Sirius's arm was solid beneath my hand as he guided me through the shifting crowd toward an open space among the dancers.

  I became acutely aware of the eyes that followed us.

  Whispers bloomed like sparks along the edges of the room. I caught the flutter of fans pausing mid-motion, the subtle turn of heads, the careful attention of women who already knew tomorrow's rumors before they were spoken.

  My pulse stuttered.

  Instinct had me searching the crowd: Father, Grandfather, any sign of scrutiny sharp enough to cut my escape short.

  Before panic could root itself, Sirius moved.

  With quiet precision that left no room for hesitation, he turned to face me and placed us exactly as etiquette demanded. One measured step. A subtle adjustment of distance. The invisible lines of propriety snapping into place around us like a shield.

  The music swelled.

  A slow waltz.

  His hand settled at the small of my back, warm through fabric and silk, firm enough to guide but never pressing. Our other hands met with the barest contact—fingers aligned, palms touching only where custom allowed.

  We began to move.

  The world blurred into a golden background.

  Our steps were fluid, unhurried, perfectly matched. Sirius led with quiet confidence that required no force; I followed instinctively, my body responding before my thoughts could interfere.

  I dared to lift my gaze.

  He was watching me.

  Studying me, as though I were a text written in a language he could almost, but not quite, understand.

  The sensation was unsettlingly familiar. Just like in the interrogation cell. His eyes held the same pull, drawing me in until I forgot to look away.

  My shoulders loosened without my permission.

  I focused instead on the scent of him—clean, fresh, edged with something so subtle I couldn't name it. The tension in my chest eased, replaced by a slow, dangerous calm.

  "Your hair..." I said before I could stop myself.

  One pale eyebrow lifted, amused.

  "It's unusually short. It suits you."

  I became painfully aware of the warmth creeping into my cheeks.

  His smile came slow and a little crooked. His chest rose and fell a little faster.

  The way he guided me across the room remained impeccable—close enough that I could feel the heat of his body when he turned me, distant enough that no one could accuse him of impropriety.

  "A bird told me you were in the lower quarters a few days ago, Lady Velmire."

  My breath caught.

  My fingers tightened around his.

  I looked away, heart skipping violently as doubt rushed in. This had been a mistake. A reckless one. I had misjudged him, misjudged the moment...

  "I..." My voice faltered.

  "I would like to speak with you. Privately," he added when my eyebrow rose.

  I met his gaze again, braced for suspicion.

  There was none.

  "My family is here, Lord Lioren."

  His eyes sparkled.

  "You didn't say you don't want to."

  A soft scoff escaped me before I could stop it. Half disbelief, half thrill.

  "At the end of the corridor, take the stairs to the first floor. The third door on the right leads to the indoor gardens."

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  My heart thundered.

  "I'll wait for you there," he continued, voice low, "once they put the Signed Letter from the First Archmage up for auction."

  The music was suddenly too loud. Or too quiet. I couldn't tell. My mind and heart were racing to see which could make me lose consciousness first.

  The song drew to a close.

  We slowed, separated, and bowed to one another as protocol demanded. His gaze lingered on me, expectant.

  "I'll..." I swallowed. "I'll see you, Lord Lioren."

  He lifted my hand, brushing a soft kiss against my knuckles while keeping me pinned with his golden stare. Tingles emerged from where his lips had brushed, all the way to my elbow.

  "I'll see you, Lady Velmire."

  When I crossed the hall to rejoin my family, Father was staring straight at me.

  He kept his hand at my back as he guided me onto the balcony, his grip firm enough to be unmistakable.

  From the outside, he looked composed. Cordial. A man enjoying the evening air.

  Up close, his jaw was tight.

  "What were you doing," he said quietly, his eyes flicking toward the entrance where music and laughter spilled through the open doors, "dancing with that—"

  He paused, clearly weighing his words.

  "Man."

  I did not hesitate.

  "He asked me for a dance. It would have been difficult to refuse without drawing attention, Father."

  I let irritation sharpen my features, curling my mouth into something disdainful.

  "I feel like I should wash my hands after touching him."

  I wiped my right hand deliberately against the velvet of my gown, as though the contact alone offended me. I made sure my voice carried a note of distaste—controlled, convincing.

  Father exhaled slowly.

  "Don't let him approach you again."

  "I won't. I have no interest in men who mistake rebellion for substance."

  That, at least, was a truth. Just not the one he thought I meant.

  Father studied me for a long moment, searching for cracks. Finding none, he gave a short nod.

  "Good."

  We returned to the hall.

  The gala resumed its rhythm: polite laughter, carefully timed conversations, alliances reaffirmed over crystal glasses. I played my role flawlessly—listening when spoken to, offering measured responses, smiling only when required.

  My heart, however, was no longer keeping time with the music.

  It was counting.

  As Sirius had predicted, the tone of the evening shifted.

  Lights dimmed slightly. Conversations softened. A raised platform near the center of the hall was cleared, and an auctioneer stepped forward, staff in hand.

  "The next portion of tonight's celebration honors the legacy of Belaria."

  The first item was unveiled: a relic from old Belaria, a ceremonial astrolabe etched with runes no longer in use. Bidding was brief but competitive.

  The second item drew murmurs. An ancient tome bound in dark leather, its pages thick with age.

  "A collection of pre-Concord runes and spellwork," the auctioneer said. "Its origin predates the Wielders' codification."

  I turned to Father.

  "I would like that book."

  He looked genuinely surprised.

  "You?"

  "Yes. For my studies."

  After a moment, he inclined his head and raised his bidding marker.

