The herald had barely finished announcing the northern duchy when a quiet ripple moved through the crowd subtle at first, then widening like a wave through silk.

Light shifted. Conversations faltered. Fans stilled mid-air.

And then she stepped into the ballroom.

Lady Lilian Verdefleur did not simply enter.
She appeared a lone streak of winter cutting through a garden of spring colors, half-hidden behind an elegant veil of shadow and gold.

Her mask was the first thing people saw.

An asymmetrical crescent, smooth as sculpted moonstone, sweeping across her face in a regal slash. One side framed her chin entirely, polished to a muted gleam; the other covered only her cheek, revealing just enough to make the imagination work harder.

Gold filigree curled along its edge like frost catching dawn. Tiny jewels too small to flaunt, too perfect to ignore winked under candlelight each time she breathed.

But it wasn’t the mask that subdued the ballroom.
It was the way she moved the measured grace of someone trained to walk with purpose, not ornament.

Her outfit broke the unspoken rules of noblewoman attire without ever stepping into scandal.

Fitted trousers, cut with precision, hugged her frame like tailored shadow.
Her jacket if one could call it that was a bodice sewn into structured elegance, embroidered with faint northern sigils that glimmered like ice fractals beneath the chandeliers.

And from her hips flowed a long, sweeping half-skirt, a sheet of sheer fabric cascading behind her like green starlight. It trailed with the softness of a gown but moved at the mercy of her steps, not tradition’s.

Every stride made the train ripple like the aurora over frozen lakes.

No jewelry clinked.
No gemstones screamed for attention.
Only a single emerald ring crowned her gloved hand, a quiet reminder of lineage and power.

The mask did the speaking.
Her posture did the commanding.

Even the royal musicians faltered, bowstrings trembling before they regained themselves.

Vivian barely steady on her feet beside the Duke caught sight of her from across the hall. Her breath hitched.
Not because Lady Lilian was beautiful (though she was), nor because she was noble (though she carried rank the way others carried scent).

But because Lilian did not belong to the ballroom.

She stood in it the way a lone star stands in a pitch sky distant, brilliant, untouchable.

So that is Lady Lilian Verdefleur, she thought, her designer’s eye already cataloguing every stitch, every deliberate rebellion, every whisper of power hidden behind fabric.

Mysterious, masked, and terrifyingly elegant.

Their eyes met barely, fleeting, the kind of accidental alignment that happened only when two people were far too aware of each other. Vivian wasn’t even sure Lilian had done it intentionally. It was the smallest shift of her masked face, the faintest slowing of her steps, but it was enough to make a smile bloom at the corner of Lilian’s lips.

Not a warm smile.
Not a coy smile.
A smile that understood more than it showed.
A smile that acknowledged.

And then, just as quickly, she turned her head and greeted another noble, her half-skirt whispering over the marble as she rejoined the flow of the ballroom.

The whispers began immediately.

“She hides her face, you know…”
“I heard she was slashed across the cheek by a northern beast.”
“No, no she wears the mask so her hideousness won’t frighten the young lords.”
“How cruel though I suppose there must be a reason…”
“They say the Duchess keeps her guarded for a reason too…”

Vivian listened without meaning to. Nobles never truly whispered; they only pretended to.

A young nobleman in a crisp white coat stepped toward Vivian, clearly trying to seize the rare moment when she stood alone.

“Lady Vivian, it is an honor to—”

She didn’t even turn.

Her eyes were still on Lilian.

The man’s voice faltered mid-sentence as he realized she wasn’t listening at all. He lingered for an awkward heartbeat, bowed stiffly to nothing, and retreated into the crowd like a wilted flower, but Vivian remained entirely unaware of his existence.

All she could see was the way Lilian’s half-skirt swept in soft arcs across the marble, how her asymmetrical mask caught the chandelier’s glow like a sliver of moonlight.

And for a moment, it felt as though the whole ballroom blurred at the edges until only she and that masked, enigmatic figure remained in focus.

A sharp crack echoed through the ballroom.

The herald lifted her magic stone, its glow swelling until the entire hall shimmered with blue light.
Every noble bowed at once, silence falling like a curtain.

“Their Majesties, King Aldric IV and Queen Seraphina, sovereigns of Veldava!”
Her voice echoed, magically amplified.

A brief beat then another pulse of light from the stone.

“His Royal Highness, Crown Prince Rowan of Veldava!”

A third resonance followed, softer but no less commanding.

“Her Royal Highness, Princess Amara of Veldava!”

The great doors opened.

