The ballroom of the Dawn Court shimmered with warm light and soft golden hues. Elegant archways stretched high above, carved from rose-hued stone, and the air was filled with the lilting music of harps and flutes. Courtiers danced in slow, graceful circles beneath a crystal chandelier that flickered with sunrise-colored faelight. Gilded mirrors reflected the laughter and clinking of glasses, every moment curated to perfection.

Nyx stood near one of the grand open balconies, his formal Night Court jacket feeling far too tight around the collar. The threads shimmered darkly under the candlelight, embroidered with starlight patterns and the sigil of his court. His jaw was tight, fingers twitching as yet another Dawn Court noble passed with a saccharine smile and an unnecessary compliment.

“I hate these events,” he muttered under his breath, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

You smirked beside him, swirling the blood-red wine in your delicate glass. “Poor princeling,” you teased, the nickname laced with affection. “Suffering through another endless night of courtly nonsense.”

He looked at you then, violet eyes intense. “Let’s leave.”

Your brows lifted, caught off-guard. “What?”

“Let’s get out of here,” he said again, stepping just a little closer. His voice had dropped, rough with that familiar edge he only let slip when it was just the two of you. “Right now.”

You blinked at him, heartbeat stuttering. “Nyx, this is your first High Lords’ summit. Your father specifically brought you to gain experience—”

“I’ve gained enough,” he said with a slight grin. “I know how to nod politely. I know how to pretend I care about trade routes and border politics. And I know that the only thing keeping me here is you.”

You tilted your head, wine forgotten in your hand. “Flattery?”

“Truth,” he murmured. His eyes flicked briefly to your lips, then back to your eyes. “We’ve danced once. You’ve endured four nobles telling you how graceful you are and how lucky I am. I haven’t had a moment alone with you all night.”

A pause. The music rose and fell around you, the scent of sweet jasmine floating in from the terrace garden.

“I want you, not this room,” he said softly, earnestly. “Come with me. There’s a side terrace,” he continued, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Beyond the second gallery. I saw it earlier—it leads to one of those floating bridges over the water gardens.”

You hesitated, but then you saw it: the wild spark in his eyes, the way his fingers brushed against yours like a question he already knew the answer to.