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As though he had found something he had been searching for.

"Found you," he said looking at her ,"My bride!"

And the room exploded into whispers.

The silence after his words felt heavier than the ballroom itself.

My bride.

The phrase echoed through Rosaline’s head so loudly that, for one disorienting second, she forgot where she was.

Around them, whispers spread like wildfire through dry grass. Nobles leaned toward one another behind jeweled fans, their eyes glittering with curiosity as they stared openly at the strange man standing before the Duchess of Dagon as though the entire palace belonged to him.

Rosaline could barely breathe beneath the weight of his gaze.

There was something deeply unsettling about him.

Not merely because he was beautiful.

Not merely because of the unnatural elegance in the way he carried himself.

It was the feeling pressing against her chest whenever he looked at her, as though his eyes were searching through her rather than at her.

And she hated it.

Beside her, Elira suddenly stood so quickly her chair scraped softly against the polished floor.

"My lord," she said with careful politeness, stepping slightly closer to Rosaline as though shielding her without making it obvious. "I believe there has been some misunderstanding."

The man finally looked away from Rosaline.

Slowly.

Reluctantly.

His golden eyes slid toward Elira, and the faint amusement on his face vanished almost instantly.

"You are?" he asked.

"Lady Elira."

His expression remained blank.

Then his attention returned to Rosaline completely, dismissing Elira’s existence as though she were no more important than background noise.

"There is no misunderstanding," he said smoothly.

Rosaline straightened in her seat despite the discomfort crawling beneath her skin.

"I think there is," she replied carefully. "Because I do not know you."

The man smiled again.

It was not warm.

It was the kind of smile that belonged on predators moments before they bit into prey.

"That," he murmured, "is unfortunate."

A strange chill slid down her spine.

Before she could answer, the musicians at the far end of the ballroom suddenly changed melody.

The soft conversational music dissolved into something slower.

Richer.

It was time for dance.

Couples immediately began moving toward the center of the ballroom as servants stepped back to clear space across the marble floor.

The stranger’s eyes remained fixed on Rosaline.

Then, finally, he bowed slightly.

Not deeply enough for proper etiquette.

Just enough to mock the action.

"My apologies," he said. "I have not introduced myself."

His hand pressed lightly against his chest.

"Gillian."

The name meant nothing to her.

Yet the moment he spoke it, something in her stomach twisted uneasily.

Almost instinctively.

"I am Rosaline," she answered, though cautiously.

"I know."

The simplicity of the answer disturbed her more than it should have.

Gillian extended his hand toward her.

"Dance with me."

The words were calm.

But they did not sound like a request.

Rosaline blinked.

"I cannot."

"Why?"

"I..." She searched quickly for an excuse. "I am unprepared for dancing tonight."

"You attended a royal gathering."

"That does not mean I must dance."

"Actually," he replied lightly, "that is usually the purpose."

Elira tried again.

"My lord, perhaps the duchess simply wishes to remain seated."

Gillian ignored her entirely.

His gaze never left Rosaline’s face.

"I insist."

The ballroom had already noticed.

Rosaline could feel it.

The watching and the waiting.

Even Seraphine had stopped speaking with her companions, openly observing the exchange with narrowed eyes.

Rosaline’s fingers tightened around her untouched teacup.

"I came alone," she said quietly. "I do not have a partner."

"And now you do."

Her irritation flickered immediately.

Something about the certainty in his voice made her want to reject him out of pure spite.

But the longer she hesitated, the more attention gathered around them.

Whispers spread.

Questions followed.

Why was the duchess refusing?

Who was the man?

Why did he seem so interested in her?

And worst of all...

where was Duke Xandros?

Rosaline inhaled slowly.

Then placed her hand in Gillian’s.

Only because refusing now would create a greater scene.

The moment their skin touched, unease coiled tighter inside her chest.

His fingers were warm.

Too warm.

Not human warmth.

Something else.

Something strange.

Gillian’s smile deepened faintly as he led her toward the dance floor.

Behind her, Elira looked worried.

Rosaline wished she could say the expression was unnecessary.

Unfortunately...

it wasn’t.

The dance began slowly.

The orchestra played a smooth, elegant melody meant for noble partners, the kind where movements flowed close enough to appear intimate without crossing into impropriety.

Gillian’s hand settled against her waist.

Rosaline instantly stiffened.

He noticed.

His eyes gleamed with amusement.

"You dislike me already."

"That would require knowing you."

"And yet," he said softly as he guided her into a turn, "your body reacts to me as though it remembers something your mind does not."

Rosaline frowned.

"I think you enjoy speaking nonsense."

A low laugh escaped him.

"I enjoy many things."

The dance shifted.

He pulled her closer during the next movement, their joined hands lifting gracefully between them as surrounding couples moved in synchronized patterns around the ballroom.

Rosaline focused entirely on the steps.

One turn.

Slide.

Step back.

Pivot.

Anything to avoid his gaze.

But Gillian seemed determined to unsettle her.

"You truly do not recognize me?"

"No."

"Interesting."

She looked up then.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

His eyes searched hers carefully.

"Nothing."

It clearly was not nothing.

