The week passed in a blur. I barely remembered most of it—just flashes of meetings, papers, trailing conversations through the halls—but somehow, the banquet day had arrived.
I sat at my vanity, still as a statue, while my maids fluttered around me. One brushed out my hair, weaving braids that coiled and twisted like art. Another smoothed the sapphire-blue gown over my shoulders, tugging at laces and aligning the delicate lace trim. Their hands worked with calm precision, but my mind wasn't with them.
My thoughts drifted back—deals made, impressions left, the subtle shifts in my father's tone when we spoke. He still wasn't warm. He wasn't suddenly doting or kind. But he saw me now. That much, I knew.
The port negotiations with the Lionhearts had moved forward. Not finalized, not yet—but progressing. That was more than I'd dared hope for when this all began.
And then there was Julian.
He'd taken to following me around like a duckling, wide-eyed and chatty, asking endless questions and tugging at my hand whenever I tried to walk too quickly. At first, it had been exhausting. Then... it became something else. Our strolls in the gardens, our impromptu detours through the kitchen or library—they were the closest thing to peace I'd felt in this place. He didn't care about titles or power. He just liked me.
"My lady," Nia's soft voice pulled me back. "It's almost time."
I nodded and looked at my reflection.
The deep sapphire gown clung in all the right places, the fabric rich and heavy. It brought out the blue in my eyes, just as I'd intended. A thin silver chain rested at my collarbone. Understated. Elegant. Controlled.
No trace remained of the girl who had stood at a public execution only days ago, stunned and silent as a man bled before a cheering crowd.
I didn't have the luxury of being that girl tonight.
This banquet—it wasn't just about dancing and wine. It was war, dressed in jewels and laughter. Every gesture mattered. Every glance could shift alliances. And I needed to win, or at least not be devoured.
A knock sounded at the door.
Leonard.
He leaned in the doorway in full formal attire, shoulders squared, expression unreadable. His eyes swept over me, and for a second, I braced for a jab.
"You look presentable," he said.
I arched a brow. "You really know how to make a girl feel radiant."
"Don't let it get to your head," he muttered, stepping forward and offering his arm. "Come. Father's waiting."
...
The palace's grand hall was already alive with light and sound. Chandeliers shimmered overhead, casting golden warmth across marble floors and embroidered tapestries. Nobles in silks and glittering gemstones moved like waves, laughing too loudly or whispering too softly.
Leonard and I entered side by side, our pace steady. I kept my posture perfect, chin lifted, face unreadable.
This was my debut.
My first real entrance as someone in this world—not a bystander, not a girl trapped in a family she barely understood, but a contender. I'd studied etiquette, memorized the noble family names and their scandals, even practiced how to tilt my head while pretending to listen. But theory was easy. At least that's what my math teacher, Ms. Johnson, would tell me. Sure would be great to have her screaming in my ear again to remind me.
Because... This... felt like walking into a sea of predators...
It truly felt like something else entirely.
My father stood near the main table, deep in conversation with a cluster of men who carried their power like weapons. I recognized some of their faces from reports: regional lords, trade magnates, a general or two.
As we approached, Father turned. His gaze flicked to me, brief, assessing—and then he turned back to the man beside him.
"Duke Lionheart," he said smoothly, "I trust you've met my daughter?"
The man had a graying beard, shrewd eyes, and the kind of posture that came from never being challenged. His gaze shifted to me, and a slow smile curved his mouth—not friendly, exactly. Interested. Calculating.
"No, I don't believe I have," the Duke said. "But I've certainly heard about her recent endeavors," He continued, his voice smooth but edged with curiosity. His gaze lingered on me, as though trying to read between the layers of fabric and formality. "A pleasure, Lady Elisha. It is not often one hears of a young noblewoman taking such an active role in negotiations."
Elisha dipped her head with composed grace, her smile precise. "The pleasure is mine, Duke. I merely wish to see my family thrive. I'm pleased to finally meet the man behind the lion dukedom."
He suddenly took my hand and bowed over it with just enough ceremony to make my skin prickle. "I put faith that your future is a bright one."
