantom, his coat brushing against her arm as he completed the Position Swap maneuver.
The noble charging at Anwir staggered, bewildered, his blade slashing empty air where Anwir had just been — and stumbled headfirst into the marble pillar behind him.
A heavy crack sounded.Gasps erupted from the crowd.
Kael instinctively stepped forward, a protective urge flashing across his features, but Anwir was already turning away from Lira without even sparing her a glance — his attention coldly fixed on the crumpled noble.
Then Anwir gently stabbed the blade into the young noble's arm.
The duel was over.Efficiency, not chivalry.
Kael's hand tightened briefly into a fist, then relaxed. He wasn't sure if he felt respect, suspicion, or both.
Beside him, Lira pressed a hand to her chest, her cheeks faintly flushed."He moved so fast," she breathed, half to herself.
Kael grunted. "Fast enough. But don't let your guard down around anyone here," he muttered, watching Anwir with a guarded expression. "Especially not the ones who hide their strength."
He would remember the name Anwir.And he would watch carefully — because in this nest of vipers, even quiet knives could change the course of a kingdom.
Lira's eyes shimmered like lantern-light when she strolled into the grand ballroom, her fingers gripped tightly around the invitation, as though it would vanish into the atmosphere at any time. The air was thick with perfume and laughter. She hardly noted this—her eyes had locked on the banquet tables that lined the far wall of the ballroom, which were sagging to the brink of collapse with the weight of the delicacies she had only dreamt of.
She gripped Kael's sleeve violently, filled with barely-contained exuberance. "Kael, look! Is that… is that honeyed pheasant? And those little cakes - they are in the shape of flowers!"
Kael, ever the vigilant shadow at her side, managed a small smile despite the tension in his jaw. "Don't wander too far, Lira. These nobles would eat you alive if you let them."
She grinned, undeterred. Not if I eat their food first.
She giddy slipped through the crowd, weaving between swirling skirts and polished boots. The closer she got, the more her troubles faded into oblivion. She was here now and the only thing that mattered was that she was in an amazing place, a beautiful place, a magical place. She had never seen so much food, so many colors, tastes, smells, just sitting out there waiting for her.
On the other side of the ballroom, Marius Viridiel sipped from a half-empty glass of wine, his gaze longingly fixated on Selvaria Rosenthal's every move with growing frustration. She was a forbidden fruit—untouchable, cold, so far above him in every way that he sometimes thought that just reaching for her was a sin. He felt like he was stealing something by just watching her dance through the sea of people, each gesture like a knife driving home exactly the point that he could never really have her.
He drained the last of his drink with a sneer on his lips. If I cannot have her, he thought, glancing at the banquet table, then at least I will satiate my hunger with something a little sweeter. Perhaps a treat. That little one will do.
He set his glass down and pushed off the wall, eyes fixed on the cheerful girl sampling the desserts. Every step was calculated, his intentions masked behind the veneer of noble decorum.
Lira reached for a sugared tart, fingers trembling with anticipation.
A sharp shoulder collided with her. She was thrown off balance, gasping as the tart slipped from her fingers and landed with a soft plop on the marble floor.
Marius Viridiel, dressed in bright white, looked down at her and sneered. "Careful, peasant. Not everything is meant for the clumsy hands of nothing more than the servant."
Lira's face flared red. "I-I apologize, I didn't-"
Her wrist was suddenly held. He was holding her wrist tightly, but not painfully tight, and her heart was pounding in her throat.
"Maybe a lesson in etiquette is appropriate," Marius whispered. "I could teach you a lesson instead."
Lira struggled to free herself. "Please-let go-I didn't mean to hurt you-"
Another hand grasped Marius's wrist and gripped him, hold firm, insistent as well.
"Let her go."
Kael didn't speak loudly, but his voice had an edge, possessiveness that implied danger.
For a brief moment, Marius held onto her, his grip tightening, his devious grin curling into a true predator's grin at the edge of that boy's voice. "Maybe you need to be taught a lesson in humility, little mouse."
Lira tried to twist out of his grip, fear bubbling in her throat. She could feel Marius's grip tighten around her wrist, hardening. "Touch her again," he said, voice low and calm. "You'll see why that's a mistake."
The buzz of the crowd sharpened, taste palpable; the sense of blood in water thickening.
But before anything could be added to the denouement, another body swept in, cutting its way through the circle.
Selvaria Rosenthal arrived like a knife through silk. Light played through the silver of her hair, the purple of her gown shone like water. She stared down into the scene with an air of boredom and evident disdain.
"Is this what passes for entertainment among the Holy Families these days?" she said. Her voice was soft, but carried an ambiance—a ripple of ice over the gathering. "Bullying children and squabbling in public? How positively... provincial."
Marius straightened with a huff. "Lady Selvaria, this is none of your concern. Just a matter of discipline—"
She arched a single brow. "If you're so eager to teach, Lord Viridiel, perhaps start with yourself. Or do you enjoy humiliating your house in public?"
The crowd tittered. Marius flushed.
Kael stepped in front of Lira. "She's done nothing wrong. You're the only one making a scene."
Selvaria's gaze flicked to him, her lips curving in faint amusement. "The Veyron boy. I suppose even a ruined house can still bark when prodded."
Kael bristled. "At least my family didn't climb to power by stepping on the backs of others."
Selvaria's gaze sharpened. "No, your family simply lacked the strength to hold what it once had."
A hush fell.
Kael's fists clenched, but Lira tugged at his sleeve. "Kael, please…"
Selvaria studied Lira. "Stand on your own feet, little girl. No one here will catch you if you fall."
She turned, the matter already beneath her concern.
Anwir watched from the sidelines, a flicker of recognition passing through his eyes before he dismissed it. Just another pair of background characters, he thought. For now.
But fate, as always, had other plans.