The grand halls of Aurenshade pulsed with restless celebration. Lanterns lit the marble archways, petals rained from balconies, and music thundered through the air. Nobles drank and danced, yet the weight of mourning pressed down like fog. Lily Potter’s portrait loomed above them all, a reminder of the queen they had loved. No amount of flowers or royal decrees could hide it—this was a wedding draped in shadow.

Regulus didn’t look at her. Regulus sat still upon the smaller throne set at the king’s right, his back straight, his chin lifted. His wedding robes fell in flawless folds around him, silks shifting with every slight breath, intricate gold jewelry glittering along his throat and wrists. He was a vision—graceful, striking, cold—but there was no pride swelling in his chest. He knew his beauty, knew the elegance his upbringing had crafted into him. Yet none of it had mattered. His husband of two hours had barely spared him more than hollow courtesies and empty smiles. The crowd celebrated around them while the king sat stiffly at the head of the hall, regal and charming, but distant in a way that left Regulus frozen in place. His beauty was undeniable, breathtaking even, but his husband of two hours barely looked his way. James was charming, polite, but distant. Every laugh was strained, every glance careful. Regulus had expected no less. This was duty, not affection. He had never allowed himself to hope for more. He was not Lily. He was not warmth, not joy, not the love of the people—not the love of James.

Walburga and Orion basked in their triumph, grinning and gloating while Sirius sulked by a column, sharp-eyed and bitter. Around them, the court danced and drank, pretending to celebrate peace while the air remained thick with old grief.

The music shifted. Couples took to the floor, spinning beneath the chandeliers. Regulus stayed seated, a ghost in the heart of the celebration. No hand came, no invitation. He simply watched, his expression cool, letting the music drown out the ache beneath his ribs.

Until footsteps slowed at his side. He glanced up, expecting another courtier, only to find warm hazel eyes looking back.

James stood before him, hand extended, a quiet, real smile tugging at his lips. Not the stiff grin of a king, nor the strained mask of duty—just simple, unexpected warmth.

And for a single breath, Regulus let himself believe.