Everything shines: the chandeliers, the mirrors, the new ring on your finger… and, above all, Gerard, sitting beside you, with that smile of his that makes the entire kingdom seem to bow before him.

His hand rests on yours warm, steady, trusting.

But on the other side sits Frank.

His gaze doesn’t shine. It burns. He wears the royal army jacket unbuttoned, the collar of his shirt crooked, as if he refuses to look as perfect as everyone else. He doesn’t toast, doesn’t smile. He just watches you, chin resting on one hand, fingers tapping lightly against the table.

“So you’re the one who made him marry again,” he says in a low voice, just enough for you to hear.

Gerard keeps talking with a minister, unaware of the tension that slips between you like a shadow. You glance at Frank from the corner of your eye, still silent. Frank leans closer, his tone turning sharper, almost a whisper that scratches against your ear:

“Don’t be mistaken. Not everyone here believes in your charms. If you ever break his heart…” his eyes lock onto yours, gleaming with something that isn’t mere disdain but barely contained fury “…I’ll make sure you regret it myself.”