The moment the herald’s voice faded into the towering heights of the ballroom, Rosaline understood why people wrote poems about royal courts.

Nothing in Everbloom had prepared her for this.

The ballroom of the imperial palace did not merely glitter...it blazed.

Crystal chandeliers hung like frozen constellations from a ceiling so high it disappeared into painted heavens. Their countless candles spilled molten gold across polished marble floors, making every movement shimmer beneath it. The walls were lined with towering mirrors framed in silver and black, reflecting noblewomen in embroidered gowns and men in jewel-toned coats until it seemed as though there were twice as many people present.

And there were already too many people.

Too many eyes.

All of them on her.

Rosaline’s fingers tightened instinctively around Xandros’s hand.

His grip answered immediately...steady, warm, unyielding.

Not comforting.

Possessive.

It was the kind of hold that said without words: she is with me.

The realization made her spine straighten.

If she was to stand beside the Duke of Dagon tonight, then she would stand properly.

Not as the frightened girl dragged into a political marriage.

As his duchess.

She lifted her chin.

That small change was enough.

The murmurs shifted.

What had first sounded like curiosity now carried something else.

Respect.

And perhaps disappointment from a few hopeful women in the room.

Rosaline noticed those too.

Her lips nearly twitched.

Good....that was why she was here in the first place.

"Do not look so alarmed," Xandros murmured beside her, his mouth barely moving as they ascended the grand staircase into the crowd.

"I am not alarmed," she replied through clenched teeth, smiling politely at an elderly noblewoman who bowed too deeply.

"You are gripping my hand hard enough to bruise it."

"That is because I am deciding whether to flee."

His low chuckle brushed her ear.

"You would not get that far."

She turned her head sharply toward him.

He was not looking at her.

He was smiling at a passing lord.

Infuriating man.

Before she could answer, a man stepped forward from the center of the room, forcing the crowd to part.

He was older...well into his sixties...with broad shoulders that age had not managed to diminish and sharp features softened only slightly by silver hair. His crown was modest compared to the room around him, but there was no mistaking his authority.

The king.

Rosaline immediately lowered into a curtsy.

Xandros bowed beside her...only just enough to be respectful, but not submissive.

Interesting.

"Rise," the king said.

His voice was deeper than she expected.

When Rosaline looked up, she found his gaze fixed on her...not on Xandros.

"So," he said slowly, studying her. "This is the famed white-haired duchess."

Rosaline fought the urge to touch her hair.

Instead, she smiled.

"I hope the stories were kind, Your Majesty."

The old king barked out a laugh.

Several courtiers visibly startled.

"Oh, she speaks."

Xandros’s mouth twitched beside her.

The king noticed.

His eyes narrowed knowingly.

"You chose well, Duke."

Rosaline turned her head toward Xandros.

He did not answer.

But his hand tightened once around hers.

Then the king stepped aside.

"Enjoy your evening."

And suddenly they were swallowed by the court.

Introductions became a blur.

Marquesses, ladies and gentlemen.

Ladies with smiles too sharp to be sincere.

Young noblemen who bowed too low and held her hand too long.

Rosaline learned quickly that everyone wanted something.

Some wanted to see whether she truly had white hair.

Some wanted gossip.

Some wanted to know whether her marriage was real.

Some simply wanted to provoke her.

The latter wearing sapphire blue started her game as expected.

Seraphine.

Of course.

She approached with three women at her side, all perfectly dressed and equally unpleasant.

Well...to her.

"Your Grace," Seraphine said sweetly.

Rosaline smiled back.

"Lady Seraphine."

One of the women beside Seraphine leaned forward.

Her hair was honey blonde and her smile was poisonous.

"I must say," she began, eyeing Rosaline’s dress, "emerald is such a bold choice."

Rosaline glanced down at herself.

"It is."

"I would never wear it," the woman continued. "It can be so... unforgiving."

Ah.

So this was how they planned to do it.

Not direct insults.

Little cuts.

Rosaline smiled wider.

"That makes two of us."

The woman blinked.

Seraphine recovered quickly.

"We were just saying," she inserted, "how difficult it must be adjusting from Everbloom."

Rosaline nodded.

"It is."

"Such a... small kingdom."

Rosaline tilted her head.

"Yes. Which is why I am always fascinated by people who speak as though they have personally conquered larger ones."

The blonde choked.

Seraphine’s smile tightened.

Another woman stepped in.

"You must feel terribly overwhelmed."

