Steel had nearly forgotten why she bore a one-sided hatred towards only the mere thoughts of twirling around all night in a fancy dress and heels higher than the usual one she wore while staying by Pharah's side, the only electrifying feeling that could make her heart nearly skip a beat was the aftermath that could have manifested

If someone would have committed an act of folly, then she for sure would have surely stepped in to keep their irascible tempers in check.

That, however, would have not been the only order she'd been given for tonight.

It'd been a command that'd come in mere hours before the start of the opening ball. A messenger bearing the crest of the Detrian Republic had knocked on the iron gates of the Imperial Citadel, bearing the news of the imminent arrival of a delegation sent by the Egor, the temporary head of the Detrian Republic.

They'd sent a message offering what nowadays had been nothing more than a foolish childish dream, a chance of conciliation, an armistice to not attack the borders along with the promise to free any of the remaining prisoners both sides had caught within the last few years. At first all ministers and high functionaries, along with the ruling family had deemed it a witticism meant to throw them into a state of alarm.

The judgment had changed when Rosalynde and the rest of the Apostles had read who would have been in charge of the Detrian delegation.

Yulian Venier, only son of the Egor head and candidate for the Egor seat.

If the head of the Detrian Republic was to send his only son into foreign land as a chess piece to grant his country and people an advantageous pact then the matter had to be seriously taken into consideration.

Now she stood still in front of a leaning fir full-length mirror in a corner of her living quarters, wondering how she would have gotten off the dress the few maids assigned under her name had basically composed on her in the last hour or so.

Three tones of a dark shade of blue mixed with the mesmerizing detail of handmade silver leaves adorning every hem of the dress; and pearls sewn over her chest to enchant the roaming eyes of those who could not keep their eyes where they should have.

Rosalynde made her heels do a full clock turn twice to test the comfort she'd hoped, five hours in a dress like this one would have killed even the strongest warrior that legends narrated about.

She watched as some ends of her hair ended over her clavicle, taking a lock of unstyled silver hair in between her index and middle finger, twirling it around as she requested to be left alone.

"For the Crown," she spoke out loud. Lifting the hem of her gown to not ruin nor tear the fine fabric as it clung to her body in a ravishing morse, quickly checking the room to memorize where she'd placed before joining Pharah for the start of the ball.

꧁꧂

"Boring isn't it?" Pharah whispered to her attendant right after rejecting with painful benevolence a couple of nobles who'd requested her esteemed presence for one of the upcoming dances.

"It's only been an hour since the ball started, your highness, keep up the hard work" her attendant reminded her as they watched the dancing couples glided on the ballroom floor, their steps in harmony with the music playing in the background.

"Don't remind me, those weeds actually climbed the stairs to ask for a dance," the disbelief in Pharah's voice would have been across the whole ballroom if the cheerful laughters around the hall hadn't shielded her in extremis.

"And the saddest part is that you still can't touch a single glass of wine." Rosalynde added with a sneer she made sure to cover with the glass full of red in her hand.

The list of rules that the Des Reslows had to keep track of when attending a ball under their name was without a doubt longer than the three Searis added together - but only four were thought as the most significant of all.

One: Never be the first one to ask for a dance, let the others come and if needed politely decline their invitation.

Two: No alcoholic beverages allowed until the end of the seventh dance, and they'd just started the third one.

Three: You'll have to dance at least once during the duration of the ball, with the chosen dance partner carrying the title of count.

Four: Any type of embarrassment that could harm the apparent ruling monarchs is to be considered as an act of treason, therefore the transgressors' name will be removed out from the family tree and be exiled until death comes to thee.

Not even Pheron had dared once break along the rules of that ancient path when trying to uphold the heritage he was granted at birth.

"Have they finally made a move?" Pharah inquired after a comfortable break spent in tender silence.

"No, and that's why I think they've already done something prior coming here," Rosalynde replied immediately after.

"Oh, I'd already taken that for granted. However, the son of the Egor is strangely talkative tonight, being an outlander in foreign land is never easy, but he seems to have shielded himself well from the separation," they both hadn't looked his way once, initiating eye contact was the last thing Pharah wanted to do tonight.

