The music resumed.
Soft. Hesitant. Like the ballroom itself was unsure whether this was celebration or war.
Evelyne stood still, her presence commanding more attention than the chandelier overhead. Her crimson gown shimmered like fresh blood, and though her expression was composed, her pulse beat with fire.
Across the room, Queen Viora watched. She did not scream. She did not rage.
She smiled.
"Would you care for a dance?" a familiar voice asked.
Lucien stood before her, hand outstretched not as a prince, but as an ally. Maybe more.
Evelyne's eyes narrowed. "Why?"
"Because right now," he murmured, "they're all deciding who you are. Let them see that you're not afraid to lead."
She took his hand.
And the room exhaled.
They stepped onto the dance floor, and every noble watched as Evelyne and Lucien glided together smooth, practiced, lethal.
"She's out of control," whispered one lady.
"She's out for blood," whispered another.
But no one looked away.
Their movements were slow and calculated, like a waltz of predators circling one another. Lucien held her waist, but loosely. Evelyne didn't soften.
"You shouldn't have bowed to me," she said quietly.
"I did it because they needed to see someone choose you publicly."
"And what about you?"
Lucien's jaw clenched. "I'm still deciding."
She arched a brow. "Then you'll have to keep dancing."
At the edge of the floor, Queen Viora's fingers tightened around her goblet.
"She's turning my court into her stage," she murmured.
Lord Chancellor Graeve leaned in. "Shall we end the party early?"
"No," she said, lips curling. "Let her perform. Let them cheer. Then we remind them why loyalty to a false flame burns."
The dance ended.
Lucien let Evelyne go with a nod, not a bow.
As she turned, nobles scattered like leaves before her. Some avoided her eyes. Others offered shallow smiles, unsure which side to stand on.
At the far end of the ballroom, the Queen clinked her glass with a spoon. The room fell still.
"To Lady Evelyne Ashthorn," the Queen said.
"To the bravest traitor I've ever seen."
Gasps rippled. Evelyne smiled politely.
"And to Queen Viora," Evelyne replied, lifting her own glass.
"To the cruelest coward history will ever forget."
The silence that followed was not awkward.
It was electric.
They were no longer just playing roles.
They were declaring war.