The echoes of laughter from the group discussion still lingered as Adrian von Shelb wandered toward the quieter edges of the festival.
He carried the Cutest Couple trophy in one hand, its gaudy heart-shaped design making him cringe every time it caught the lantern light. He was still mulling over how his brothers had upstaged him on the dance floor when a sharp, familiar voice broke his thoughts.
"Well, if it isn't the infamous foot-crusher," Greta said, her tone dripping with mock formality. She stepped out from behind a nearby stall, her fiery red hair catching the golden glow of the lanterns. Her brown eyes, sharp and full of mischief, sparkled as she regarded him.
Adrian groaned, clutching his chest dramatically.
"Must you wound me so, Lady Greta? I'm already burdened with the weight of this... monstrosity." He held up the trophy, its ribbons fluttering pathetically in the breeze.
Greta arched an eyebrow, crossing her arms over her pale green gown. "A burden of your own making, Lord Adrian. If you'd danced better, maybe you'd have gotten an award for most graceful."
Adrian straightened, his sharp blue eyes narrowing with playful indignation. "In my defense, you're impossible to impress."
"Impossible to impress?" Greta's lips quirked into a smirk. "I endured three crushed toes and didn't call for a medic. That's practically a miracle."
"Endured?" Adrian shot back, his golden-blonde hair swaying as he turned to face her fully. "You're the one who agreed to dance with me in the first place. You could have said no."
Greta tilted her head, a mock expression of innocence on her face. "Oh, and let you sulk because everyone else had pre-set partners? What kind of noblewoman would I be if I left you stranded?"
Adrian placed the trophy on a nearby bench with exaggerated care, then leaned toward her, his tone conspiratorial. "The kind who doesn't volunteer for potential toe-crushing."
Greta chuckled, shaking her head. "Adrian von Shelb, you're lucky I'm far more generous than I should be."
He straightened, brushing invisible lint from his sleeve. "Lucky? No, no, Greta. You were lucky. Few can claim the honor of dancing with me."
"Honor?" Greta's voice climbed an octave, her laughter spilling out. "The only honor was mine for surviving your so-called waltzing."
Adrian placed a hand over his heart as if wounded, but the glint of humor in his eyes betrayed him. "You wound me, Lady Greta. Truly, I had no idea you were this ruthless."
Greta's smirk widened, her brown eyes gleaming. "Oh, you've seen nothing yet."
As the laughter subsided, Adrian leaned back against the bench, his gaze settling on Greta with uncharacteristic thoughtfulness.
"You know," he began, his tone lighter now, "I've seen you at court. You're always so composed, so proper. And yet, here you are, gleefully tearing me to shreds. How do you manage it?"
Greta's lips curved into a sly smile. "That's the secret, Lord Adrian. Present yourself as a noble lady, and no one ever suspects the mischief."
Adrian laughed, the sound genuine. "Well played. I think I underestimated you."
"Most people do," Greta said, her voice softer but no less confident. "It's easier that way."
Adrian tilted his head, studying her for a moment. "So, was dancing with me part of the noble act, or just a favor for a friend?"
Greta shrugged, her fiery red hair catching the light as she turned to face him fully. "A little of both. Besides, you're fun to tease."
"Fun to tease?" Adrian repeated, feigning shock. "I'm of the the most eligible bachelors in the empire, Greta. You should be swooning, not scheming."
Greta stepped closer, her brown eyes sparkling with mischief. "Oh, I'm swooning, Adrian. Swooning at how you managed to make three left feet look like two."
Adrian laughed again, shaking his head. "Touché, Lady Greta. Touché."
For a moment, the two stood in comfortable silence, the sounds of the festival drifting around them. Greta broke the quiet first, her voice light. "You're not so bad, you know. When you're not crushing toes."
Adrian smirked, his sharp blue eyes meeting hers. "And you're not so terrifying. When you're not scheming."
"High praise," Greta replied, her tone dry but amused. "I'll treasure it."
"Adrian, could you truly not find a single noblewoman to dance with you today?" Greta asked, her tone a deliberate mixture of teasing and genuine curiosity, her emerald eyes searching his for an answer.
Adrian shifted, the briefest flicker of unease betraying him before his usual charm reasserted itself.
"No one quite measures up," he replied with a faint, self-deprecating smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Not after knowing one of the best women in the world."
Greta's breath hitched almost imperceptibly, though she schooled her features into an air of feigned nonchalance. "When was your last break-up?" she asked lightly, though the tremor in her voice betrayed the weight of the question.
Adrian's blue eyes softened as he stepped closer, his gaze unwavering and far too knowing. "If I tell you," he began, his voice low and almost conspiratorial, "will you help me find someone suitable?"
Greta tilted her head, as though to distance herself from the intensity of his gaze, but he reached out gently, his fingertips barely brushing her chin.
The subtle motion coaxed her to meet his eyes once more.
"Find me a fiery redhead, twenty-eight years old, with striking emerald eyes—someone who carries herself like a noble but hides a mischievous streak underneath," Adrian said, his smile tinged with a bittersweet nostalgia. "Then I'm in."
Her heart stuttered, her carefully constructed composure faltering. A faint blush warmed her cheeks as she searched for a response, but Adrian continued, his tone quiet and laden with something deeper. "That's what the woman who broke my heart eight years ago looked like."
Before Greta could respond, Adrian turned, his expression unreadable as he strode toward the nearby bench where he had left the gaudy trophy. With exaggerated grandeur, he lifted it high, his grin reappearing like a mask.
"Now, if you'll excuse me, I have the vital task of deciding who deserves this magnificent monstrosity," he quipped, his tone lighter but no less compelling.
A laugh escaped Greta despite herself, the sound carrying a warmth she hadn't felt in years. "Good luck, Lord Adrian," she called after him, her voice laced with a playful fondness she couldn't quite suppress. "You're going to need it."
Adrian cast a glance over his shoulder, his lips curving into a smirk that held just a hint of melancholy.
"I always do," he replied before disappearing into the bustling crowd, the ribbons of the trophy fluttering like echoes of a fleeting moment.
Greta lingered where she stood, her gaze fixed on the space Adrian had occupied. Memories long buried surfaced unbidden—their shared laughter, the endless debates, and the moments of quiet understanding that had once bridged the chasm of duty and ambition. Eight years apart, and yet it felt as though the weight of those years hadn't lessened the pull between them.
For all his flaws and antics, Adrian von Shelb remained a singular force in her life—irritating, infuriating, and utterly magnetic. Misguided, perhaps. But captivating—undeniably captivating.