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The ballroom was glowing—literally.
Illusion lights shimmered overhead in soft swirls of pink and gold, casting dreamy patterns across the marble floor as music floated through the air like warm wind. Nobles, staff, and choreographers buzzed around, preparing for Liora's birthday ball rehearsal.
Felice, dressed in flowy rehearsal pants and boots (because no one was getting her in a ballgown unless it was the actual party), was trying to follow Liora's enthusiastic dance instructor while suppressing the urge to run.
"I have two left feet," she grumbled under her breath.
"No, you have two perfect, gorgeous legs and I refuse to hear slander about them!" Liora beamed, already twirling. "Come on, Fel! It's just dancing!"
"Easy for you to say. You dance like a fairy on espresso."
Across the ballroom, leaning coolly against a pillar in all-black royal casual wear and looking like he walked out of a brooding fantasy drama, was Prince Lysander.
Arms crossed. Eyes locked on Felice.
Not dancing.
Not even pretending to.
"Doesn't he need to practice too?" Felice asked, glancing at him.
"Oh no," Liora huffed, flipping her braid dramatically. "My brother? Dance? Please. He says he has 'more important things to do' like sword fighting and looking mysterious in dark corners."
"I'm excellent at both," Lysander called out with zero shame, still not moving.
Felice rolled her eyes and muttered, "Of course he is."
And then she danced.
Maybe it was muscle memory from dodging palace guards and balancing trays. Maybe it was the magic buzzing under her skin. Or maybe it was the way Lysander was watching her—calm but focused, like she was the only thing worth looking at.
Whatever it was, Felice moved like water and wildfire.
Every spin, every dip, every step was graceful and unintentional magic. Liora squealed in delight, the instructor clapped like an overexcited seal, and the nobles watching from the balconies whispered among themselves.
"She's... good," Lysander murmured.
A royal guard nearby nodded. "Better than good."
Felice didn't hear them. She was too busy twirling, laughing as she dipped Liora, who screamed dramatically like she'd just won the lottery.
When the song ended, Felice dropped into a joking curtsy, out of breath and flushed.
Everyone clapped.
Even Lysander… softly.
She turned and caught his eye across the ballroom.
He raised one brow.
She smirked. "Not gonna join?"
He shrugged. "I don't dance."
"Well then," she said, walking toward him with mock confidence, "good thing I dance enough for both of us."
He chuckled, low and real.
And for a brief second, Felice saw something behind those unreadable gray eyes. Something soft. Something dangerous.
Liora grabbed Felice's arm and dragged her back to the floor. "One more round! And then we try the illusion lights!"
As they spun again, Felice could still feel his gaze.
And it made her want to dance just a little bit harder.
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