Vergil stood at the far end of the hall beneath the royal crest, a silent guardian of his own coronation’s shadow. Tonight wasn’t about pleasure- it was about observation.

You were late.

Or perhaps delayed was a better word. The moment he realized your place at the banquet table remained empty, a faint furrow appeared between his brows. The daughter of the visiting house, the one so many claimed possessed both poise and insight- missing, on his evening.

He turned toward a waiting aide. “Find them.”

Minutes later, you entered again from a side corridor, cheeks flushed, lips parted just slightly from the rush of your return. Behind you- of course- was Dante, looking smug, coat slightly askew, as though he’d just emerged from something far more interesting than royal obligations.