---
Chapter Sixteen: Cake, Chaos, and Closet Confessions
The palace had transformed into a swirling storm of tulle, perfume, and mild panic.
Liora's birthday ball was just days away, and the entire royal staff was in an absolute frenzy. Ballgowns flew through the halls like dramatic ghosts, chefs barked at each other in five languages, and someone had somehow misplaced an entire fountain of imported chocolate.
Felice, however, was currently trapped in the supply closet.
With Lysander.
"This is your fault," she hissed, arms crossed as they stood shoulder to shoulder in the tiny, broom-scented space.
"I was trying to help," he said defensively.
"You yanked me into a closet."
"There were angry decorators coming at us with sequin grenades!"
Felice snorted, trying not to laugh. It was hard, because Lysander looked truly unbothered—leaning against the shelf like this was a completely normal Tuesday.
"You have glitter on your face," she said.
"So do you."
They stared at each other for a second too long. Her pulse thrummed with that familiar golden magic. She looked away first.
"Okay," she muttered. "Let's talk about this party. Liora wants a floating stage, an illusion dome, and a live griffin band. Are any of those real things?"
"Two are illegal and one is extinct."
"Oh great."
He reached past her to grab a rolled-up scroll from a shelf, his arm brushing hers in the tight space. Goosebumps exploded down her skin. His scent—citrus and cold steel—was infuriatingly distracting.
She swallowed hard. "Do you like annoying me?"
He grinned, too close. "Only when you look this flustered."
"I'm not flustered."
"You're blinking like a stunned owl."
Felice smacked his arm with the scroll. "Focus, prince charming. This party has to be perfect."
A pause.
"You want it perfect for Liora," he said quietly. "Or for you?"
Felice blinked. "What?"
He stepped back slightly. "You've never had a real celebration, have you?"
She didn't answer.
Lysander studied her, his voice gentler now. "Then let's make this one unforgettable. For both of you."
Something shifted between them—subtle but deep. Not quite a confession. Not yet. But the look he gave her made her stomach flip.
The door creaked open suddenly.
Liora peeked in. "Oh my gosh, are you two trapped in here? That's adorable. We're doing a rehearsal dance in the ballroom. Come on, lovebirds!"
"We're not—!" they both blurted at the same time.
Liora winked. "Sure. Keep telling yourselves that."
Felice groaned and shoved past her, but not before she saw Lysander smirking behind her.
Yeah. This party was going to be a lot more dangerous than she thought.
---