Rosaline gave her a thoughtful look.

"I did."

Their faces brightened.

"Until now," Rosaline added.

They froze.

"Now I realize every kingdom has the same thing."

"And what is that?" Seraphine asked coolly.

Rosaline smiled.

"Women who are deeply concerned about things that do not belong to them."

Silence.

A nearby lord turned away very quickly, pretending not to laugh.

Seraphine’s cheeks flushed.

Rosaline nearly felt sorry for her.

Nearly.

"You speak boldly for someone so new here," Seraphine said.

Rosaline leaned slightly closer.

"And you speak boldly for someone whose name my husband doesn’t mention cause I said so."

That one landed.

Hard.

Seraphine’s expression fractured.

Only for a second.

But Rosaline saw it.

Victory.

She stepped back gracefully.

"If you will excuse me."

And walked away.

Her pulse thundered.

Her cheeks burned.

But not from embarrassment.

From exhilaration.

She had done it.

She had fought back.

And won.

She turned instinctively toward Xandros...

only to realize he was gone.

Her smile faded.

She scanned the room.

Nothing.

No dark coat.

No gray eyes.

No Xandros.

What the hell was wrong with this man?

Her stomach sank unexpectedly.

She told herself she did not care.

He was probably handling politics.

Speaking to generals.

Doing duke things.

Perfectly reasonable.

Yet as the next half hour passed, irritation began replacing logic.

She was introduced to three more strangers alone.

Left standing awkwardly beside a marble pillar.

Asked twice where her husband was.

She had no answer.

By the time a fourth noblewoman smiled pityingly at her, Rosaline was done.

Across the room....

unseen by her...

Xandros watched.

He stood near a balcony alcove, speaking to two ministers while his attention remained elsewhere entirely.

On her.

He had watched her destroy Seraphine’s little ambush with growing satisfaction.

He had nearly smiled when she said "my husband."

And then...

when she looked for him...

he had deliberately stayed hidden.

Why?

He wasn’t entirely sure.

Perhaps because he wanted to see what she would do.

Whether she would wilt.

Whether she would seek him.

Whether she needed him.

She did not wilt.

She grew angry.

And somehow that amused him even more.

"She has spirit," murmured a minister.

Xandros did not bother pretending ignorance.

"Yes."

His eyes followed Rosaline as she turned sharply and marched toward the ballroom doors.

Ah.

Now she was truly angry.

Interesting.

He should have stopped her.

He knew that.

Instead...

he let her go.

Rosaline moved through the crowd like a storm.

She ignored the startled servants.

Ignored the calls behind her.

Ignored the voice in her head insisting she was being childish.

If Xandros wished to abandon her at her first royal ball, then fine.

She would abandon it first. 𝙛𝒓𝒆𝙚𝒘𝒆𝓫𝙣𝓸𝙫𝓮𝒍.𝒄𝒐𝓶

The palace corridors were blessedly quiet compared to the ballroom.

Her heels struck marble in sharp, angry clicks.

By the time she reached the front steps, her chest was rising and falling too fast.

The cold night air hit her face.

Good.

She needed it.

A palace carriage waited below.

The driver looked startled.

"Your Grace?"

"Take me home."

"My lady...the duke..."

"Will survive without me."

He hesitated.

Rosaline stepped closer.

"I am your duchess."

The man swallowed.

"Yes, Your Grace."

The carriage door opened.

Rosaline climbed inside.

The moment the door shut, silence wrapped around her.

Too much silence.

Her anger began to cool.

And something else took its place.

Disappointment.

She hated that feeling.

Why had she expected him to stay beside her?

Why had she cared?

Why had it hurt?

She leaned back against the velvet seat and closed her eyes.

"I am ridiculous," she whispered to herself.

Yet her chest still felt tight.

Back at the palace entrance, hidden beneath the shadow of a stone archway, Xandros watched the carriage disappear into the night.

Seth appeared beside him.

"She left."

"I can see that."

"She is angry."

Xandros’s mouth curved faintly.

"Yes."

"Should I bring her back?"

"No."

Seth looked surprised.

Xandros turned toward the palace doors again.

"Let her be angry."

"And if she remains angry?"

That faint smile deepened.

"Then tomorrow will be interesting."

And somewhere far down the dark road to the ducal mansion, Rosaline sat alone in the carriage, staring out into the night, entirely unaware that the man she was furious with...

had never once stopped watching her.....or was being amused by her