Lucien's expression darkened. "This isn't about your reputation. It's about the family. You've already caused enough of a stir with your antics tonight. Do you have any idea how this looks?"
That was all he cared about... About his reputation...
Selena clenched her fists, her irritation simmering. Lucien's weak protests, the suffocating judgment from the ballroom's vultures, and now the sight of Clara at the centre of attention were all exhausting.
Yet, instead of letting it consume her, she straightened her back and marched away, leaving Lucien rooted in place.
The words she'd spat at her brother still hung in the air like a sharp blade.
"Maybe stop worrying about your reputation and grow a spine. I've begun to move on from Nicholas, you should move on from Amelia."
Lucien's expression—half wounded, half livid—had been satisfying. It wasn't often she got the upper hand in their confrontations, but tonight she was too drained to bask in the victory.
She brought up his most painful wound. The failed engagement. Amelia was now happy, she was a Countess and had a child. He was unable to move on. A proud Duke was now hiding from her. How silly was that?
He couldn't control the flow of his own fate and now he was trying to control hers.
Lucien had to watch her leave with confidence. He felt stupid, what happened in the past should not affect him so much and yet...
Her gaze swept the ballroom once more. The Northern Duke, standing tall and brooding as ever, was locked in what could only be described as a silent standoff with the Crown Prince.
Clara, the supposed object of their tension, stood between them, her doe-eyed expression one of practised innocence. Selena rolled her eyes. What a predictable scene, she thought.
She turned her attention elsewhere, scanning for Alex. He was nowhere to be found, and an inexplicable pang of disappointment hit her. Perhaps he had stepped out, or maybe he had been whisked away by some nobles from questioning...
She should look for him. Selena sighed, her patience frayed. The noise, the drama, the endless scrutiny—it was all too much. Deciding she needed air, she slipped away from the crowd, her silver gown shimmering as she moved toward the balcony.
She decided to take a small breather first. She was not used to this environment. She became tired very easily.
The cool night air greeted her as she stepped outside, offering a brief reprieve from the oppressive heat of the ballroom. She sighed softly, leaning against the stone railing and letting the breeze brush against her skin.
But her solitude was short-lived.
A figure stood at the far end of the balcony, his back to her. Selena froze. She hadn't noticed him at first, but now the fiery red of his hair caught her eye, glowing like embers under the moonlight.
He wore robes—ornate, elegant, and completely out of place among the tailored suits and gowns of the nobility.
A man and a woman alone on a balcony was hardly proper. Selena turned to leave, but as she moved, the stranger spoke.
"Who?"
The single word was sharp, piercing through the stillness of the night. Selena hesitated, glancing back at him.
The man turned, and her breath caught. His face was striking—sharp features framed by that vivid red hair—but it was his eyes that held her captive. They were the colour of amethysts, deep and mysterious, shimmering with a faint glow.
"Ah, I'm sorry. I was just leaving," she said quickly, suddenly self-conscious under his gaze.
The man tilted his head, his expression curious. "You're apologising?"
She did not think much of it, maybe because of her exhaustion she might have forgotten that she was a villainess now, or just tired of keeping up a facade.
Selena frowned, confused by his question. "I intruded, so I'm apologising," she said simply, as though it were obvious. She turned to leave again, but his voice stopped her.
"Selena Whitlock."
Her name on his lips sent a shiver down her spine. She turned back to him, her brow furrowed.
He stepped closer, the faint scent of something earthy and arcane lingering in the air around him. His movements were unhurried, deliberate, as though he had all the time in the world.
"Ambrose," he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "Remember it."
Selena instinctively stepped back, her pulse quickening. There was something otherworldly about him, something that set her nerves on edge.
Before she could ask what he meant, he raised his hand and snapped his fingers.
In an instant, his form dissolved into golden mist, the particles shimmering as they drifted away into the night. Selena blinked, her mind struggling to process what had just happened.
"Ambrose," she murmured to herself, the name familiar yet distant. And then it hit her like a lightning bolt.
The Archmage.
The Archmage of the Mage Tower had close ties with the neighbouring Empire, you could say that he helped the Northern Duke plot against the royal family and take over the kingdom. But he would not appear until much later...
He was not relevant to the early parts of the plot.
So, why would he appear here, at a royal ball of all places? And why would he approach her?
The sound of footsteps behind her snapped her out of her thoughts. She turned quickly, half expecting to see Alex, but instead, it was Lucien again. His face was set in a grim mask, his eyes narrowing as he took in her expression.
Lucien's gaze flicked to the spot where Ambrose had stood moments before. He frowned but said nothing, clearly unconvinced.
"Just be careful... And don't be an embarrassment. If you have really moved on from Nicholas... Make sure you stay that way."
She bristled at his condescending tone but bit back a retort. The last thing she needed was another argument. "I can handle myself," she said coolly.
Lucien hesitated, as though he wanted to say more, but finally, he gave a curt nod and walked away, leaving her alone once more.