Bathed in golden light, the royals stepped inside.

King Aldric wore his authority like armor, every step steady and unyielding.
Queen Seraphina moved with a grace that made the rest of the court look like poor rehearsals.

Behind them walked the future of the Empire.

Prince Rowan, Omega, fifteen fair hair and warm hazel eyes, nerves flickering beneath a posture held too stiff.
Princess Amara, Alpha, eighteen pale yellow hair gleaming, her sharp hazel eyes calculating rather than admiring.

Whispers rippled at the edges of the hall, but no one dared raise their head.
The royal line had entered, and nothing felt small anymore.

The King raised a hand. The room obeyed instantly.

“My people,” Aldric said, voice deep and resonant. “Tonight, we celebrate strength. Honor. And the ties that keep Veldava unbroken.”

His gaze swept the room like a blade.

“Raise your heads. Raise your spirits.
The Grand Seasonal Ball begins now.”

Applause surged like a wave.

After the King’s opening words faded into applause, the Duke and Duchess stepped forward with the other high nobles to formally greet the royal family.

Their exchange was brief courteous bows, a few words of respect, nothing more. Once duty was satisfied, they withdrew from the royal dais and immediately separated, each drifting toward their own political circles waiting deeper in the hall.

And just like that, Vivian was left without an anchor at her side.

She stood beneath the chandeliers in her pale blue gown, the hem settling neatly around her ankles. The thin bandages beneath her sleeves stayed invisible, but she could still feel them reminders hidden under silk.

A quiet distance settled over her.

If she stepped forward, no one would stop her.
If she stepped back, no one would notice.

A very familiar discomfort.
And then
A shift in the air.
A pause in the music.
A faint hush stretched between the notes.

Vivian turned slowly.

Lady Lilian Verdefleur stood only a few paces away.

Up close, she was taller than Vivian expected not towering, but poised, her presence lengthening her silhouette. Candlelight slid over the emerald velvet of her jacket-bodice, catching the frost-like embroidery threading her sleeves. Her mask tilted at a deliberate angle, revealing half her lips as they curved into that impossible, knowing smile.

“Lady Vivian,” Lilian said, her voice velvet-soft yet steady, cutting easily through the ambient chatter.

Vivian straightened. “Lady Verdefleur.”

Lilian dipped her head not a bow, not deference.
A greeting between equals.

“I trust your recovery has been… manageable,” Lilian murmured, her eyes gliding—as though she saw everything: the faint stiffness in Vivian’s fingers, the tension beneath the gloves, the flicker of power buried under perfume.

Vivian lifted her chin. “Manageable enough.”

Amusement flickered beneath Lilian’s mask, as if she had expected nothing less.

She extended her gloved hand open, relaxed. Not commanding. Not assuming. Merely waiting.

“As promised,” Lilian murmured, “may I claim the first dance?”

The ballroom did not fall silent, but the listening deepened. Heads turned discreetly. Fans stilled mid-flutter. Even the chandeliers seemed to glow hotter, casting long, soft shadows around the two young women standing at the center of the noise.

Vivian swallowed, her heart rising in a pulse she hadn’t prepared for.

Lilian didn’t move.

And despite the rumors swirling around her like winter wind, the mask hiding half her face, despite the whispers of scars and secrets. Something about her felt… reliable.

Vivian’s fingers twitched, drawn toward the waiting hand.

For the first time that night, she wasn’t alone.

The orchestra shifted into a waltz, the first notes warm and sweeping.
Vivian placed her hand in Lilian’s, the other settling lightly on her shoulder. Lilian’s palm closed around her waist not tight, not possessive, but confident enough to guide.

They stepped into the rhythm.

Lilian’s gaze held hers, calm and unreadable beneath the half-mask.

“You move well,” she murmured, guiding her through the first turn. “For someone who insisted she was ‘barely recovered.’”

Vivian exhaled softly. “I said I was manageable. Not flawless.”

“Oh, I noticed,” Lilian replied, voice warm at the edges. “But you’re steadier than you believe.”

A gentle pressure at Vivian’s waist shifted her into a tighter arc. Her heart skipped not at the proximity, but at how effortlessly Lilian controlled the space.

Vivian kept her tone polite. “You speak as though you’ve observed me often.”

“Only when you make it difficult not to.”
The answer came too smoothly, too honest.

Vivian’s brows knit. “I don’t recall attempting to attract attention.”

“No,” Lilian agreed, spinning her through a clean turn, fingers brushing the silk at her wrist. “That’s precisely why it happens.”

