The Sentinel Ball at Capitol Hill unfolded in a blaze of polished grandeur, every chandelier casting molten gold across the vast hall, every uniform pressed to perfection, every smile carefully measured. It was less a celebration and more a display of power, of alliances, and of control dressed in civility.
Roxana did not belong to it.
Or perhaps she did… and that was precisely the problem.
She stood near the edge of the ballroom, half-shadowed by a towering marble pillar, her presence easy to overlook if one did not know where to look. The black dress she wore clung to her with quiet elegance, its simplicity deliberate amidst the sea of embellished gowns and decorated uniforms. It did not demand attention.
Neither did she.
Her blonde hair fell in soft waves over her shoulders, catching the warm light in strands of gold, while her distant but watchful blue eyes, remained fixed not on the dancers, but on the room itself… Avoiding.