Eye contact meant interest, and interest meant placing other interests over her own.

Yulian Venier on the other hand had repeatedly raised his chin to look in their direction. It hadn't been hard finding them, as they were the only ones on the second floor, their indirect gaze overwhelming all members of nobility that'd accepted their summons at court.

After all, who could dare refuse an invitation coming from the Imperial Family? Declining one meant death in the social world, and with that the end of the political power they held.

"Her majesty will make her appearance soon, hopefully." Pharah had dressed too according to her role. Every detail, from the singular blue-marine pearls braided in her locks to exalt her eye color in the form of an elegant crown, to the satin shoe ribbons which'd been attached the day before had been meticulously selected.

All accessories adorning her body had been studied ahead of time to enthrall the gaze of all, some pieces chosen directly by the Empress herself.

Pharah had been crowned with a set of jewels which apparently had been sent as a gift from the Detrian Republic over two hundred years ago, politically speaking it meant being open to negotiations.

Now all that was left was to see if the fish would have fallen into their wellcrafted net.

"We were wondering who was scaring the debuting ladies from afar. Are her highness and Lady Steel enjoying themselves tonight?" Both ladies turned around at the sound of the first Apostle voice soon followed by Apostle VII.

"Are you accusing me of scaring off my peers the day of their debutant, Lord Regulus?" Pharah smirked. Earning her a shake of the head from the first Apostle.

"Never, your highness." Rosalynde turned her head the other way to hide her amused smile.

Lord Regulus had always been like this when not acting as the head of their group. This sense of comfort she always felt around him had helped him becoming what she'd been separated from for a long time.

A fatherly figure, or what she could closely compare to that role she'd been missing out for nearly all her life.

Not that she actually missed having a family to count on.

Family had made her weak in the past. It'd made her feel loved, and what had she received in exchange for their love? Their deaths, accompanied but a gut-wrenching existence made up by solitude and pain.

But that anger that she'd felt in the past had vanished now - replaced with a good load of indifference mixed with a sense of forced maturity she'd solely built over the years.

Her parents had been weak - and because of that weakness they'd died a violent death. Her father, whom her village had once called a great hunter had been slaughtered, her mother following her beloved's fate not even a day later.

She swore to never let that happen to her. Not then, not now, nor in the near future.

"Duke Sternstorn. Accusing me of calling out to the other ladies present tonight?" There were no threats lacing themselves in between her words as Pharah greeted both Lords to come and join them.

"We all know her highness can be even more spiteful than this when alcohol and malice get mixed together," Rosalynde wondered which scene had Lord Sandors just mentioned.

The one where she'd won the drinking competition regarding the curtains in Pharah's room? Or perphans the one where they'd snuck out and got drunk in a pub close to Merchants Road?

"Lord Sandors," Pharah pronounced his name with foreign sweetness, tasting it on her tongue before taking a calculated number of steps towards the head of the General Lowelian Police, making the latter furrow his brows in reply.

She was quick in dealing the blow, her white heel piercing his shoe in a swift motion.

Lord Sandors shoved his head backwards, keeping the hollering so close in filling the ballroom deeply confined inside his chest.

Sternstorn, on the other hand, had moved places. Leaving Lord Sandor's side to lean his body on the railing. With Rosalynde observing eyes searching looking down at, squaring his relaxed soldiers as he kept his eyes on the dancing couples.

There was a hint of sadness reflecting in his purple eyes. A sense of longing for a past that would have never come back into his life.

Everything slowly started settling by the end of the second hour.

Lord Yulian had finally fallen into their trap right after the end of the ninth dance, point of the night were Pharah had already finished her third glass of the finest champagne she'd gotten her hands on.

He'd ascended the staircase that led where Rosalynde and Pharah had once again been left alone.

Both Lords had been summoned by her majesty's side as soon as she'd stepped into the room. Her husband however had decided to not attend, making Pharah draw a sign of melancholy and half-hearted regret.