I smiled, as best I could. "Then I hope I live up to the rumors."
Because I knew what rumors they meant. The upstart daughter. The girl who'd stepped into the trade ring without permission... Ugh, old men trying to find any reason to hate on a growing woman...
"A polished one, aren't you?" he mused, probably already scheming ways to either marry me off or hire me. "Perhaps we shall discuss more in detail later. For now, enjoy the banquet."
Internal Translation: I'm interesting enough to keep on the chessboard, but not important enough yet to ruin dinner over.
...
As the evening dragged on, and Leonard inevitably vanished to do Leonard things, as flirting with anything that batted eyelashes.
I, on the other hand, found myself caught in the noblewoman's whirlpool. A few were fascinated by my business ventures. Most just wanted to know if the rumors were true. One of them asked if I was the one who 'threatened the dockmaster into giving fairer prices. I smiled mysteriously and said, "Only slightly."
I mean... What else can you do when you have a shit ton of money, with nothing left to buy. Not bribe the dockmaster? I mentally chuckled to myself.
Just as I was getting into the rhythm of smiling, nodding, and not saying anything incriminating, a familiar voice sliced through the crowd like a flying ribbon.
"Elisha!"
Luna. In a floor-length emerald gown that sparkled like she was on loan from the forest fae. Her wild red curls were swept up with gold pins, and her grin could have lit the ballroom on fire. She grabbed both my hands with the enthusiasm of someone who'd had two glasses of wine and no regrets.
"You're finally attending one of these properly!" she said with glee. Then she leaned in, dropping her voice like a gossiping maid. "And making quite the impression, I hear."
I gave her a dry smile. "Gossip travels fast, doesn't it?"
"Faster than a scandal." She tilted her head, eyes narrowing just slightly. "You look at ease. But I know you. What are you really thinking?"
I paused, resisting the urge to mutter something like How to fake my death and escape to the countryside, before the duke of Lionheart takes me hostage...
"That I have much to consider. And even more to prepare for." I instead opted to say, keeping the craziness inside for now.
Luna sighed with the melodrama of a tragic actress. "Politics will eat your soul. Come. We're dancing before you turn into your father."
Before I could protest or list the many reasons I was not banquet-dance ready, she'd already dragged me toward the dance floor like a determined storm.
The music swelled. Strings, flutes, rhythm—fine. I could do this. I'd had… roughly five minutes of real-world dance experience. How hard could it be?
Answer: harder than it looks when everyone else on the floor is gliding like swans and you're just trying not to step on anyone's heirloom shoes.
One step. Okay. Another. Alright. Keep this up, and you won't look like a circus clown on drugs for the next 5 minutes.
And then I got confident—why? Because why be a clown when you can be the entire circus?
Which was my first mistake... Obviously.
Because somehow I slipped into rhythm too easily—turns became twirls, twirls turned into spins—and suddenly I was doing too well, which always means disaster is lurking nearby.
"...Careful!" Luna tried to warn, but it was too late.
YEP—there it was. My climax~
One second, I was mid-spin, the next I was airborne, tripping backwards like I was falling in slow motion through a tragic opera.
And then—arms.
Strong, steady arms. Someone caught me before my spine could meet the polished marble floor in an unforgettable display of grace and humiliation.
"You okay?" a calm voice asked, full of concern and just enough amusement to make it worse.
"Oh, thank—!" I looked up, trying my best not to embarrass myself anymore.
But it seems, today was just not my day—as my heart sank deeper than the Titanic.
It was the prince.
Of course, it was the prince.
Because if I'm going to publicly humiliate myself, why not do it directly into the arms of the most powerful man in the kingdom?
There was a long, awkward pause.
"…You really do know how to make an entrance," he said, one brow quirked.
"I was going for memorable," I muttered, still halfway in his arms. "I guess, I nailed it."
His mouth twitched. Just barely.
Somewhere behind him, I could already hear the rustle of skirts and the collective gasp of every noblewoman watching.
Fantastic. I had survived public execution watching, learned to fake dance, and now, apparently, crash-landed my way into royal prince attention.
Best. Banquet. Ever.