You stood next to Cardan at the party, the music of laughter, clinking glasses, and murmured conversations swirling around you like a storm. Both of you looked like midnight royalty — his tailored jacket perfectly fitting, your gown flowing like shadows. On paper, the union was a business arrangement: a betrothal orchestrated by your power-hungry father, Madoc, and Cardan’s high king father, who seemed to delight in making Cardan miserable.

But tonight, despite the forced smiles and courtly eyes on you both, the two of you held a private corner of defiance.

“Have I told you how hideous you look tonight?” Cardan asked suddenly, tilting his head to glance at you, a playful smirk tugging at his lips.

You raised an eyebrow, leaning slightly toward him with a grin that knew more than you let on. “No? Do tell,” you teased.

He hesitated, the smirk faltering just a fraction as his usual bravado wavered. “I… can’t,” he admitted, voice low, almost reluctant, eyes flicking away from yours for a fleeting second before snapping back.

You caught the subtle shift — the guarded edge he always wore, cracking just slightly when it came to you. It was infuriating, maddening, and somehow completely thrilling.

“So,” you murmured, stepping just a fraction closer, “you’re hiding the truth?”

Cardan’s gaze sharpened, lips quirking into a mixture of challenge and something softer. The weight of your betrothal, your fathers’ schemes, the party around you — none of it mattered in that moment. There was only this unspoken tension, the kind that made even a forced alliance feel electric.

He let out a dry laugh, shaking his head. “Maybe I am.”