Before Aurelian could decide whether she was joking, the veranda door opened again.
“My goodness, Aurelian.
You cannot keep hiding out here.”
He turned.
Carina stood in the doorway, worry and reprimand already forming in her expression.
“It does not look good if you hide away from—”
She stopped.
Her eyes moved to Seraphina.
All color drained from her face.
Then Carina bowed deeply.
“Your Grace.
I did not realize you were here as well.”
Aurelian’s gaze moved between them.
He knew enough now to recognize the title.
What he did not understand was why his mother suddenly looked as though she had interrupted the king himself.
“M-Mother,” he said, caught between embarrassment and confusion.
“I will be inside shortly.
We were only talking.”
“We will return momentarily,” Seraphina said.
Carina bowed again.
“Of course.
I apologize for interrupting.”
She retreated with one last look at Aurelian that promised a very serious conversation later.
The doors closed.
Aurelian stared after her.
Seraphina looked far too amused.
“I believe your mother would like you back inside.”
“I believe my mother would like to drag me back inside by the sleeve.”
“That as well.”
Aurelian sighed, then straightened.
“I would like to hear more about your home another time,” Seraphina said.
“But if we remain here, I suspect more people will find reasons to interrupt us.”
“I would like that.”
He offered his arm, remembering Echo’s lessons this time.
“May I escort you inside?”
Seraphina’s gaze dropped briefly to his offered arm before she accepted.
Her left hand settled against him.
Even through her glove, Aurelian noticed the firmness of her grip and the slight roughness beneath the fabric—the hands of someone accustomed to work far different from his own.
He did not comment.
Together they returned to the ballroom.
The change in the room was immediate.
Conversations softened.
Fans paused.
People turned.
Aurelian slowed by half a step.
He understood that they were staring.
He did not understand why.
Beside him, Seraphina seemed entirely unaffected.
Her silver hair caught the chandelier light, the dark cape falling cleanly from one shoulder.
The sword at her hip was enough to make people move from her path before either of them had to ask.
Aurelian, in cream and deep red, felt painfully bright beside her.
The whispers began before they had crossed half the ballroom.
“Is that Lord Bellafonte?”
“With her?”
“Did they come from the veranda?”
Heat climbed into Aurelian’s face.
He should say something polite before they parted.
Something normal.
Instead, his nerves chose for him.
“Thank you for keeping me company, Lady Sera.”
The ballroom froze.
Aurelian felt the mistake before he understood it.
Lady Sera.
Too familiar.
Far too familiar.
He turned toward her in horror.
“I—”
“Of course, Lord Aurel.”
Aurelian stopped.
Her voice was calm enough to make the exchange sound entirely intentional.
The silence around them shattered into whispers.
Aurelian could practically feel the story changing as it traveled across the room.
Seraphina’s eyes met his.
There was unmistakable amusement there now.
“We will see each other again,” she said.
Then she released his arm and walked away.
The crowd parted before her.
Aurelian remained where she had left him, his mind still caught on two things.
Lady Sera.
Lord Aurel.
A hand seized his sleeve.
“Ow.”
Echo stood beside him, eyes wide.
“What,” she whispered, “did you just do?”
Aurelian blinked.
“I escorted Lady Seraphina inside.”
Echo’s expression worsened.
“Lady Seraphina?”
“Was that incorrect too?”
“Aurelian.” Echo spoke slowly, as if careful pronunciation might somehow save him.
“That was Duchess Seraphina Vaelmont.”
He froze.
The name settled into place.
Duchess Seraphina Vaelmont.
House Vaelmont.
The queen’s sister.
Commander of the royal knights.
The Moon of the Empire.
His mind raced backward.
The sword.
The couple fleeing the veranda.
His mother’s face.
Your Grace.
The entire ballroom watching them return together.
And he had invited her to Bellafonte.
Aurelian’s stomach dropped.
Oh.
Oh, no.