  The competition was lighter than I expected. When the gavel struck, the book was his.

  I exhaled slowly, relief threading through my nerves.

  The third item, a ruby necklace from Ermerra, passed without my attention. As did the next few.

  Then the room shifted again.

  The final item was brought forward with reverence.

  "A signed letter," the auctioneer said, "by Archmage Caelthar Aurelion, the First Archmage of Unified Belaria."

  A hush fell.

  Father lifted his marker immediately.

  So did several heads of old houses.

  The bidding rose swiftly, power clashing openly now that pretense no longer mattered. I barely heard the numbers. My knees felt weak.

  This was it. Now or never.

  I leaned in, lowering my voice.

  "Father... I need to use the restroom."

  He barely glanced at me, eyes locked on the auctioneer.

  "Go."

  I did not wait for more.

  Heart hammering, I slipped away from the cluster of tables, careful to keep my pace unremarkable. I chose my path with precision, blending into movement, avoiding familiar faces.

  The corridor stretched ahead.

  The stairs.

  First floor.

  My stomach twisted as I reached the landing.

  I didn't look back.

  I stepped into the indoor garden.

  At first, I saw only foliage. Lush bushes and flowering plants forming a narrow, winding path.

  The air was cooler here, heavy with the scent of blossoms and damp earth.

  Sirius was not visible.

  My heart sank.

  Maybe he hadn't managed to slip away. Maybe he had changed his mind. Maybe I had imagined the whole thing—his glance lingering too long, the promise hidden beneath his smile.

  I followed the path anyway, my steps slow, hesitant, the hem of my gown brushing softly against moss-covered stone.

  The garden opened suddenly.

  At its center stood a fountain, pale stone glowing faintly beneath the moonlight. Water spilled in quiet, endless arcs, catching the light as it fell.

  And there, sitting on its edge, was Sirius.

  He looked almost unreal.

  His pale clothes and hair stood in stark contrast to the dark foliage surrounding him, to the shadows pooling between the trees. Moonlight traced sharp lines along his jaw and caught in his golden hair.

  He raised his head at the sound of my approach.

  When I came close enough, he stood.

  For a moment, neither of us spoke.

  "I wasn't sure you would come," he said at last.

  I exhaled a breath I hadn't realized I was holding.

  "Why?" I asked.

  "Because you didn't answer me back in the hall."

  I shook my head slowly.

  "No. Why did you approach me?"

  Understanding flickered across his face.

  "I... came to know about the bracelet you sold at an unbound pawn shop. And about the young woman you helped in the lower quarters."

  My eyes widened.

  I wasn't sure whether I felt more worried, offended, or—disturbingly—impressed by how much he knew.

  "Please." Sirius continued, clearly choosing his words with care. For the first time since I'd met him, he did not look in control. "I'm aware that this makes me look..."

  He faltered.

  Not the polished man of the political floor, but someone uncertain. Vulnerable.

  My instinct pushed me to use it. To press where he was weakest.

  I forced myself to stop.

  Something told me manipulation would fail with Sirius. Worse—it would cost me something I didn't want to lose.

  "Like a stalker?" I asked, arching a brow, a faint smirk tugging at my lips.

  He chuckled, tension easing from his shoulders.

  "Yes. Like that."

  Then, more earnestly, "But I assure you, that's not the case. After our first encounters, I was curious. Worried. And then the whispers started. That Lady Velmire had been seen in the lower quarters."

  I could have stayed there forever listening to his voice, studying the shifting gold of his eyes. In my mind, and only there, I admitted what I would never say aloud: that I found him beautiful in a way no man had ever been before.

  But time was slipping away.

  "I don't have much time," I said softly. "My family. My grandfather," I corrected, "did something I don't agree with."

  I hesitated, then pressed on.

  "That young woman in the lower quarters... she's special. I know I don't have the right to ask this of you, but—please. Make sure my family doesn't harm her. Or her family. I can't protect them myself. Not right now."

  The words tasted like failure.

  Sirius nodded as if I'd asked him something perfectly ordinary.

  "Of course."

  Then he paused.

  "But what about you?"

  The question caught me off guard.

  "I..." I stopped, then squared my shoulders. "I'll manage."

  Sirius studied me, unreadable.

  "That wasn't an answer."

  I looked away, jaw tightening.

  "I'm not the one at risk tonight. I still have a name. A house. Protection."

  "At a cost," he replied.

  I turned back sharply.

  "You don't know that."

  "I know enough. Enough to see you're walking a line that keeps narrowing beneath your feet."

  Silence settled between us, broken only by the fountain's steady murmur.

  "You asked why I approached you," Sirius continued. "It wasn't curiosity alone. And it wasn't scandal. It was because you were doing things no one with your position is supposed to do.

  And because you were doing them quietly."

  My pulse thudded.

  "That kind of silence is either desperation... or resolve."

  "And which do you think it is?" I asked.

  "I think it's someone trying to stay human in a world that rewards cruelty."

  The words slipped past my defenses.

  I looked away.

  "Careful, Lord Lioren. That sounds dangerously close to sympathy."

  A small, crooked smile curved his lips.

  "Then I'll confess to it."

  Footsteps echoed faintly beyond the arches.

  I stiffened.

  "That's my cue," I whispered.

  "I'll protect them. You have my word."

  I hesitated, then met his gaze one last time.

  "And what about me?" I tried to joke.

  His answer came softly.

  "That may take longer."

  I nodded once, smiling faintly.

  Then I turned and followed the path back toward the light, leaving Sirius standing beneath the moon.

  Watching me go.