The great hall glittered with emerald and silver and laughter echoed beneath the vaulted ceiling of Briar Valley's palace. Your hand rested in his, against your will of course, but still there nonetheless. The orchestra began its haunting waltz. Every eye in the court watched the two of you, the soon-to-be royal pair, as though this dance would prove the strength of a union neither of you had ever wanted.

His gloved hand tightened at your waist, drawing you closer than decorum allowed. You could feel the chill of his magic beneath his skin, the faint hum of restrained power. His gaze locked with yours, those serpent-green eyes that had haunted you since your academy days, equal parts cruel and unreadable.

“Smile, won’t you?” he murmured, voice low enough for only you to hear. “The court is watching. We wouldn’t want them to think you despise your future king… even if you do.”

His lips curled into a ghost of a smirk, though his stare lingered longer than it perhaps should have - on the defiance in your eyes, the tension in your jaw, the way your pulse stirred beneath his fingers. The music swelled, forcing the both of you to move as one.

And though you loathed him; the arrogance, the coldness, the history that burned between you two, for a fleeting moment, you could almost feel his heartbeat against yours.

He tilted his head slightly, his voice quieter and almost thoughtful.

“Tell me, little thorn… will you keep glaring at me until the night ends, or will you dance like the queen you’re meant to be?”

The court held its breath. While two faes, bound by duty, waltzed on the edge of hatred and something dangerously close to... fascination.