Vencian held his glass of wine and smiled through another conversation he wasn't tracking.

Lord Tamerin was talking about grain exports. Or maybe it was tax reform. The words blurred together, polite and endless. Vencian nodded at what seemed like appropriate intervals and took small sips to fill the silence.

"Wouldn't you agree, Lord Vicorra?"

Vencian blinked. "Absolutely."

Tamerin beamed. "I knew you'd understand. So few young nobles grasp the importance of regional trade policy."

Vencian had no idea what he'd agreed to. He smiled anyway.

A hand slipped through his arm.

"Forgive me, Lord Tamerin." Aline appeared at his side, her grip firm. "I need to borrow my cousin for a moment."

Tamerin opened his mouth to protest, but Aline was already steering Vencian away.

They crossed the hall, weaving between clusters of nobles. Vencian exhaled.

"Thank you."

"You're terrible at this," Aline said.

"I was managing."

"You looked like you were attending your own funeral." She glanced at him. "You could have excused yourself, you know."

"That would've been rude."

"So you'd rather suffer in silence?"

Vencian shrugged. "It's easier than explaining why I need to leave."

"You've always been like that."

She glanced past him, toward the center of the hall. "Seris is better at these things."

Vencian raised an eyebrow.

"She knows when to leave," Aline continued. "And when someone crosses a line she doesn't endure it. She tells them, cleanly, and lets the silence do the rest."

Vencian could picture it too easily. Seris standing among nobles twice her age, expression cool, words clipped, contempt delivered with precision and a face that gave nothing away.

"She would not have lasted five minutes where you were," Aline added.

"Well, I'm not Seris," Vencian said.

Aline laughed under her breath. "Exactly."

They stood for a moment, watching the crowd drift. Then she leaned closer.

"And congratulations," she said. "On the game."

He blinked. "That travelled fast."

"Everything does tonight," Aline replied. "You don't win in front of half the court and expect it to stay quiet."

Vencian inclined his head. "Thank you."

They turned together as the music swelled, drawn toward the open space at the heart of the hall. The dance floor had filled while he had been trapped in conversation. Pairs moved in rhythm, fabrics brushing, hands placed with practiced ease. The musicians sat on a raised platform, strings and pipes weaving a tune that carried easily over the murmurs of the room.

Vencian watched them, attention slipping despite himself.

He needed to find Roselys.

He had requested her presence days ago through exchanged letters on gramox, though she had made it clear she was not fond of the idea of coming here. Yet, she had arrived anyway.

Exact reason for her previous rejection was unknown to him since he thought noble ladies like events like these But it seems Roselys doesn't share the same sentiments.

He had expected a brief exchange earlier in the evening, a few careful words away from listening ears. Instead he had been surrounded from the moment he arrived, pulled into circles that closed as soon as they opened.

He shifted his stance, already planning an excuse, when Aline spoke again.

"Oh, they're playing Chains of Gold."

"Is that the name?"

"It's a classic. Originated in the Aurian Empire about two centuries ago." She smiled faintly. "The melody is beautiful, but the lyrics tell a different story."

Vencian watched the dancers. "What kind of story?"

"A queen trapped in a loveless marriage. Wealthy beyond measure but emotionally starved. The song is about her longing to escape, to trade her crown for a life with her lover."

Vencian raised an eyebrow. "And they're playing this at a royal engagement?"

"Most people don't know the history. They hear the tune and think it's romantic." Aline's smile widened. "The irony is lost on them."

Vencian found himself grinning. "That's ridiculous."

"That's court."

The Aurian Empire had always excelled at art. Music, poetry, theater. Their cultural influence stretched across Eldraak, shaping tastes and traditions in kingdoms that had never seen their borders. Sedron was the same. Their sculptures and paintings filled galleries from Ralan to Coraeis. Airantis, by contrast, built its reputation on innovation. New machinery, better infrastructure, advances in medicine and engineering. The kingdom didn't romanticize its past. It invested in its future.

Vencian supposed that difference said something about priorities.

They watched another pair turn, skirts flaring.

After a moment, Vencian spoke. "You should be out there."

Aline looked at him. "With you?"

"With your friends," he corrected. "You don't need to stand here keeping me company."

She wrinkled her nose. "I was with them."

"And?"

"The atmosphere turned… heavy," she said, searching for the word. "Not sad. Just draining."

Vencian glanced at her. "Well, I guess being with Seris can be draining even for you."

She grumbled. "It was not just her though."

"Then who?"

She gave him a look. "Who do you think."

His mind moved faster than he wanted it to. "Cethy."

"Of course," Aline said.

Pereneth's sister surfaced in his memory, quiet and observant, standing a half-step behind conversations she was never meant to lead.

"How is she?" he asked.

Aline hesitated. "She smiles. That is what people see."

He nodded once.

"Her father is arranging a bond with the Montaro family," Aline went on. "Marvik."

Vencian's jaw tightened. "Is she agreeable to it?"

Aline turned fully toward him. "No."

The answer came sharp, immediate.

"She's waiting," Aline said. "Still."

Vencian did not ask who.

Jeriko's name stayed unspoken between them, heavy as anything said aloud. If events had turned even slightly differently, if his brother were awake and whole, this would not be happening. Instead, time had moved on without him, indifferent to intent.

Vencian looked back at the floor, the dancers unaware of any of it.

There was nothing he could do. Not now. Perhaps never.

The thought settled, unwelcome but familiar. This world still clung to old structures, especially among its nobles. Alliances formed through marriage, dissolved the same way, and women bore the cost with practiced grace. He found himself thinking of his mother, of the quiet way she had stepped back after their family shattered, never pressing him toward choices he was no longer prepared to make.

He swallowed the rest of his wine.

Aline cleared her throat. "All right. That line of thought is getting oppressive again."

He glanced at her, faintly amused.

"So," she said, brightening with effort, "why have you not asked anyone to dance?"

She gestured with her chin.

A group of young ladies stood near the edge of the floor, clustered close, their attention drifting toward him in small, cautious glances. When he looked back, they pretended not to notice, murmurs rising as they leaned together.

Vencian frowned. "Because of the game?"

"Because Seris broke your engagement." Aline's smile turned wicked. "She removed her claim. You're available now."

Vencian blinked.

Claim?

What kind of phrasing is that?

He was a marquis. Seris was a duchess, yes, but that didn't mean she owned him. Even with House Vicorra's current standing, there should be some measure of respect.

Claim, he thought again, annoyed.

As he stood there, sorting through that irritation, the music faltered.

Voices rose across the hall, a ripple of attention shifting away from the floor. Chairs scraped. Someone laughed too loudly.

Vencian turned toward the sound.

At the center of it stood Roselys.

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