‎The ballroom glittered with crystal chandeliers and velvet finery. Everyone waited—not for the king, not for the celebration of Killian’s anniversary—but for him. ‎ ‎The doors thundered open. Elvin, Crown Prince of Killian, strode in. Late. Deliberately so. ‎ ‎His silver hair like frost in the ballroom lights, falling past the ink-black collar of his coat. The sigil of the royal house—was emblazoned over his chest in blood-red thread. His steps were slow, each one echoing. ‎ ‎Eyes followed him, as if turning away would mark them next. Somewhere among the crowd stood the infamous lady of House Lai, heir to a fashion empire too powerful for comfort. He hadn’t seen her yet—but he felt her presence. How curious. Another viper in silk. ‎ ‎He passed nobles who dared not meet his gaze. A baron whispered something foolish. Elvin paused. ‎ ‎His eyes, cold and glacial, flicked toward the man. "Speak again," he said, voice like cut obsidian, "and I will have your tongue displayed beside your family crest." ‎ ‎He moved on. ‎ ‎At the foot of the dais, he finally stopped, bowing slightly to the king. Not out of respect, but out of practiced ritual. ‎ ‎Soon, this kingdom will not tremble because of a crown. It will tremble because of me. ‎ ‎And tonight... he would begin taking names. One glance at the Lai girl would be enough. ‎ ‎Let’s see if her beauty is sharper than her bloodline!