"Your highness Pharah Des Reslow I presume?" Yulian Venier bowed down, his dark skin creating a stunning contrast of colors with the white robes he'd worn that night.

The apparent heir nodded after hearing those words, shooting a quick side glance full of satisfaction towards her attendant.

A heavy: 'I told you,' had now begun dancing in the air, their eyes alone exchanging more words than their lips could have ever done.

"Indeed. And you must be the son of the Egor," she knew very well who he was, but formalities could not be skipped when two chess pieces like them clashed on the chessboard of this never ending act of diplomacy.

"Would you grace me with the honor of being my partner for the upcoming dance?" He'd been pretty direct, his eyes fixated on Pharah's shiny blue orbs, never once lowering them.

"I would be delighted." Leaving her empty chalice on the railing for a waiter to come and collect it, the two started descending the stairs, with Lord Yulian paying close attention in not making her fall.

Would that happen and the young man would have not returned to his homeland with all bones attached.

Rosalynde took Pharah's glass in her hand, mindlessly looking at the content swirling inside the glass.

"The princess left you alone?" She turned around to greet him with her smile in check and her shoulders untensing.

Taking a step backwards as Grey went to occupy the spot Pharah had just freed, both his elbows resting on the railing.

"Marquise Grey, how are you faring?" She did her best to not roll her eyes at him, keeping her elaborated smile from dropping into a thin one. As she was well aware of the number of eyes watching her every move.

Rosalynde clenched her fists when all he answered with was a quick curl of lips.

"Lady Steel, care to join me for the next dance?"

Thankfully she'd already finished her glass two dances ago, otherwise she would have thrown the glass at him, in hope of cutting through his marveling eyes.

"There are a lot of young girls that would love to be escorted by you my lord the day of their debut. How about making their wishes come true?" She taunted him. Raising the empty glass up to meet his face.

"Is that really your final answer?" Her body tensed at those words.

In the past it wouldn't have been a problem refusing offers such as this one, but not that Grey had bought the lands and had acquired the title of a Marquise - there would have been some restrictions she would have displayed in public when dealing with obvious string pulling people like him.

"I'm not good at dancing," she lied. Groaning as his only reply was him giving her an unbending look.

"That won't be a problem. I've been told I'm a decent dancer by quite a few close acquaintances." She looked up towards the golden ceiling with its crystal chandeliers reflecting the light in every corner of the room.

Cursing the Gods she didn't believe, she focused her gaze once more on the newly appointed Apostle, curtsying before he broke into a winning grin.

Extending his arm for her to intertwin hers with, he waited until she made her mind up, her growing feline smile reminding him of the situation he'd just thrown her in.

"With pleasure, Lord Grey."

She would have stomped on his foot until the ends of her heel would have made a hole, hopefully forcing him to throw those expensive leather shoes into the dumpster.

"Let's see how good of a dancer you are," a chill made its way on her neck adored with a couple of thin silver chains, engraving itself against her skin.

An ominous sensation. One she'd gotten all too well used in sensing, just like a sixth sense, had decided to show itself once more.

꧁꧂

He wasn't kidding when he'd told her that he was a decent dancer. He was without doubt one of the best male counterparts she'd danced with in the last few years.

Light with his footsteps, clean with the transitions when the music was bound to change, so exquisite when dancing that she hadn't been able to find the right moment to assess a decent blow to those imported Atrean shoes.

"You're not paying attention to your partner, kindly explain why?" He gave her one of his usual charming smiles, his gray eyes filling with what Rosalynde could only pinpoint as complacency.

"Let me pose a remedy to that." And when to plant firmly, her heel on the end of his shoe. Grey's smile became strained at that demonstration of her ability, but did not falter when the next change of music arrived.

"You wanted to do that for a long time didn't you?" He asked snickering.

"You know me well it seems." She made both hands slide behind his neck to prepare for the next step of the dance.

Quickly, one hand tenderly went on her shoulder, while the other materialized on her side.

