The heavy solid oak doors creaked open, revealing the immense ballroom bathed in the soft, clear light of the afternoon.

  The sun's rays streamed through the vast stained-glass windows, casting colorful reflections on the polished marble and sparkling gilding. A scent of amber and fresh wax hung in the air, while the hushed murmurs of the guests mingled with the discreet melody of a harpsichord.

  An almost ceremonial silence fell when Kael Dravenwald and Lyssandra made their entrance.

  All eyes instantly turned to Kael. His silhouette seemed carved from the shadows themselves, draped in a deep black cloak that seemed to swallow the ambient light. His red eyes, bright and piercing like burning embers, scanned the crowd with an intensity that made the blood run cold.

  A shiver ran through the room, accompanied by barely audible murmurs:

  “Kael Dravenwald...”

  “The man whose dark legend is whispered about.”

  “His name alone is enough to silence the room.”

  Heels clicked on the floor—click, click, click—as the guests moved aside, forming a respectful but apprehensive passageway.

  Kael stepped forward, his calm and confident gait setting the pace. Lyssandra, at his side, stood tall, her wrist adorned with the bracelet glimmering faintly in the harsh light.

  “Lyssandra,” Kael whispered, his voice low, soft, but vibrating with silent authority.

  She nodded in response, her heart beating faster in her chest. Her gaze swept across the room, catching curious and suspicious looks, before settling once more on Kael, the man whose mystery seemed to absorb all the light around him.

  Their footsteps echoed on the floor—tap, tap, tap—as they moved toward the center of the room. The music, a subtle blend of violins and harpsichord, grew in intensity, enveloping the room in a solemn and majestic atmosphere, befitting a ball.

  Lyssandra felt the weight of those gazes upon her, mixed with dizzying pride and a thrill of excitement. At her side, Kael kept his expression impenetrable, like a wall of ice in the midst of the turmoil.

  “This day...” he whispered, “every detail will count.”

  The ball was just beginning.

  The hushed murmurs of conversation drifted like a breath through the great hall, vibrating with contained energy. The guests, dressed in their finest attire, formed a kaleidoscope of shimmering colors and dazzling silks, every glance calculated, every smile measured.

  The moment Lyssandra entered, many eyes turned to her, captivated.

  Some women, wrapped in dresses made of luxurious fabrics, exchanged knowing glances mixed with veiled admiration.

  “Look at her...” whispered one, her voice soft and tinged with wonder.

  “She's a shooting star, too bright for this world,” replied another, her eyes sparkling.

  Others, on the contrary, pursed their lips, their smiles tightening into a shadow of jealousy.

  “Who dares to overshadow the nobility of the kingdom like this?” whispered a harsher voice, nails digging into the back of the chair.

  “She won't last. This kind of fame is fleeting,” added another, coldly.

  Among the men, some did not hide their nervousness.

  Their hands trembled imperceptibly; their mouths went dry under the weight of the ardent glances cast at them by the equally impressed ladies.

  A young nobleman, his face slightly red, whispered to his neighbor:

  “Did you see her wrist? That jewel... it seems to be made of darkness and fire.”

  “And that black cloak at her side...” replied the second, his voice low, almost fearful.

  “Kael Dravenwald. A name to be spoken with caution.”

  Yet, despite this palpable nervousness, a shared sense of anticipation hung over the room.

  The guests had gathered, their brows furrowed, conversations becoming scarce, all eyes fixed on the doors of the hall.

  The murmurs turned into an electrically charged silence.

  The prince and the royal family were about to make their entrance.

  And this ball, this day of pomp and shadow play, was just beginning.

  CLANG—the metallic clash echoed against the doors of the hall.

  Two large doors carved with solar motifs slowly opened with a ceremonial creak (grrrrnnnkkk), revealing the silhouettes of heralds in scarlet livery.

  Conversations froze. Silence fell.

  Then, in a clear and proclamatory echo, the voice of a herald rose:

  The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  “His Majesty King Thareon II of Solenn, guardian of the solar pact!”

  He wore a simple ceremonial robe, heavy with symbolism. His crown cast a steely glow over his forehead. His face, marked by age and war, remained impassive. A solemn silence fell over the room, oppressive.

  “Her Majesty Queen Avelyne of Solenn!”

  A tide of golden shadows flowed through the doors.

  The queen, dressed in a long coat of white feathers and moonstones, was the epitome of imperial grace. Beautiful, motionless, sovereign.

  “His Grace Crown Prince Elyan of Solenn, firstborn of the imperial house, and Princess Aliah of Solenn!”

  A breath swept through the room. Some bowed. Others instinctively stiffened, hands over their hearts and heads bowed in respect. A murmur of excitement—barely contained—ripped through the crowd like a wave.

  And finally, the prince appeared.

