The final notes of the waltz faded into the vaulted air, and Evelyn let her hand slip from Alexander's with deliberate care.
He didn't try to hold on.
Didn't have to.
His silence lingered longer than his touch.
The crowd re-formed around them, as if the dance had never happened. But the way eyes followed her now was different. Measured. Curious. Threatened.
She walked away first.
Her gown shimmered like starlight with every step, and she didn't look back. Not until she reached the edge of the hall and paused beside a tall window that overlooked the lower city, its lights a blur beneath the glass.
"Dancing with the Wolf of Valerius," a voice said lightly from the shadows. "Bold."
Evelyn turned.
The woman standing beside her was draped in deep emerald velvet, her face hidden behind a thin mask of gold leaves. But her eyes—green, sharp, and knowing—were unmistakable.
House Thorne.
Old blood. Old magic. And very dangerous friends.
"You're Evelyn Hawthorne," the woman said, not asking.
Evelyn didn't respond.
The woman smiled. "I don't mean to intrude. But I thought you should know…" She tilted her head. "Not every mask here hides something pretty. Some are cracked. And some—" she leaned in, her voice a whisper, "—belong to things that don't want to be seen at all."
Evelyn's jaw tightened. "Do you always speak in riddles?"
"Only when the truth would get me killed," the woman replied smoothly, already pulling back. "Be careful, Lady Hawthorne. You may be a queen on the board… but queens are often the first piece they try to corner."
And with that, she disappeared into the swirling crowd.
Alexander stood at the far end of the hall, arms crossed, ignoring the invitations tossed his way like scraps to a lion. But Evelyn didn't approach him again.
She had no need to.
His eyes never left her.
And for the first time, Evelyn wasn't sure if he was protecting her… or watching to see how far she'd go without him.