Rosaline’s discomfort deepened with every passing second.

The nobles surrounding them seemed enchanted by him.

Women watched openly.

Men looked wary.

Yet no one interrupted.

No one questioned him.

It was as though his presence alone bent the room around him.

"You are tense," Gillian observed.

"You make me uncomfortable."

That earned a genuine smile from him.

"Good."

Her eyes narrowed immediately.

"You admit it?"

"I enjoy honesty."

The next turn brought her directly against his chest before he smoothly spun her outward again.

Rosaline resisted the urge to recoil.

"You are strange."

"I have been called worse."

"I’m sure."

He chuckled softly.

Then his expression shifted.

Not visibly.

But she felt it.

Something colder entered the air around him.

"You wear his scent."

Rosaline blinked.

"What?"

"Xandros."

The way he said her husband’s name made her stomach tighten.

"What about him?"

Gillian tilted his head slightly.

"You belong to him now."

It was not a question.

Rosaline lifted her chin.

"I am his wife."

Something dark flickered briefly behind Gillian’s golden eyes.

"And are you happy about that?"

"That is none of your concern."

"Mm."

The sound carried amusement again, but it no longer felt playful.

It felt dangerous.

Rosaline suddenly wanted this dance to end.

Fast.

Unfortunately, the music continued.

Couples flowed around them gracefully while Gillian kept guiding her effortlessly across the floor as though he had danced this exact dance a thousand times before.

Perhaps he had.

"You dislike silence," he murmured after noticing she refused to engage him further.

"I dislike unnecessary conversation."

"You wound me."

"I doubt that is possible."

This time his laughter was quieter.

More genuine.

"You are far more interesting than I expected."

Rosaline ignored him completely.

But inwardly, she was growing increasingly uneasy.

Because beneath all the strange remarks...

beneath the unsettling familiarity...

beneath the invasive way he watched her...

there was something else.

Something wrong.

A pressure.

A feeling that screamed at her instincts to stay away from him.

And she trusted instincts.

Especially now.

The music suddenly slowed further for the final sequence of the dance.

Gillian pulled her closer again.

Too close.

Rosaline was about to step away...

when another hand suddenly closed around hers.

Firm.

Warm.

Familiar.

Her breath caught.

Before she could react, she was smoothly pulled away from Gillian’s hold and directly into another body.

One she recognized instantly.

The scent hit her first.

Dark cedar.

Smoke.

Winter air.

Then the voice came low beside her ear.

"You seem occupied."

Rosaline’s eyes widened.

Xandros.

She looked up so quickly her pulse stumbled.

He was there.

Dressed entirely in black again, his gray eyes cold as steel beneath the ballroom lights.

She had no idea when he arrived.

No idea how he crossed the ballroom so quickly.

But suddenly he was dancing with her instead.

And unlike Gillian...

he did not ask permission.

Gillian stared at them.

For the first time since entering the ballroom, the amusement left his face entirely.

The air between the two men sharpened instantly.

Rosaline felt it.

A silent clash.

Predatory.

Dangerous.

Xandros didn’t even look at Gillian initially.

His attention remained on Rosaline as he guided her through the next movement flawlessly.

Only after a few seconds did his gaze finally lift.

The ballroom suddenly felt too small for both men.

Gillian smiled first.

"How possessive."

Xandros’ expression did not change.

"You touched what belongs to me."

Several nearby nobles audibly inhaled.

Rosaline’s face heated instantly.

Gillian, however, only seemed entertained.

"Does she?"

Xandros’ hand tightened slightly at her waist.

"She does."

The music continued.

But now the dance no longer felt elegant. 𝘧𝓇𝑒𝑒𝑤ℯ𝑏𝓃𝘰𝑣ℯ𝘭.𝘤ℴ𝘮

It felt like war disguised beneath noble etiquette.

Rosaline looked between them, increasingly alarmed by the tension crackling silently in the air.

And suddenly...

she became angry.

Not frightened.

Angry.

Because Xandros had disappeared for days without explanation.

Because he left her alone.

Because she spent two restless nights worrying whether he was alive...

and now he appeared out of nowhere only to act territorial?

Her irritation rose swiftly.

By the time the music ended, she was furious.

The final note echoed softly across the ballroom.

Xandros released her hand.

Only for Rosaline to immediately step away from both men.

Without a word.

Without waiting.

She turned sharply and walked out of the room.

Fast.

The shocked whispers behind her barely registered.

Her heels struck hard against marble corridors as she moved toward the palace exit, anger burning hotter with every step.

Behind her, footsteps followed.

Steady.

Predictable.

Xandros.

Back inside the ballroom, Gillian remained standing exactly where she left him.

Watching.

His golden eyes narrowed slightly as Xandros disappeared after her.

Then Seraphine approached carefully, her expression composed despite obvious curiosity.

"My lord," she began smoothly, "perhaps you would prefer more suitable company..."

Gillian looked at her once.

Just once.

And the temperature around them seemed to drop.

"I would prefer silence," he said coldly.

Seraphine froze instantly.

Then stepped back.

Because suddenly even she understood...

whatever that man was...

he was not someone wise people provoked.