Andrea Vale had been seated at the back.

Not the true back, of course.

The empire still had enough sense not to insult him openly where three continents could notice. But it was the sort of placement that pretended to be diplomatic while making its meaning perfectly plain.

Andrea sat with the Draxil delegation and smiled because he had been raised well enough to know that beautiful things should never look angry unless someone has earned the privilege of seeing it.

Around him, the ceremony hall glittered in white silk, gold banners, polished stone, and flowers arranged with enough precision to make the entire space look expensive at first glance.

At second glance, it was cheap.

Of course it was.

Dean Fitzgeralt had chosen it.

Or had approved it.

Or had smiled at it with that unpleasant little expression of his, and everyone had bent over themselves, pretending taste had descended from the heavens.

Andrea’s gaze moved over the floral arches, the silver accents, the glass lanterns, and the soft ceremonial glow cast across the aisle.

Pretty.

Predictable.

Tasteless in the way only people applauded into relevance could become tasteless.

Dean had probably thought it elegant.

That alone made Andrea dislike it.

Beside him, Eva Thornevik watched the ceremony with serious eyes and straight military posture, like the entire affair was sacred rather than an expensive insult dressed in flowers.

She was a dominant alpha, a Draxil noblewoman of ancient military blood, and his future wife.

Andrea had expected worse when Otto and Minerva arranged it. He had expected cruelty, perhaps. Roughness. A woman selected to humiliate him properly, to drag him across the border and make a spectacle of the Vale name being lowered into Draxil hands.

Instead, Eva Thornevik was nice.

That was almost more offensive.

She was tall, composed, earnest, and worse than Thomas Lancaster, a little... stupid.

Not uselessly stupid. No, that would have been pleasant.

Eva was stupid in the way sincere people were stupid. She looked at him and saw a wounded thing. A misunderstood dominant omega. A man damaged by court pressure and poor guidance, who would thrive with discipline, affection, and the right environment.

The right environment.

Andrea nearly laughed the first time she said it.

As if he were a greenhouse flower failing to bloom because someone had placed him in the wrong light.

As if the world itself had not been built to serve people like him.

As if his problem had ever been the environment.

His problem was that lesser people kept touching what belonged to him.

Dean walked down the aisle beside Arion.

Andrea’s smile did not move, but something inside him curdled.

Dean looked luminous in black and silver, the cut of his ceremonial suit sharp enough to make the hall lean toward him. He did not look grateful. That was the worst part. He did not look overwhelmed by the honor of standing beside the Crown Prince of Alamina.

He looked as if he belonged there.

As if the empire had finally corrected itself around him.

Andrea’s fingers pressed lightly against his knee.

The sight was obscene.

Dean Fitzgeralt, with his sharp mouth and borrowed importance. Dean Fitzgeralt, who had entered this world through marriage and scandal and somehow convinced everyone that audacity was the same as worth. Dean Fitzgeralt, being watched by Arion as if he were something precious.

Andrea hated them both.

He hated Arion’s stillness, that imperial calm that had never once bent toward him. He hated the way Arion held Dean’s hand as if the whole ceremony existed only to make their private bond visible. He hated the way the hall believed it.

He hated Dean more for being loved by it.

Eva leaned closer. "Are you all right?"

Andrea turned his head, giving her the soft, wounded expression she had already proven weak against.

"Of course," he said.

She studied him with that earnest concern that made him want to break something beautiful just to watch her realize beauty could be cruel.

"This must be difficult," she murmured.

Difficult.

Andrea almost scoffed.

Yes, watching thieves decorate themselves in his future was difficult.

He lowered his gaze. "It is strange."

Her expression softened at once.

There it was.

So easy.

So crude.

What a waste of a dominant alpha.

At the dais, Arion began his vows.

Andrea listened and hated every word.

My protection, my loyalty, my house, my body, my name.

Ridiculous.

Indulgent.

Embarrassing.

Arion had always been too cold to be charming and too disciplined to be easily ruined. Andrea had never liked him, but he had once respected the fact that Arion understood hierarchy. Power. Distance. The value of not giving too much of oneself where people could see.

Now he stood before half the world and offered himself to Dean Fitzgeralt like some tragic hero from a cheap romance.

How humiliating. How infuriating. How perfectly Dean.

Dean’s vow was worse.

He spoke as if his choice was more important than the crown. As if the empire should be grateful that he agreed to stand there. As if his sharp little voice and pretty, poisonous confidence were powerful enough to change tradition.

And the disgusting thing was that the hall accepted it.

Even Eva smiled.

Andrea looked at her and felt a flash of contempt so strong it almost warmed him.

She believed in this; she believed that kindness could help Andrea.

What a crude irony.

The kiss came, and the hall erupted.

Andrea clapped because the cameras were still live and he had no intention of giving anyone the pleasure of seeing him refuse.

His palms met lightly.

Once.

Again.

Again.

A perfect rhythm.

A perfect lie.

When the public ceremony and broadcast concluded, the hall shifted to the private gala. Representatives rose. Guards moved. Noble families began their slow migration toward the inner ballroom, where the real conversations would begin beneath music, wine, and velvet smiles.

Andrea stood with Eva at his side.

She offered him her arm.

He took it because refusing would give her the wrong kind of concern, and Andrea had not survived court by wasting useful delusions.

"You handled yourself very well," Eva said.

Andrea smiled faintly. "Did I?"

"Yes. I know this cannot be easy for you."

He let silence answer for him.

Eva’s gaze softened again.

Poor, stupid woman.

She thought he was some neglected thing that might open under the right hand.

Andrea let her believe it.

People were easier to use when they mistook restraint for pain.

As they moved with the Draxil delegation toward the gala, Andrea’s gaze drifted across the hall.

Thomas Lancaster stood near one of the side arches.

Composed, disgustingly handsome in formal military attire, he spoke quietly to Sylvia as if he had a right to exist peacefully after all.

Sylvia was looking at him.

Andrea saw the way her face softened before she remembered herself. He saw the careful distance between them. He saw the restraint. The desire. The little private world forming at the edge of an imperial wedding, as if everyone had simply decided to be happy in front of him today.

His fingers tightened on Eva’s sleeve.

This time, the anger was clean.

Thomas Lancaster.

Andrea hated Dean.

He hated Arion.

But Thomas was different.

Thomas had looked at him once with that quiet, unimpressed steadiness, as if Andrea were something already measured and found wanting. Worse, he had survived him. He had stepped out of Andrea’s reach and gone on existing, upright and admired, while Andrea was being packaged for Draxil like a problem wrapped in silk.

And Sylvia.

Sweet little Sylvia, standing there with her careful face and foolish hopes.

Andrea smiled.

Perhaps they should be first.

’My perfect first revenge.’

Andrea looked away before anyone noticed the pleasure in his face.

Eva glanced at him. "Did something happen?" 𝘧𝓇ℯ𝑒𝓌𝑒𝑏𝓃𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘭.𝒸ℴ𝓂

"No," Andrea said softly.

His smile remained perfect.

"Nothing at all."

The gala doors opened ahead of them, spilling gold light across the corridor.

Andrea stepped forward beside his future wife, surrounded by Draxil uniforms, imperial guards, and people who believed him contained.

Soon enough, they would all remember that ignored things could still bite.