Lady Seraphine, flushed crimson and trembling with wounded pride, chose the most theatrical escape imaginable. She lifted her chin in a stiff, brittle bow, the kind that conveyed courtesy only in form, never in spirit, then pivoted sharply. She swept toward the exit like thunder wrapped in silk and lace.
Her heels struck the marble floor with such resolute force that even the chandeliers above seemed to sway whether in deference or fear was difficult to say.
Unfortunately, fate clearly bored and craving entertainment chose that exact moment to intervene. It placed Denova directly in the path of Seraphine's grand departure, as if the universe itself were arranging a collision.
They bumped.
For one suspended heartbeat, the world seemed to pause. Music faded into a distant hum. Laughter froze mid-breath. Even the air held still, waiting to see what would happen next.
Lady Seraphine turned her head slowly… oh, so slowly. It was the measured movement of a queen deciding which unfortunate soul would be made an example of before dinner. Her gaze locked onto Denova's, sharp and unyielding, a glare capable of slicing through silk, skin, and dignity all at once.
Denova, meanwhile, blinked.
Once.
Then again.
She looked like an innocent bystander who had wandered into the wrong story entirely. Her expression held polite confusion, mild terror, and that very specific look that silently screamed.
"I have absolutely no idea what's happening… but I'm fairly certain I'm being blamed for it."
And truly, she wasn't pretending.
Barely thirty seconds ago, she had been in the garden, engaged in a conversation so unexpectedly pleasant it felt like a small miracle. The prince had laughed softly unguarded, genuine sound rarely heard from someone born beneath the weight of a crown. In that moment, he had seemed less like royalty and more like a man simply enjoying the night.
And then she stepped back inside the ballroom.
The change was immediate.
The air shifted so suddenly that Denova nearly glanced upward, half-expecting storm clouds to have gathered beneath the ceiling. Laughter dulled. Conversations fractured. Eyes sharp, curious, calculating, judgmental turned toward her with unsettling precision.
It felt like walking into a room where everyone suddenly remembered they despised humidity...and she was the humidity.
The music continued to play, dutiful and oblivious, but the atmosphere had soured curdled like milk forgotten beneath the sun. Fans fluttered faster, as though attempting to stir cleaner air. Men raised their brows in quiet speculation. Women leaned closer together, whispering behind gloved hands as if gossip were oxygen and Denova's presence had generously replenished their supply.
She took a hesitant step forward, her brow knitting slightly. Denova clutched her skirt lightly, glancing around with genuine bewilderment, entirely unaware that in the span of a single breath, she had become the evening's most irresistible scandal.
Duke Elarion noticed her stiff shoulders before anyone else did. Of course he did. The man could probably sense her discomfort across oceans.
He approached with that calm, elegant stride of his the one that made it look like he owned the very floor he walked on.
"Denova," he murmured softly, "you seem tired. Shall we go home?"
Denova glanced around first. Oh, she definitely wasn't imagining it. Half the nobles were staring at her like she'd spilled red wine on the empire's most sacred carpet. The other half looked at her with surprising respect, like she was some mysterious lady of high standing whose mere existence intimidated them.
She had no idea why.
Then she heard it whispers slithering like snakes.
"Caught flirting in the garden…"
"Lady Seraphine saw everything…"
"And yet she gets scolded? Truly unfair…"
"Pretty girls always use their looks"
Denova felt a cold shiver run down her spine. Her fingers trembled.
Before panic could fully sink its claws, Duke Elarion's hand found hers, warm, steady, grounding.
"Do not mind them," he said quietly, voice dangerously gentle. "I know you better than anyone. You are not who they imagine you to be."
And just like that, the ballroom suddenly felt a little safer.
The duke escorted her out with the utmost care, treating her as though she were made of the most fragile glass. Meanwhile, his glares, sharp, icy, lethal were being fired at every noble who dared whisper behind their backs. A few even pretended to admire chandeliers just to avoid eye contact.
Across the room, the prince stood frozen, guilt weighing on him like armor. He was the reason for the rumors, he knew it. Yet… if he were given another chance to talk with her again, he'd still do it. Without hesitation. That moment in the garden was one of the warmest memories he'd ever made.