Their steps aligned perfectly, as if they had practiced.

Lilian leaned just slightly closer not enough to break propriety, but enough to be felt.
“Tell me, Lady Vivian… have you grown accustomed to standing alone in these halls?”

Vivian stiffened. “I manage.”

“So you keep saying.”
Lilian’s tone was soft, but something sharper lived beneath it interest, assessment, maybe even hope.

Vivian tried to look away, but Lilian guided her back with nothing more than a shift of her fingertips.

“You don’t have to,” Lilian murmured.

The words landed too gently. Too deliberate.

Vivian tried to shield the sudden tightness in her chest. “And why would that matter to you, Lady Verdefleur?”

Lilian’s smile curved slow, private.
“Lilian.”

“What?”

“Call me Lilian. And because,” she said as she turned Vivian toward the light where her pure gold hair caught the chandeliers, “some people are worth standing beside.”

Her voice dipped lower, quiet enough that only Vivian could hear.

“Even if they don’t know it yet.”

The music swelled around them, drawing them deeper into the dance…

Vivian’s thoughts tangled.
What is happening? Is this small talk… or is she actually courting me?
Why are noble conversations always so flowery? Just say what you mean—

She blinked hard.
Wait. I shouldn’t assume. If I’m wrong, I’ll die of embarrassment right here on the ballroom floor.

The waltz faded into delicate applause. Vivian stepped back smoothly, offering a composed curtsy. Lilian returned it with equal grace, though her eyes never left Vivian’s face.

“Thank you for the dance,” Vivian said polite, steady, strategic.
She needed allies tonight. Smart ones.

“The pleasure was mine,” Lilian replied, offering her arm with unhurried confidence. “Would you allow me to escort you off the floor? Only a moment.”

Perfectly proper.
Vivian nodded. “Of course.”

They walked toward a quieter edge of the ballroom. The nobles around them continued chatting, unconcerned. Nothing about their movement could spark gossip.

But once they reached the column-draped alcove, Vivian felt the shift subtle, soft, intentional.

Lilian turned slightly toward her, giving Vivian her full attention.
Not invasive.
Just… focused.

“You handled the dance beautifully,” Lilian said. “I’m glad you accepted.”

Vivian nodded, then paused her eyes catching on the embroidery across Lilian’s jacket-bodice. Frost-threaded, silver catching the light just so.

Without thinking, she murmured, “Your tailoring… the stitchwork on the bodice is immaculate. Whoever did your fittings understands structure extremely well.”

She blinked, realizing what she’d said.
Oh no. Designer brain. Stop talking, Vivian—

Lilian’s smile curved slow, warm, amused.
“I’m honored you noticed,” she said softly. “I had hoped you would.”

Vivian stiffened. “I—That’s not what I—”

“You can critique my suit as much as you like,” Lilian murmured, leaning in just enough that the words were for Vivian alone. “I enjoy hearing your opinion.”

Vivian swallowed, heat prickling her ears.
Focus. You’re here for alliances, not… whatever this is.

“Still,” she managed, regaining composure, “your attire sends a strong message. Elegance, but not excess. Confidence without arrogance.”

Lilian’s eyes warmed. “Is that what it says to you?”

“Professionally speaking,” Vivian muttered. “Yes.”

“And personally?” Lilian asked gentle, but unmistakably intentional.

Vivian looked away.
What kind of question is that? Is she flirting me?

Lilian continued, her voice unhurried. “We could speak of it further—privately—once the ball concludes.”

Vivian blinked. “I have little patience for trivialities.”
A faint smile touched Lilian’s lips.  “The things most people dismiss as trivial,” she replied softly, “are often what decide who is deemed… worthwhile.”

Vivian’s gaze sharpened. She could be useful access to information, to circles Vivian had never truly navigated. And for business? Invaluable.

But appearances mattered. A villainess and a masked northern oddity standing together?  Society tongues would feast.

“You understand,” Vivian said coolly, “that standing beside me could either elevate you or ruin you.”
Lilian’s smile deepened, untroubled.  “That risk,” she said, “is precisely what makes it trivial.”
She met Vivian’s eyes fully now. “Oh, Vivian. Being seen in your company would hardly trouble me.”

The way she said it gentle, deliberate, unconcerned sent an unwelcome flutter through Vivian’s chest.

…That wasn’t purely political.
Lilian tilted her head. “Would you care to walk for a moment?” she asked. “Somewhere visible. Entirely proper.”

Her tone was calm.
The invitation was not.
And Vivian’s heart annoyingly noticed.