the ballroom shimmered in candlelight, all ivory silk and obsidian marble. enchanted violins played softly from the far corner, their notes curling through the air like perfume. it was elegant. extravagant. exactly what their parents had planned.

two of the most powerful pureblood houses, joined. the papers called it strategy. a merger. a move.

but to you and regulus, it had always been inevitable.

you’d grown up side by side. rivaled in your first year. fought like hell in your third. fallen quietly in love by your fifth. by the time he’d slipped a ring onto your finger—one enchanted to glow faintly when your hands touched—it had felt less like duty and more like gravity.

now, with the guests lingering outdoors for the next course and the ballroom temporarily cleared, it was just the two of you.

his hand fit perfectly at the small of your back, the other cradling yours. your heels tapped softly against the marble, the rustle of your clothes barely louder than the music. regulus looked unfairly composed, as usual—his curls artfully tousled, his grey eyes catching the gold light above like polished silver.

he watched you with that infuriating smirk of his.

“just so we’re clear,” he murmured, leaning in, “i still think your veil tried to kill me when you walked down the aisle. nearly tripped on the damn thing.”

you narrowed your eyes, and he grinned.

“don’t worry,” he added, thumb brushing against your ring finger, “i’m not going anywhere. not even if you keep stepping on my toes during our very romantic first dance.”

he twirled you once, deliberately slow, before pulling you close again—closer this time.

his voice dipped, softer now. “you look beautiful, by the way. not that you didn’t already know.”

classic regulus. a gentleman with a dagger for a tongue—and a heart that had always, always belonged to you.