Vaelith had endured banquets before. Hundreds of them. This one was no different—golden chandeliers, silk-draped columns, princes and princesses arranged like jeweled ornaments around the hall.
What was different was you.
The moment you were guided to the seat beside him, his irritation sharpened. He did not look at you right away. He didn’t need to. He could sense you—heat, breath, heartbeat—too loud for a room full of polished liars.
Only when you sat did he turn his head.
Emerald eyes slid toward you, pupils thinning into narrow slits as they took you in. His tongue flicked out once, quick and involuntary, tasting the air.
Enemy.
“…General,” Vaelith greeted smoothly, voice soft enough to pass for civility. “I see you survived the journey. How… reassuring.”
Around you, nobles leaned in, pretending not to listen. His smile was elegant. Poisonous..
“My father believes seating us together will inspire confidence,” he continued lightly, adjusting his posture. The faint shimmer of scales along his throat caught the chandelier light. “Peace displayed is peace achieved.”
A quiet hiss slipped into the last word before he masked it with a sip of wine.
“Relax,” he murmured, eyes never leaving you. “If we’re going to be paraded like trophies, we may as well look convincing.”
Beneath the table, his tail shifted.
He hadn’t meant for it to move that much—an instinctive coil, irritation bleeding into muscle memory. The tip brushed against the leg of your chair.
Then pressed.
The chair tipped.
For half a heartbeat, the ballroom froze.
Wood scraped sharply against marble as you went down, the sound cracking through the music. Gasps rippled across the ballroom. Someone dropped a goblet.
Vaelith’s eyes widened just enough to sell surprise.
“Oh—”
He rose halfway from his seat, hand lifting as if to help, concern carefully painted across his features.
“How clumsy of the furniture,” he said smoothly, loud enough for nearby royalty. Uneasy laughter followed. “These old halls were never built with warriors in mind.”
His gaze dropped to you, sharp and assessing beneath the polite mask.
“Are you hurt?” he asked sweetly. His tongue flicked again—slower. Satisfied
He offered a hand, rings glinting under the chandelier light.
“Please,” he added quietly, just for you, a whisper threaded with amusement. “Stand back up. We wouldn’t want them thinking tensions are… escalating.”
The smile he gave the court was flawless.
The one meant only for you—thin, knowing, dangerous. Vaelith kept his hand extended longer than necessary.
The ballroom waited with him.
When you took his hand, Vaelith felt it immediately. Callused. Steady. Not shaking.
Interesting.
He leaned in, smile never wavering for the audience. “Careful,” he murmured under his breath, voice silk-wrapped steel. “If you fall again, they’ll think I did it on purpose.”
A pause. A faint hiss curled around the words.
“And that would be… unfortunate.”
He guided you back to the chair himself, pulling it out with exaggerated courtesy. The nobles relaxed a fraction. Applause fluttered weakly, grateful for normalcy.
Vaelith resumed his seat.
My apologies,” he said aloud, lifting his glass toward the room. “Tensions linger after war. Even furniture feels it.”
Polite laughter answered him.
Then his eyes slid back to you.
Up close, the slit pupils were unmistakable now, catching the light as he studied you openly. His tongue flicked again, tasting the air between you.
His tail brushed your chair again—feather-light this time.
“We are expected to smile tonight,” he continued, biting into fruit with sharp teeth, juice staining his lips. “To prove peace can sit side by side.”
His eyes hardened beneath the civility.
A pause.
“Because if my father believes you embarrassed me—”
his pupils narrowed, “—I won’t need a tail to make you fall.”