Her smile… Saints above, her smile was becoming his weakness. His heartbeat still refused to calm down.
The ball ended under a cloud of gossip, but the Emperor and Empress found themselves unexpectedly entertained. Their son's flustered expression told them everything they needed to know.
The Emperor sighed internally. He deeply respected Duke Elarion and had no desire to end up on the man's bad side but he also couldn't ignore his son's heart. His son, who had spent his whole life following orders, studying endlessly, mastering swordsmanship, learning every intricacy of ruling an empire…
If the boy wanted freedom one thing in love, then the Emperor would grant it.
One thing was certain, he would never force his son to marry someone he didn't love.
The Empress wholeheartedly agreed. And truthfully… she was enchanted by Denova too. Especially the dress. The dress was simple yet stunning an elegant masterpiece that demanded admiration without begging for it.
That very night, she sent a letter, inviting Lady Denova to the palace. A personal request. For tea… and for the dress designer herself.
As soon as the carriage doors closed, Denova turned to the duke with wide, anxious eyes.
"What in the world happened back there?"
Elarion sighed, the type of sigh that carried ages of experience.
"You need not worry. Lady Seraphine has always been… dramatic."
He paused. "And she has feelings for me."
Denova already knew this, but hearing it said aloud made her wince.
"I didn't mean to cause trouble. I really didn't want any attention… and because of my carelessness..."
"You did nothing wrong," he interrupted gently. "Balls exist for one purpose, nobles causing scenes. If they can't find a problem, they invent one. They devour one another like animals, all in the name of power, and pride."
His voice was steady, unwavering.
And strangely, painfully comforting.
Denova felt it again, that sense that even if the world turned against her, Elarion would stand at her side. One small smile from him and the knot in her chest loosened.
They reached the manor feeling lighter. Elarion walked her to her room, his hand lingering a moment longer than necessary on hers.
"For what it's worth," he said softly, "you were the most breathtaking woman at the ball."
Denova flushed.
"And you," she smirked, "looked quite dashing yourself."
They laughed, exchanged good nights, and parted.
Across the palace, the prince stared at his ceiling like it owed him answers. Denova's smile kept flashing in his mind like a spell he couldn't undo.
He hoped, prayed that she wasn't engaged to Duke Elarion. He just wanted to know her better. Even just as a friend… for now. But he couldn't approach recklessly. As crown prince, any wrong move could endanger her.
Nobility was simple.
Kill or be killed.
Gain power or become prey.
He'd survived attempts on his life since childhood. He didn't want those dangers touching Denova.
So before sleeping, he summoned his knight.
"Investigate Lady Denova. And her connection to Duke Elarion."
Little did he know, the emperor did the same.
Early morning after getting ready Denova rushed to see Lowen, the small child she cared for.
"Are you feeling alright today? Any pain? Anyone bother you while I was gone? Tell me if something happened."
Lowen giggled. "I'm fine, Lady Denova. I'm just happy you're here!"
Hidden in the distance, Duke Elarion watched them quietly.
Too quietly.
He already felt dangerously attached to her more than he should be.
But the curse chained him, reminding him that no matter how much he cared for her… his future might not include her. Not while the curse lingered.
And the only clue they ever had which is the summoning scroll was long gone, burned to ash.
Elarion's heart ached at the thought of Denova choosing someone else one day.
He inhaled deeply, fighting the pain.
Just then, Kael approached.
"Your Grace, a letter from the palace. Addressed to Lady Denova Ravenscroft."
The duke's jaw tightened.
Denova entered his study nervously. The duke handed her the sealed envelope.
She read it, eyes widening.
"The… The Queen invited me for tea. She wants to talk about the dress I made."
Denova looked up at him immediately hopeful, excited, terrified.
"What do you think, Your Grace? Should I accept?"
The duke hesitated. He knew exactly who Denova met in the garden. He knew the prince had been with her.
He knew this invitation could complicate everything.
But then he saw her eyes bright, happy, shining.
And guilt washed over him. He couldn't take that joy away.
So, with the softest smile he could manage through the ache in his chest, he said.
"You must accept. You deserve it."