[Song recommendation: In the middle of the night by Elle Duhe]
The night of her Flame ball was finally here, and Marcella couldn't be more underwhelmed. She hadn't had a chance to breathe since she arrived, let alone eat. It had been dance after dance, small talk after small talk. Her heels felt like razor blades strapped to her feet.
"Might I say, you look absolutely beautiful tonight, Your Grace," Berith complimented as he guided Marcella across the dance floor. He shot her that insufferably cocky smile—the kind that always landed somewhere between flirtation and challenge.
Marcella didn't miss a step. "Thank you, Your Grace. You look quite handsome yourself," she returned coolly, the corners of her lips barely tilting.
And he did—unfortunately.
Berith looked like he had stepped out of a painting hung in the halls of some old empire or perhaps descended from Olympus with a sword in one hand and a kingdom in the other.