"Well enough to know that you'll keep on doing this until I give in and leave you alone," he replied after a nerve-wracking moment of silence.

He made them spin around the hall, never bumping once against the other dancers as their slow yet tender dance continued for two other songs.

"Still not giving in?" She taunted him.

"My pride wouldn't stand it; especially now that I'm officially the new Marquise of Gilderoy," he replied in all seriousness.

"Weren't you the one that openly hated nobles?" She asked right before impaling his foot once more with her high heel.

His smile returned with her statement, taking a moment to choose carefully his next words. "I still do, but that doesn't mean I won't use all the means necessary to achieve my ultimate goal."

She remembered clearly what his ultimate goal was, and still wondered at night how he would have used the power that the Apostles had granted him with him joining their ranks.

Revenge. Sweet yet simple revenge.

Lord Regulus had offered him all their strength combined when they'd shook hands that day, granting him the power to bend the will of many at his beck and call. Granting him powers that she knew would have never fallen into her hands.

He then made her slide down, her back bending as he kept her from falling, some rebel locks of hair bumping against her cheeks.

"I knew you were lying when you told me you weren't a good dancer," it irked her every time he reminded her of his charming luck.

"It's the best way to observe from afar without involving myself directly," she promptly replied, this time telling nothing but the truth.

"Thank you for honoring me with a dance then," she felt a new chill forcefully clawing up her back, different however from the one she'd felt before. This one was hot, and not uncomfortable at all.

Rosalynde occasionally took the opportunity to look around, her eyes trying to find Pharah's form twirling around the room. She still was dancing with the Egor's son; who thankfully hadn't shamed her Lady while dancing together.

Then they danced a bit more, the crowd around them lessening as many couples decided to change partners to get a well-deserved break from each other.

They didn't; they kept going on, with Rosalynde continuously stomping on his feet. While Grey responded to her vile actions with nothing more than an amused smile tugging on his lips.

She didn't like the look he gave her when they had to change positions again, especially when he had his hands slid down, on both her hips. It made her feel as if he was preparing - but for what?

Rosalynde had imagined a lot of scenarios that could have followed the cunning smile he gave her, as if anticipating something she still did not know, but not a single one where he made her spin in the air - the hems of her dress turning upwards thanks to the wind he'd created.

He did a full spin while holding her tight, his eyes never leaving hers, and her eyes never leaving what she had to admit was his handsome face.

He kept his gaze locked on hers after he set her down, a thundering current of applause filling the ballroom as his grin got wider, dimples finally appearing.

"I told you," his breath started fanning against her neck after those words, her eyes slightly narrowed at his second sudden gesture in a row.

"That I was a decent dancer," he finished at last. Both respectively bowing down in sign of thanks, meaning their dance had come to and end

People then came swarming around them; some of the younger generations emerging from under their mother's gown to take a closer look. Two figures emerged from the chaotic crowd to congratulate them for the magnificent performance they'd demonstrated.

Pharah clapped one hand against the folds of her dress in delight as the Egors' son still kept their arms locked together, a gentle smile plastered in his handsome young face.

Yulian turned his gaze to look at Pharah, who seemed to give some sort of approval before unlinking arms.

"Would the young lady give me the honor of a dance?" The Egor's son asked his partners' lady-in-waiting, who thought of the different outcomes her reply could have created.

But Grey tightened his grip on her. Beating Rosalynde in terms of speed.

"I'm sorry, Lord Yulian. But Lady Steel has kindly agreed to be my partner for the duration of the whole ball." The glare Rosalynde gave Grey could have burned him to Hell and back. Her eyes pierced his soul without bothing to hear what reply he would have given her after the mess he'd just created.

When they were left alone it was Grey's turn into leading her out of the room. His hand never left her wrist as she took out from under her gown a small gun, pointing it against his back.

"You better have a good excuse that'll make me change my mind on killing you, and then hiding your body under my bed," she threatened him. Applying then more pressure on the gun, which'd started tearing the back of his coat.

He scoffed in sheer annoyance, rolling his eyes before telling her to quietly follow him.