The day of the ball arrived with a rush. Ironwood's halls buzzed with whispered anticipation and footsteps softened by velvet carpets. Servants moved like clockwork, carrying polished silver and trailing the scent of rose oil and old incense.
Penelope brought Lilian her dress in a long box draped in velvet. At Lilian's request, she left quietly, allowing her mistress the solitude to prepare alone. It felt important, sacred even—this ritual of self-transformation.
Lilian opened the box and stilled. The gown inside shimmered like moonlight caught in deep water: layers of midnight chiffon and silver-threaded silk, the bodice hand-embroidered with glinting gems and then there was a brooch with an unmistakable crest of Ironwood. She touched it gently, as though the fabric might dissolve beneath her fingers. Penelope had chosen well. And Cassius had spared no cost.
It felt almost like betrayal to wear it.
As she dressed, Lilian took her time—powdering her skin to a luminous sheen, winding silver pins through her intricately coiled hair, and finishing with a precise stroke of red lipstick. She stared at her reflection, not quite recognising the figure staring back. She looked like someone who belonged here. But she didn't, even if she wore the colours and emblems of the kingdom.
She heard the carriages arrive in the distance.
From the balcony, she leaned over the bannister, watching as the carriages began to arrive. They were sleek and opulent, draped in house banners and drawn by horses clad in feathers and silver bridles. The entire court had poured itself into ceremony.
A knock came at her door. She turned, voice light.
"Is it time, Penny?" she asked, nearly running towards the door. She opened it—and froze.
Cassius stood before her robed in regalia: a tailored coat of deep navy with silver filigree, the same as the one decorating Lilian's dress, the royal sigil gleaming at his shoulder. His medals caught the candlelight like small stars. His crown rested against his dark hair as though it had always belonged there. And in his hand—an elegantly wrapped box.
Lilian said nothing at first, struck dumb by the sight of him. Nor did Cassius speak; his words seemed to vanish the moment his eyes found her.
"I—" he began, then faltered. "I… didn't think…" He exhaled in defeat, laughing softly at himself.
"Cassius," Lilian said, her voice softened by something neither of them dared name. Her eyes wandered across his chiselled face, stopping on his blue eyes. "You should be with your guests."
"I am," he said simply. "With mine guest." He extended the box to her. "I thought you might be missing a little sparkle."
Lilian opened the box with utmost care.
Nestled inside lay a pendant and earrings of sapphire and diamonds—glacially perfect, almost too beautiful to touch.
"Cassius…" she breathed. "This is too much."
"Nonsense," he replied. "It's entirely appropriate. You are, after all, the guest of a king." When she hesitated, he tilted his head. "May I?"
Lilian nodded and invited her inside her chamber.
Wordlessly, she handed him the necklace and turned toward the mirror. Cassius stepped closer, his cold fingers brushing the nape of her neck. Lilian's breath caught. His touch was careful, reverent.
Lilian focused on the reflection of Cassius, on his focused face as he handled the pendant, on his gaze that was filled with silent longing. Perhaps one should not incite a vampire near their neck, but with Cassius it was different. Lilian knew that he won't hurt her.
She could feel the weight of him behind her, the scent of chypre and cedar and winter. Her skin bloomed with goosebumps where his fingers passed. A fragile moment settled between them.
"There," he murmured once the clasp was fastened. The necklace sat against her collarbone.
Cassius could sense the shift in her emotions but he could not place any of them. He was too focused on the stir within him.
Cassius offered his arm. Lilian accepted it without hesitation, her chin held high, shoulders regal. A queen in all but title.
"You're safe by my side," he told her, pausing before the doors to the ballroom. She glanced up, gave a slight nod, and stepped back to compose herself.
The doors opened, revealing an ocean of candlelight and music, of whispers and gloved hands. The nobles turned as one.
"His Majesty, King Cassius Alvaren of Ironwood," came the herald's call.
The court bowed. Lilian curtsied instinctively—elegantly, but with a flicker of unease. Cassius caught it.
He didn't want her to bow to him. She was not beneath him. Not in any sense.
Cassius proceeded to walk with Lilian beside him until the moment she stopped and he proceeded to climb on the dais.
At the dais, he took his goblet, waiting until the room fell into reverent silence.
"I thank you all for your presence ," he began, his voice calm but resolute, deep and thundering. "Tonight we are gathering to affirm the unity and strength of Ironwood." He smiled but Lilian spotted something in his smile that was threatening to some of the vampires in the room. He let the pause linger just long enough for attention to settle fully on him before continuing. "I would also like to introduce a guest who has walked these halls these past weeks—Lady Lilian." He gestured subtly, and Lilian stepped forward into the candlelight—graceful, quietly commanding attention, and very human. "She came to us unexpectedly. And yet, in a short time, she has revealed a mind both curious and courageous, and a heart committed to understanding a world not her own. Lilian asked questions others feared to speak, and reminded many of us that truth often begins with curiosity. I ask that you treat her with the courtesy owed to any guest under my protection."
A ripple ran through the room—respect from some, disbelief from others. No one dared speak against it.
Cassius turned toward her, still on the dais.
The music returned. The tension ebbed—but the unease lingered like mist.
"You don't know the meaning of subtlety," Lilian murmured as she approached even closer.
"I prefer direct honesty," Cassius replied with an almost-boyish smile.
He lingered beside her as the court swirled around them. From time to time, his gaze drifted to her face, as though anchoring himself.
Cassius remained beside Lilian, his tall frame casting a shadow across the polished floor. Every time he glanced at her, she was watching the room with ease that he wondered if she'd been born to unsettle nobility.
"You're remarkably calm," he observed. "You're surrounded by wolves."
Lilian sipped her wine, its red staining her red lips. "Wolves are less frightening when they're preoccupied with outshining each other." She commented quietly, observing by the many vampires in the room, recognising different social circles forming. Her calm was deliberate, but not cold—there was warmth in the way she absorbed the atmosphere, measured and perceptive, as if she were reading the room like a tome.
"You're should be mingling," she pointed out.
"And yet, I remain," he said. "Strangely unwilling to leave. I think I've grown fond of your company." Lilian blushed glancing back at him. "I'll return shortly," Cassius said at last with a tired sigh.
"I'll still be here," Lilian promised, though neither knew for how long that would remain true. "I must serve as your amusement to earn your protection." She teased and Cassius finally stepped away. The pull lingered—he could feel her presence like a thread tugging at his chest where his heart was. And as he moved to greet his guests, he cast one glance back, just to reassure himself she hadn't vanished.