  With slow but confident steps, he crossed the threshold of light. His golden hair fell in shiny strands over his shoulders, and his ivory-white coat, embroidered with golden suns, trailed behind him like a comet.

  Her eyes—glowing amber—scanned the room with a calm but piercing gaze. On her arm walked a more discreet figure: Princess Aliah, a pale young woman with piercing blue eyes, already alert as a bird of prey. When her gaze met Kael's, she blushed and turned her head away.

  Lyssandra saw them, and time seemed to stand still.

  The prince, a man born to rule.

  He was magnificent, with an almost inhuman perfection that only those blessed with ancient lineage could carry without crumbling. But behind this polished splendor, a tension, a subtle hardness, pierced the curve of his mouth. The child of the Empire was not simply a sacred image; he was also a man forged in politics, blood, and the invisible chains of his destiny.

  He descended the few steps under the suspended gaze of the crowd... then took a step to the side.

  Kael Dravenwald, remaining impassive, bowed his head slowly.

  Lyssandra, at his side, felt all eyes turn back to her.

  Some nobles whispered, intrigued.

  “She's not bowing any further?”

  “She's on his arm, like an equal...”

  “Who is she really?”

  The prince, arriving in front of the crowd, finally saw her.

  His amber gaze settled on Lyssandra.

  Long. Intrusive. Curious.

  A heavy silence followed.

  Then, an almost imperceptible smile touched his lips.

  He simply nodded, as if he had just confirmed something, then shot Kael a contemptuous look before walking away.

  Kael, still impassive, did not react. But Lyssandra felt his arm brush against hers, like a firm and silent presence.

  Before their throne, the king spoke:

  "Ladies and gentlemen, noble guests, friends of our kingdom. Tonight, we celebrate not only the passing years but the future that lies ahead. My son, the heir to the throne, takes another step toward the heavy task that awaits him.”

  “May he always remember that wearing a crown is not a privilege but a duty. But tonight, let him forget that burden and enjoy the light, laughter, and dancing. I therefore invite you to raise your glasses and give the prince the most dazzling night of his young reign.”

  The entire room raised their glasses and shouted, “Long live the prince!”

  After that, the prince took his turn to speak:

  "Father, thank you for your words. Dear guests, I am honored by your presence. If I am ever to wear the golden chains of power, I hope to have your support and your honesty. But tonight, the only crown I desire is that of shared pleasures. Let the music play, let the wine flow, and let the party begin!

  The orchestra, in a whisper, played the first notes of a prelude. A dark and majestic waltz rose into the air.

  And the ball finally began.

  Now that I think about it... Lyssandra mused, there is a certain disturbing resemblance between this prince and the protagonist of the novel. If he had black hair, violet eyes... and a darker air about him... they would look strangely alike...

  “Why was the prince looking at you like that?” she asked in a low voice.

  “I guess he doesn't like me,” Kael replied indifferently.

  “Why is that?”

  “Who knows...”

  “In any case, the princess seemed to like you very much,” she added, her tone slightly stung.

  “Is that jealousy I hear?”

  “Not at all! I'm just worried about her,” she replied, puffing out her cheeks.

  The party continued in a warm atmosphere, punctuated by laughter, discussions between nobles, and refined music. The prince chatted with his guests from time to time. So far, there had been no trouble.

  As the party was in full swing, time passed, the sun set, and the moon rose. In the middle of the hall, people had started dancing, and others were looking for partners.

  Lyssandra watched and waited for Kael to ask her to dance, but... that didn't happen: he stood there scanning every corner of the room and every person who passed into his field of vision.

  She then decided to reverse the roles and stood in front of him.

  “How about we dance too?” she said, grabbing his hand, pulling him, and guiding him onto the dance floor with a smile.

  Kael, not particularly surprised, followed her without resistance. They began to dance together with elegant grace, their movements as fluid as they were synchronized.

  Some stared at them, others stopped dancing to admire them. They were surprised but fascinated at the same time; it was the first time they had seen such a dance.

  Despite their perspective, it was Lyssandra who led the dance and Kael who followed. Despite his lack of expression, he was surprised, as it was also the first time he had seen such a dance.

  It was a harmoniously beautiful dance, but a little sensual, with their bodies rubbing against each other at times. Lyssandra seemed to be in her own world, as if there were only her and Kael, and she did not hesitate to use her charm and beauty.

  Sometimes their faces would come close together, stopping just a few inches apart, which would sometimes make Lyssandra's heart beat a little faster.

  The dance ended with Lyssandra's back pressed against Kael's, but in his arms as if he were hugging her from behind.

  They finally left the dance floor in silence, with all eyes still on them, then suddenly Kael looked serious and whispered in Lyssandra's ear.

  “I'll be back. Stay here,” he said suddenly.

  “Okay, but where are you going?” asked Lyssandra.

  “I won't be far.”

  He slipped away without further explanation.

  No sooner had he disappeared than several nobles began to approach Lyssandra.