A Dance with the Past

The ballroom of House Leonhart had not seen guests in over four years.

Once a place of military councils and harsh winter feasts, tonight it glowed under crystal chandeliers and candlelight — transformed into a grand hall of power and whispers.

And all of it was for her.

Elira stood at the top of the staircase, dressed in a gown of midnight blue velvet. The neckline was regal, trimmed with silver embroidery, her shoulders bare but proud. Around her throat rested a single sapphire — House Leonhart’s crest.

The murmur of nobles below faded as she appeared. Every head turned. Every eye widened.

It was her first public appearance as Kael’s fiancée — and she looked like a queen returned from exile.

A murmur buzzed through the hall:

“She doesn’t look broken at all.”

“Didn’t they say she begged for mercy in court?”

“No. Look at her. She looks like she’s about to burn the Empire down.”

And maybe... she was.

---

Kael was already downstairs, speaking with a military envoy near the hearth. He wore black formal robes tonight, sword polished, hair tied back — no medals, no crest, just quiet command.

When his eyes met hers, he didn’t smile. But something in his posture shifted. He straightened slightly — proud. Protective.

As if to say, That’s my future duchess.

Elira descended the stairs without falter. Each step measured. Each heartbeat louder than the last.

When she reached the final step, Kael offered his arm. She placed her gloved hand in his — and suddenly the room was too quiet.

The dance floor cleared.

The music began.

---

✦

“I thought you hated balls,” she murmured as they began the waltz.

“I do.”

“And yet here we are.”

“Strategic advantage.”

“Of course,” she said dryly. “Nothing like pastries and violins to gain political ground.”

He didn’t answer — but he spun her with such effortless precision that she nearly forgot how to breathe.

“You’re good at this,” she whispered.

“My mother insisted I learn.”

“A general with dance lessons?”

“She said no one trusts a man who can’t lead with grace.”

Elira smiled. For once, not out of spite or defense.

“And she was right,” she said.

---

The music swelled.

They turned, step by step, in perfect rhythm — not just with the melody, but with each other.

For the first time since her world crumbled, Elira felt steady.

Not safe. Not free. But steady.

Then... a voice shattered the illusion.

“Lady Elira.”

She turned — and the breath in her lungs turned to ice.

Cassian Drevan.

Her ex-fiancé.

The man who had abandoned her the moment she was accused — who had publicly renounced their engagement in front of the court.

He looked the same. Auburn hair neatly combed. That polished, fake charm in his smile.

But there was a flicker of something else in his eyes tonight.

Regret.

“Elira,” he said again, stepping closer. “May I have a word?”

Kael’s hand tightened around hers.

“No,” she said flatly.

Cassian’s smile faltered. “I only want—”

“You wanted nothing when I was rotting in prison. Now that I wear a duke’s crest, you find your tongue again?”

“Elira—”

“I’m Lady Leonhart now,” she said coldly. “And my time is not wasted on cowards.”

Cassian flinched.

Kael stepped between them with quiet, dangerous calm. “Lord Drevan, I advise you to leave. While your tongue still works.”

Cassian stiffened. Bowed.

And walked away — shoulders hunched, shame trailing behind him like fog.

---

Later, on the balcony overlooking the garden, Kael poured two glasses of wine. He handed one to Elira, who accepted it silently.

“I didn’t expect him to come,” she muttered.

“He wanted to remind himself you were still human.”

She turned to him. “What do you mean?”

“Men like him only feel guilt when the person they betrayed survives. If you’d died... he’d never look back. But because you didn’t — you haunt him.”

Elira stared down into her wine. “I don’t want to haunt anyone.”

Kael studied her. “You want to be free.”

“I want... peace. Whatever that means.”

“Then we fight for it,” he said simply.

---

As the night wore on, Elira met countless nobles — some smiled, some smirked, some stared as if she were a ghost returned from the dead.

But no one dared insult her to her face.

Not with Kael at her side.

She realized then how powerful his presence was.

Not loud. Not cruel. Just absolute.

And for the first time in her life, she wasn’t afraid to stand tall.

She wasn’t the villainess.

She was the storm that came after.

---

Meanwhile, far from the ballroom, in a hidden chamber beneath the palace...

Seraphine tossed a crystal goblet against the wall.

“He danced with her,” she spat. “He danced — with her — in front of every noble!”

Her maid flinched. “Princess... she holds his crest now. He defends her.”

“That should’ve been me,” Seraphine hissed.

She turned to the mirror and glared at her own reflection.

“She thinks she’s safe now. But I’ll remind her who writes the ending of this story.”

A knock came.

“Enter,” she snapped.

A shadowed man stepped in — cloaked, hooded, a silver tattoo glowing faintly across his wrist.

“She’ll be dead before the wedding,” he said. “Just give the word.”

Seraphine smiled.

“Then let the next dance be her last.”

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