It didn't hit him immediately. Tristan sucked in a sharp breath as his eyes met Avery's through the silent table. Everyone waited with baited breath, their eyes analyzing him and Avery.

Engagement. They wanted him to get... engaged. To get settled for life... with Avery. There wouldn't be any coming back after this.

He'd known this was coming. He'd known that this would always happen. He'd even wanted it. But this was all too sudden. He wasn't ready. He hadn't had time to prepare. And more than him, he worried for Avery.

Would she ever be ready for him after... after all he'd done? Would she ever be able to look past his mistakes, truly?

She'd never said anything to him. She pretended all was fine when she was around him, and she still treated him as the best of her friends. But being her best, and oldest friend, Tristan knew she kept the hurt buried deep within her, hidden so far away that she herself probably didn't know it existed.

"Look," his father said, "You don't have to do the ceremony just yet—sometime in a month or so is fine. We just need to announce it today."

"Fine," Avery said.

Tristan's head snapped to hers, and he sent a questioning look her way, trying to gauge what was going through her mind. Their eyes met, but she turned away, ignoring his question. He'd have thought she would more opposed to it, after the things he'd done.

Tristan attempted to reach out to her mentally, but his questions faded into the ether, and his mind hit a wall as he tried to enter hers. She'd blocked him. Why?

"Are you sure, honey?" Avery's mother asked.

"Yes."

Avery was still facing away from him, and her voice almost had a clinical detachment to it. Tristan furrowed his brows. She was doing it again, wasn't she? Hiding her own feelings for the so called 'greater good.'

Tristan sighed, knowing he couldn't talk her out of it no matter how much he tried.

"Let's go ahead with this, then, if you're sure," the crown prince said.

His father smiled at Tristan, in approval for once. Then they got down to the details, planning to announce the engagement at the ball that night, when Tristan decided to speak up.

"Shouldn't we cancel the ball?"

"We can't, Tristan. That would make us look weak," his father said, "we'd be giving in to their play. If we go ahead with the ball—"

"We would endanger our nobility! One wrong move could cost us our already precarious support," Tristan argued.

"But giving in would mean we think they're a threat!"

"So, you would rather boast a strong show and ignore them, instead of doing the right thing and protecting our supporters?"

"It's not like that—"

"It is! That's how the public will see it!"

Beside him, Duchess Amor placed a hand on his shoulder, trying to calm Tristan.

"We cannot cancel the ball, dear. That would also lead to precarious footing with the houses. Either way, we are going to get criticized. At least this way, we can show the nobles we plan to keep their lives luxurious, as they always have been," the Duchess said.

Tristan sighed. "We must at least double security."

"Of course," The King said.

The rest of the meeting passed while discussing the details. At the end of it all, Tristan ached for coffee. The drink would be the only thing keeping him upright through the debut ball that night, and he wouldn't miss it for the world. He couldn't, not when it was Avery's debut, and the announcement of their engagement.

Information swirled through his mind as he analyzed all the ideas, plans and strategies discussed. This one meeting had taken a lot of energy from him. No wonder that he was in an irritable mood when he returned to his quarters.

"Get me some coffee and draw a bath; I wish to be left alone for a bit."

"But—" his valet objected, silenced with one look from the prince.

He unbuttoned his shirt, taking a seat on his bed, his hands massaging his forehead and eyes as he tried not to think about anything for a while. He took a bath, readying himself for the Ball that he was to attend that eve.

Once he'd bathed and drank some coffee, he felt much better. His mind was clearer, and he was confident could walk without his head spinning. His valet chose that moment to enter, insisting that he would aid Tristan get ready for the ball. He helped Tristan into his formal dress; the green suit's gilded embroidery making his hair into a shard of onyx and his accentuating the gold spheres in his eyes.

"Thank you, Fredrick."

"Of course, Your Highness," came his valet's response.

Tristan put on his shoes; which, like everything else he owned; had golden embellishments on them. Fredrick then helped him put on his crown; meant to consolidate and remind Nobles of his status.

Frederick painted the prince's skin, bringing out his eyes and hair even more, before pronouncing the crown prince ready for the Ball.

Tristan; now feeling much better after his bath; had to remind himself not to run out of his quarters. He walked to the wind-chamber; stepping on the stone carved with the Regalis crest and stood still as it perceived the presence of a human. Instantly, the sigil beneath was activated, and a gust of wind filled the claustrophobic tube. The ancient stone beneath Tristan's feet rose, lifting him to the top level of the Central Wing, to the opulent ballroom. He waited for the stone to stop moving before exiting, instantly thrust into the side entrance—the one reserved for the guests of honor, the Debutants. The young women had been chattering before, but a hushed silence descended upon the gathering when they noticed him. Whispers and giggles ensured as he walked to the front, waiting for Avery.

By tradition, entrances were always arranged by rank. Many of the other Debutants were already with their escorts—gentlemen of like rank from the previous seasons' debutants. The debuting men were on the other side, along with their lady escorts.

The last of the guests were being announced, Tristan could hear the names of insignificant nobles and their spouses and children, but Avery had yet to show. He was about to rush back down to find her when he heard the tell-tale chime of the wind-chambers' sigil stopping. Out came Avery, and the gathered debutants parted easily for the future duchess.

Tristan finally had the chance to observe her when she strode to the front. A red dress accentuated the curves of her body, its' silver bodice melting into a multitude of skirts made of tomato-red nets. Silver embroidery shone near her feet, the short train just enough to ensure no one would trip over it. A thin cape of the same red nets that comprised her skirts was attached to the back of the dress, giving the impression that Avery was floating. She wore deep red netted gloves that reached her wrist to make up for the absence of sleeves. Her fiery hair was a muted shade of auburn, piled atop her head in curls, some of them cascading down to kiss the smooth ivory skin of her shoulders. Her face paint served to accentuate the forest of her eyes, surrounded by red glitter on her long lashes.

