The hum of conversation dulled as a crisp chime rang through the hall, signaling the beginning of the formalities. The host of the gala, an imperial diplomat in a sharp white tuxedo with gold trim, stepped up onto the stage in front of the towering silk banners that bore the crests of both empires.
He raised a hand, and the lights dimmed slightly, casting a golden glow over the polished marble floors and glittering guests.
"Ladies and gentlemen, esteemed allies, and honored guests," his voice boomed through the speakers, smooth and commanding. "Tonight, we gather not merely to celebrate an alliance of empires, but a promise—a vision—of unity forged through trust, sacrifice, and shared legacy."
There was a pause, and then his gaze swept across the room, briefly landing on Xander and Erin.
"Unity," he repeated. "Not only in power and policy, but in character and companionship. We lift our glasses to those among us who bear the future on their shoulders—and to their discernment in the partners they choose to walk beside them."
A smattering of applause followed. Erin's fingers curled tighter around her clutch.
She felt every eye shift toward her like invisible weights.
She could feel it—that wasn't a toast. That was a warning.
Xander, beside her, remained unbothered. His arm stayed relaxed around her waist, and his expression didn't flicker. But when she glanced up at him, she could see the sharp glint in his eyes. Not surprise. Not anger. But calculation.
Erin exhaled quietly, trying to push down the twist of unease in her stomach. She could hear it in the diplomat's words: she was not part of this world. No matter how close she stood to Xander, they all saw her as something foreign. Disposable.
A low voice called out behind them.
"Prince Xander."
They turned. Approaching through the crowd were two figures in deep emerald and gray—Duke Alistair and Duchess Marissa Thornwell.
Erin instinctively stepped back, letting her fingers slip away from Xander's arm.
Marissa gave her a cursory glance, lips twitching into a tight smile. It didn't reach her eyes. "Miss Lane. I trust you're enjoying the evening."
"Miss Thornwell," Erin said carefully.
Marissa didn't wait for a response before turning fully to Xander. "I hope you won't mind a moment of your time. This won't take long."
Xander's expression turned cool. "Speak."
Alistair stepped forward, his tone clipped. "We're disappointed. Deeply. You parading around with… her, knowing full well the meaning of tonight's event. This gala isn't a ballroom tryst—it's a symbol of decades of cooperation between our families."
Marissa added, voice gentle but cutting, "You've already wounded Lillianne once. Must you continue humiliating her in front of the world?"
Erin lowered her gaze, taking a quiet step to the side. Her presence here was a disruption, and even if Xander hadn't said it, even if he brought her willingly, it didn't change the fact that she was the one being whispered about.
Marissa's eyes lingered on Erin for a breath longer. "Some women have a talent for looking fragile. You always did have a soft spot for strays, Xander."
Xander's reply was immediate, and calm. "If Lillianne wanted protection, she shouldn't have broken our agreement."
The Duke stiffened. "You have no proof of that."
"I do," Xander said simply. "And I no longer owe your family anything."
Marissa's smile faltered. Alistair scowled. "You'll regret this. Withdraw from her now, and we'll let this pass."
"And if I don't?"
The Duke's voice dropped. "Then the Thornwell investments in your empire's expansion cease. As does our support in the Council. You'll be on your own."
Erin's breath caught.
Xander didn't even blink. "Then so be it."
There was a long silence. The Duke and Duchess looked at him like they were staring at something monstrous, alien.
Without another word, they turned and walked away.
Erin glanced at him, stunned. "Are you sure you should've said that?"
Xander didn't take his eyes off the retreating figures. "I've never been more sure."
He turned back to her, and without hesitation, reached out and gently took her hand.
And just like that, the music swelled again, as if nothing had happened at all.
The glittering gala hall gleamed with polished marble floors, shimmering chandeliers, and the muted hum of a string quartet weaving through the murmurs of dignitaries and royals. Gold-accented tables circled the room, each a sea of silks and laughter. A celebration of unity between empires, the evening shimmered with diplomacy and tension alike.
Erin stood by Xander's side, her expression calm, her dress a soft ivory that offset her dark eyes. She had managed to stay composed through the formal speeches, the clinking of toasts, and the watchful gazes that trailed them. But it wasn't long before something disrupted the polite balance.
A delegate from Tharros approached. Lord Elric Arven, known for his subtle barbs and infamous tongue. He raised his glass, smiling too wide.
"Prince Xander," Elric drawled, his eyes flicking briefly to Erin. "And this must be your… companion."
"You could say that," Xander replied evenly, not rising to the bait.
"Curious, isn't it?" Elric turned fully to Erin. "So many alliances born from prestige and lineage… and yet, here you are. A lady whose name doesn't echo from any of our archives. Where exactly did you say you were from, Miss…?"
Erin held his gaze. "I didn't."
Elric's smile twitched, as though amused. "Ah. A woman of mystery. That explains the allure."
Xander's hand moved to the small of her back, firm and grounding. "Her worth doesn't lie in what you can dig up in your precious archives."
"Of course," Elric said, the false innocence grating. "Still, one can't help but wonder. We all know how delicate reputations can be, especially in your circles, Prince."
Xander smiled then—but it was a quiet, glacial thing. "Careful, Elric. You're beginning to sound like someone who thinks he has a reputation left to lose."
The delegate blinked, his mouth tightening just slightly before he bowed and moved on.
Erin let out a quiet breath. "Thank you."
"Don't," Xander said under his breath. "You handled him just fine."
A new round of drinks floated by on polished trays. A server offered Erin a glass of champagne, chilled and glistening. She accepted it without a second thought, until the scent struck her—something faint but off. She barely took a sip.
"Wait." Xander's voice was low but sharp. He took the glass from her hand, brought it to his nose, and immediately stiffened. His jaw ticked.
He waved down a discreet staff member and murmured something too low to hear. The server nodded and whisked the drink away.
"What was that?" Erin asked.
Xander didn't answer immediately. His eyes were scanning the crowd.
Moments later, Cassian appeared at his side, whispered something in his ear, and vanished again.
"Someone laced it," Xander said finally. "Something mild. Just enough to cause… complications."
Erin's stomach twisted. "To humiliate me."
"To make you seem like a liability," he corrected. "But it won't work."
For the rest of the evening, Xander remained close. Every time someone approached them, his posture changed—subtle, protective. He kept one hand near her, sometimes brushing against her fingers, sometimes gently at her back.
The conversations continued, laughter swirled around them, but the bond between them stayed quiet and present. And though Erin felt the sting of humiliation from the incident, and the weight of her own secrets pressing harder than ever, there was something unshakable about Xander's calm.
She glanced up at him once, when no one was looking, and said quietly, "Why are you doing this?"
He didn't look at her when he answered. "Because you're mine."
And though the words set off a storm inside her, Erin said nothing.
She just stayed there beside him, fingers brushing his, wondering when exactly she'd stopped wanting to walk away.