Lara coughed, trying to recover her composure as Sandoz looked at her with wide-eyed innocence. She waved a hand, as if to brush away his words, but her heart was suddenly beating faster.
"Sandoz, you shouldn’t say such things so carelessly," Lara said gently, though a smile tugged at the corners of her lips.
"But it’s true!" the boy insisted, his face earnest. "When Prince Alaric looks at you, his eyes go soft. Just like my father’s do when he sees my mother. It ans he cares about you."
Lara glanced at Linnea, hoping for rescue, but the woman rely hid her smile behind her hand, eyes sparkling with mischief.
"Co," Lara said, changing the subject before she blushed any deeper. "Let’s go greet the Grand Duke."
They rode the distance to the Grand Duke’s Estate while Sandoz used his new bike to travel.
The grand hall of the Duke’s castle was a vision of splendor. Sunlight stread through high arched windows, catching on crystal chandeliers and gleaming marble floors. Long tables were laden with fruits, ats, and delicate pastries, while the air humd with the soft strains of stringed instrunts.
At the far end of the hall stood Prince Dakota, though his back was stooped because of age, his bearing as proud as ever. His silver hair was neatly tied back, and his dark green tunic was embroidered with the crest of the Duke of Arches. At his side stood Sandoz’s father, Connor Arces, who greeted Lara and her family with quiet warmth before pulling Linnea to stand by his side.
Eloisa, who just ca from the kitchen to check if everything was in order, gritted her teeth and clenched her fists.
"Lara, my dear," Dakota’s voice was deep and steady, the kind that commanded attention without trying. "You honor us with your presence."
"It is I who am honored, Your Grace," Lara said with a respectful bow. "Sandoz speaks so fondly of you, I feel as though I know this place already."
Dakota’s stern features softened as he glanced at his great-grandson, who clung proudly to Lara’s side. "He is a bright boy. And with gifts like these,"—his gaze fell to the bicycle still being admired by onlookers—"he will soon be the envy of every young lord in the Northem."
The gathering soon beca a celebration of family and alliances. Lara, accompanied by her father, moved from group to group, exchanging pleasantries, but her mind kept drifting. Sandoz’s words echoed in her ears—the way Prince Alaric looks at you.
When at last she stepped onto the castle’s terrace for a breath of fresh air, she found the gardens below bathed in the golden light of late afternoon. And there, as if conjured by her thoughts, stood Prince Alaric. He was speaking quietly with one of the Grand Duke’s advisors, his posture relaxed but alert. As if sensing her gaze, he looked up—and their eyes t across the distance.
For a heartbeat, the world seed to narrow to just the two that shared glance. His expression was unreadable at first, but then, unmistakably, his features softened. The sa softness Sandoz had so innocently described.
Lara felt her breath hitch, her pulse quickening as Alaric’s gaze lingered on hers, warm and unguarded. Flustered, she turned abruptly, her heart unsteady, and made her way back toward the glowing hall. The music, laughter, and golden light beckoned her like a refuge from the storm inside her chest.
But just as she reached the arched entrance, she collided with a solid figure she had not seen—nor wished—to see.
A sharp gasp escaped her lips as she lost her balance, but before she could stumble, strong hands caught her by the waist, steadying her. The touch was firm, possessive and Lara felt uncomfortable.
She looked up into the smirking face of Prince Reuben.
"Your Highness..." Lara said, drawing a slow, steadying breath. She dipped into a graceful bow, though her heart pounded with unease. "Forgive —I did not see you there."
Reuben’s hands did not release her at once. His fingers lingered, his grip too bold for propriety. The scent of clove and leather clung to him, and there was a gleam in his eyes that made her skin prickle.
"Please let go, Your Highness," Lara said, her voice low and asured. She tilted her head slightly, forcing a polite smile, but her words carried a sharp edge. "Lady Amielle is watching us—if looks could kill, I would surely be struck down."
Reuben chuckled, slow and amused, as though he relished the tension. With deliberate leisure, he let his hands fall away and slipped them into his pockets, his gaze still fixed on her with unsettling intensity.
"You are such an interesting woman, my lady," he murmured, leaning close enough that she felt the warmth of his breath at her ear. "I do hope we find occasion to spend more ti together."
Before Lara could reply, he brushed past her, his presence leaving behind a trace of arrogance as he strode toward the cluster of advisors where Alaric and the Grand Duke stood deep in discussion.
Lara exhaled slowly, trying to steady herself—but no sooner had she regained her composure than another figure approached.
Lady Amielle glided toward her with practiced elegance, the train of her sapphire gown whispering across the floor. Her smile was delicate, her voice sweet as honey, but her eyes glinted like sharpened steel.
"Lady Lara," she purred, inclining her head ever so slightly. "How delightful to et you again."
The false warmth in her tone made Lara’s spine stiffen, but she returned the gesture with perfect grace.
"Sa here, Lady Amielle," Lara replied, her voice smooth, though beneath the surface, her thoughts raced. How does she escape the woman without appearing discourteous?
The two won stood poised beneath the glow of the chandeliers, the soft hum of conversation and clink of goblets weaving around them like a song of false civility.
Amielle’s smile never wavered, but the sharpness in her gaze could have cut glass."I must admit, my lady, you have a certain... talent for attracting attention." She let the words linger, each syllable dripping with honeyed venom. "Prince Reuben seems particularly taken with you this evening."
Lara tilted her head, her own smile serene, though inside she felt the coil of unease tighten."How kind of you to notice, Lady Amielle. One can hardly refuse a prince’s courtesy, even when it is... unexpected."
Amielle’s eyes flickered, reading between the lines, and for a heartbeat her polished mask cracked—just enough for Lara to see the simring resentnt beneath. But the lady recovered swiftly, stepping closer, close enough that her perfu—rich and cloying—filled the space between them.
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