Avery looked ethereal, like a messenger or a goddess, come down from the heavens for him. But when he observed her face, her eyes were hard and unassuming—as they had been throughout the meeting.

"I worry about you, you know?" Tristan whispered, offering his elbow to her. Avery entangled her arm with his, giving no indication that she heard him.

"Avery?"

"The sentiment is much appreciated."

Tristan grit his teeth in frustration. How would he ever get through to her?

"Avery, please," he pleaded.

"What, Tristan?"

"Speak to me! Why are you blocking me out?"

"I'm not sure what you mean, my prince."

"Avery—"

Just then, the herald announced them, and Avery started walking into the vast ballroom, not giving Tristan a chance to retaliate. She plastered a smile on her face, but Tristan could see it wasn't genuine. He smiled for the audience, wondering how he would get Avery to talk to him. He tried not to think about it, but this was the first time she was holding such a grudge against him since... since their teens, and he was worried about her.

They entered the bright, open ballroom together, the round pillars holding the edge of the roof, colored in reds and greens and golds. Cool wind wafted in from the open roof, the moon shining above them. Stained glass windows made for stunning walls, nobles and courtiers socializing inside.

Avery let Tristan guide her as the other Debutants followed them into the ballroom, but her movements were controlled, robotic, deliberate. She kept a distance between them, and he didn't know how to breach it.

The dance began, and he led Avery out onto the center of the floor. They swirled and twisted, floating across the dance floor with grace and ease. It was uncharacteristically silent between the two of them, but the rest of the ballroom was filled with gossips. People wondered who would court whom this court season, which of the already courting couples would marry and caught up on all the stories and scandals that had happened while they were in the countryside.

The Debut Ball was supposed to be a hallmark—the start of the court season, when all Nobles, Courtiers and Dukes would gather. People took the ball as an opportunity to announce and spread news of courtships and weddings and scandals, wanting their hunger for gossip sated after quiet months spent in the countryside.

Neither Avery nor Tristan cared much for these trysts, but they had to indulge the court, as much as they would've liked not to. The two of them danced together, with other partners and spent time socializing. It was as he had expected the ball to be, but nothing could drain him of the utter boredom he felt during such events, and Avery's silence weighed on his mind.

Tristan was dancing with Avery for the fifth time, when he someone tapped on his shoulder. A passing servant whispered in his ear. "The King requests your presence, my prince."

Tristan nodded, his eyes meeting Avery's. "It's time."

Avery dropped his hand, going stiff as she followed him to the edge of the ballroom, where the King sat on his throne, atop a raised dais.

"It is time to announce your engagement," the king said, "face your future court."

Tristan nodded, his palm reaching out for Avery's, who took it without question, her eyes still as hard as ever. But the little gesture had given Tristan hope, and he prayed that she would come around eventually.

Their fingers entangled as they stood closer to each other. Tristan struggled not to squeeze Avery's hand too hard as the music came to a stop and all nobles eyes turned on them.

"My court," the king began, "Today, the roy—"

He was cut off by the sound of shattering glass, the stained-glass walls giving way to a horde of people rushing in.

"Father?" Tristan screamed through the confusion, spinning around in search for the king. He ran to the throne behind him, where the king lay slumped against the chair, his guardian beside him, fighting off an intruder. Tristan knelt in front of his father, shaking the king's head in an attempt to wake him.

"Father! Can you hear me, father? Say something, please!"

The guardian returned to Tristan's side, laying a hand on the young prince's shoulder. "Go," the king's guardian said, "get to safety. I will take his majesty to his chambers."

Tristan frowned, but he could see the reasoning behind the guardian's words. If his father didn't...

No, he couldn't think like that.

Tristan backed away slowly, his ears picking up on Avery's voice through the mayhem of screams and shouts. Within a minute, Avery was beside him, followed by their guardians. Emerson, Tristan's guardian, and Laura, Avery's guardian, led fought through the wall of bodies, trying to reach the edge of the ballroom where they had entered.

Their guards were busy fighting two other intruders when someone snuck up to Avery, and Tristan reacted instinctually, sucking out his soulstream before the man could damage anything. Avery nodded in thanks, picking up a sword from some fallen warrior.

Avery closed her eyes, her eyelids flying open a moment later as she whirled around to meet an attacker - who was trying to injure Tristan - with her sword. Tristan leaned out of the way, his eyes betraying his shock. Their swords clanged, but neither Avery nor her opponent gave it any heed, engaging in a sparring match instantly. Her eyes trained on her opponent; Avery observed his every move like a predator.

Tristan moved away from them, knowing he'd only get in her way, and stretched his radar to sense the man's life-force. Many other presences jumped into his mind, but Tristan had enough training to be able to focus on his target. Excitement and anger thrummed in the man's aura, giving him an iridescent red glow. Tristan searched for his core, feeling the string of life-force that connected his aura and his core, and tugging on it to imbalance his soul, and pulling the core as soon as he saw it.

In a matter of moments, Avery's fight was over, and she gave him a smile as she rushed towards him.

Tristan's heart skipped a beat as he smiled back, glad she was finally friendly with him again. He opened his mouth to joke about it, then suddenly his radar blew up, and Avery's Talent signature dropped. His eyes widened as he saw someone drive a sword into her stomach.

___

AN: Hope you enjoyed this chapter. Sorry not sorry for that cliffhanger. I hope you will stay with our lovebirds to the end! 
Love, 
Kira