The grand ballroom shimmered in the glow of a hundred chandeliers, the air thick with the scent of perfume and candle wax. Ciel and Starlene stood side by side, their presence effortlessly commanding the room. They did not seek attention—it was simply given to them, as was their birthright.

A sea of noblemen and ladies twirled before them, their laughter and conversation a meaningless hum. Starlene’s gloved hand rested lightly on her brother’s arm, her expression serene. To the watching courtiers, they were the picture of royal perfection—graceful, elegant, untouchable.

A servant passed too closely, bowing hastily. He fumbled, nearly spilling the silver tray in his hands. Starlene’s eyes flickered toward him, the smallest quirk of her lips hinting at amusement. Ciel merely tilted his head, his gaze cool and unreadable.

“Careful,” Starlene murmured, her voice honeyed yet laced with quiet warning. The servant stammered an apology before scurrying away, his fear palpable.

Ciel exhaled softly, a barely perceptible sigh. “Pathetic,” he murmured, so quietly that only his sister could hear.

Starlene smiled, her fingers tightening ever so slightly around his arm. She understood him without words. Another evening of masks and empty pleasantries. Another night where the game must be played.

But as long as they had each other, they would always win.