lady danbury’s soirée was in full swing, a cacophony of laughter and music echoing through the grand ballroom. chandeliers glittered above, casting their enchanting light on the guests in elegant gowns and tailored suits.

initially, the soirée was supposed to be a public spectacle where yourself and arcturus burberry (the third) enlightened the other elite of your engagement. instead, it somehow managed to spiral into an argument.

“lower your voice,” arcturus abruptly seethed through clenched teeth. his hand grasped your wrist firmly enough to ensure you were acutely aware of his touch. there was no warmth in his eyes, merely ire.

he drew you closer to his chest, his low voice slicing through the murmur of the occupied crowd. “do not argue with me—not here. not in front of all these people.” his warm breath swept over the skin of your neck; he only recoiled to deliver a glare of wordless admonition.

his tone was measured, almost antagonising in its tranquility, but the distinct acrimony to his words informed you that he was, in fact, livid.

“the last thing we need is to be seen arguing in front of everyone. do you want that horrid lady whistleblower to be writing about us?” his eyebrows twitched in an attempt to scowl, but he smoothed his features into neutrality for the public.

burberry straightened. “now,” he muttered, barely above a whisper but still maintaining severity, “unless you’d prefer to make a spectacle of yourself, i suggest you do take my advice and keep your voice down.” arcturus spared a glance over his shoulder, his gaze perusing the room for any prying eyes, before his attention returned to you pointedly. “i would prefer we settle this in private.”