Sometime during the revelry, as golden music spilled like honey from the ballroom doors and laughter floated beneath chandeliers, Prince Reuben arrived—late, and not by accident. He entered with the cool poise of a man who knew how to command a room without saying a word. But his expression darkened the moment he saw them: Prince Alaric and Lara, lost in their second dance, moving with a quiet intimacy that stoked something raw and unpleasant in his chest.
His eyes scanned the glittering crowd. There—Princess Ceres, sitting in the seat of honor on the elevated platform, her gaze locked on Lara with the precision of a blade thrown with deadly intent. And just beyond, Mira. At first glance, she was chatting lightly with Amelia, but Reuben saw through the performance. Her eyes, too, kept drifting toward the pair on the dance floor. Watching. Measuring.
Reuben recognized the look in her face. Hunger. Calculation. Familiar emotions.
