Kasim
"Sir, the car is ready," Alex said as soon as he was allowed in.
"Understood."
He closed the door, leaving me with my thoughts. And delusions. The worst part? It's all. Her.
The one I can't forget.
The piece I still look for up till now.
I miss her. But I'll never forgive her.
I loosen the first three buttons of my inner shirt before reaching for my suit. The mirror catches me—hair still damp from the shower, eyes carrying shadows no amount of sleep could fix.
Jameson appears behind me, reflected in the glass. He doesn't speak at first. Just stands there, taking me in. The suit. The posture. The man I've become.
Then his gaze drops to my wrist.
"You look exquisite, sir. And the watch… forgive me—"
He stops himself mid-sentence, eyes widening slightly as if he's overstepped. I watch him retreat in the reflection, the apology hanging unfinished between us.
"Don't." My voice comes out quieter than I intended. Rougher. "It's not your fault."
He nods, relief flickering across his features. But we both know what he almost said. What we both pretend isn't there.
She gave you that watch. Seven years ago. Before she left.
I turn from the mirror, from my own lying eyes, and head for the door. Jackson falls into step behind me.
The watch weighs nothing. And everything. It's warm against my skin, like it remembers her touch. Like it's reminding me.
Let her see it. Let her remember what she threw away.
The car ride is a blur of streetlights and silence. My body already awaiting my destination—the palace, the gala, the performance. But my mind? My mind is already at its own destination.
Her destination.
Ours.
The kingdom of Narva means nothing. The prince means nothing. There's only one reason I'm walking through these doors tonight.
The palace gates open before us like jaws. Light pours from every window, golden and hungry. Carriages line the drive. Laughter drifts through the cold night air, thin and polished.
Alex pulls up to the grand entrance. A footman in Owden livery reaches for my door.
I don't move.
For three full seconds, I sit in the dark, letting the weight of the watch settle into my bones. Then I step out.
The cold hits me first. Then the eyes. Dozens of them, turning, tracking, whispering behind gloved hands. That's him. The Marlowe heir. The one they called a traitor. What's he doing here?
I let them look. Let them wonder. I straighten my cuffs—the left one first, always, a habit I've never broken—and walk up the marble steps like I own them.
Inside, the ballroom is a fever dream of crystal and gold. I don't stop. I move through the crowd like a blade through silk, heading for the shadows near the east pillar. A position Jameson identified earlier—obscured from most angles, but with a clear sightline to the royal dais.
To her.
I lean against the cold marble, accepting a glass of champagne I have no intention of drinking. I just hold it. Wait.
The minutes crawl. The orchestra swells. Couples drift toward the floor.
And then the doors at the top of the staircase open.
I don't hear the announcement. All sound collapses the moment she appears.
Eldora.
She stands at the top of the stairs, framed by light, and the world stops being the world.
Ivory silk. Silver embroidery. Hair like a crown of braids. Her face is calm, serene—the face of a queen who has never known fear.
But I know her.
I know the way her jaw tenses when she's bracing herself. I know the way her eyes sweep a room—not to be seen, but to see. To survive.
She's doing it now. Looking. Scanning. Measuring—
Her gaze passes over my corner. Keeps moving.
Then stops.
And swings back.
Our eyes meet across the ballroom. Across seven years. Across every lie, every silence, every night I've lain awake wondering if she ever thought of me.
Her mask doesn't crack. Not visibly. But something behind it shifts. A flicker. A fracture so small only someone who once mapped every inch of her face would catch it.
I raise my glass. Just slightly. Just enough.
Then I let the faintest smile touch my lips—cold, deliberate, a blade wrapped in velvet.
I see you, that smile says. I know what you did. And I'm not here to watch you dance with your prince.
I'm here to watch you burn.