He led her toward the center of the ballroom, each step measured, unhurried. The crowd parted easily for him, eyes following them as they moved.
The orchestra eased into the waltz's full melody just as Lucius turned to face her.
"May I?" he asked again, softer now, as if the ritual mattered.
Elissa nodded.
He placed one hand at her waist, the other holding her right hand. His touch was careful, distant enough to be proper, but there was a steadiness there that she instinctively leaned into.
Then the crowd shifted, and Lucius gently guided her into the first steps of the dance, the music rising between her and the place she had just come from.
"You dance well," he said after a few beats of silence. "For someone who looked ready to faint at the doors earlier."
Her eyes flicked up, startled. "You saw that?"
"I notice entrances," Lucius replied, a hint of amusement in his tone. "It's a useful habit.
Her cheeks warmed. "It's… a bit overwhelming. All of this."
"The music? The crowd?" he asked. "Or the staring?"
"Mostly the staring," she admitted quietly.
He studied her face for a moment. "They're not staring because you've done something wrong," he said. "They're staring because you walked in like you belonged there. And because you were on his arm."
Her steps faltered for half a beat at the word "his," but Lucius smoothly corrected their turn, not drawing attention to it.
"Elissa," he said, voice lower now, "are you all right?"
She blinked. "Yes. Why?"
"You look…different from this afternoon," he said. "More at ease. Less…fragile."
She almost laughed. "I don't feel less fragile," she confessed. "I'm just getting better at pretending."
"Ah," he said softly. "A useful skill. Dangerous, though."
"How so?"
He met her eyes. "Sometimes you pretend so well you forget to notice when you truly need help."
Her gaze dropped briefly to his collar. "I've had…help," she said. "People here have been kind."
His eyes flicked, just once, to the edge of the room where Alistair stood, talking to the king.
"Yes," Lucius said mildly. "I've noticed."
They turned with the music, skirts sweeping, the chandeliers above them spinning in slow, blurred circles.
"How is your head?" he asked quietly, his tone gentler than his posture. "Any fog? Any echo of the draught?"
She shook her head. "No. Just…tired. But that's normal tired, I think. Nothing like earlier."
"Good," he said. "If anything changes, you walk out. We agreed."
"I remember," she answered. "I will."
He studied her a moment as they circled the center of the floor. Her cheeks were still a little pale under the candlelight, but her eyes were clear now, not glassy or lost.
"For someone who almost collapsed in a corridor," he murmured, "you're holding yourself very well."
"I've had practice pretending," she said softly, a little wry. "Helps at balls."
His lips curved faintly. "Pretending you're all right," he said, "and being all right are not the same thing."
"Tonight they're close enough," she replied.
They fell into a small silence, just the sound of music and cloth sweeping around them.
"Thank you," she added after a few steps. "For earlier. If you hadn't found me…"
He tilted his head. "I told you—whoever used that potion touched the wrong girl. I don't like seeing people turned into experiments without their consent."
Her throat tightened. "You still think someone did it on purpose. To harm me."
"Yes," he said simply. "Subtly. Carefully. But yes. You were the target, not the corridor."
Fear shivered faintly through her, but she kept her steps steady. "Because of what I am?"
"Because of what you are," he said. "And where you stand now. Bound. Chosen. Watched."
That word made something flutter in her chest.
She hesitated. Then, very quietly, she said, "You know…about the binding. To Alistair."
His gaze flicked to hers, steady. "I do," he replied. "I'm not blind. And I'm not deaf. News like that travels quickly, even when it's meant to stay inside walls."
Her fingers twitched on his shoulder. "And what do you think of it?" she asked before she could stop herself.
He took a breath, thoughtful. "I think," he said slowly, "it places you in the center of a storm you didn't create. I think it's a heavy thing to ask of anyone—especially someone who was still waking up to their own life when it was decided."
Her heart squeezed.
"Elissa," Lucius went on, his voice low but not unkind, "if you don't want this—if you don't want him—you can say it. " He looked at her eyes not leaving her's. "To me, at least. I'm a guest, yes , want to become a friend of yours. I won't bind you tighter with my silence."
She shook her head almost immediately. "It's not like that," she said quickly. "I'm not…uncomfortable with Alistair." And added immediately, "Or anyone here. They've all been…good to me. Better than my own parents ever were."
Something in his eyes softened at that, the slightest shade of pity—but not for her, more for the girl she'd been before.
"This place," she continued, "this castle, these people… If he hadn't chosen me, I would still be in that house, living like I didn't exist. I wouldn't know Kestrel, or Vane, or Dante…or you. I wouldn't have seen kindness like this. I owe him that."
"Owe him," Lucius repeated quietly.
"And more than that," she added, her voice tightening with something else. "He has a battle ahead of him. Something unknown. Everyone whispers about it like it's a storm at the edge of the world. I want to help him face it. If I can."
The music folded around them, heavy and warm.
"And Kealen," she whispered, almost to herself now. "I want to avenge my brother. Find who did that. Why it happened. And if there's any way to cure him, what I can… I want to try." She paused and then said, "Standing beside Alistair is the only place I've ever felt like I might be able to do any of that."
Lucius watched her intently as she spoke. The words weren't rehearsed. They fell out of her like truth she hadn't dared say aloud until now.
They turned again, the chandeliers spinning above like slow, distant stars.
"You care for him," Lucius said finally, very quietly. "More than you realize."
Elissa stiffened. "I… I respect him," she said. "And I'm grateful. And I want to help—"
He shook his head a little. "You speak about him like he's a place you feel safe for the first time in your life," he said. "You don't have to name it. But don't insult yourself by pretending it's only duty."
Her cheeks heated. "I don't know what I feel," she said honestly. "I just… I know I don't want to run from him. Or from this."
Lucius nodded once, accepting that. But a hollowness appeared in his chest for second longer and he overcome it smoothly.
"Then listen to me," he said, almost like a brother, almost like a teacher. "You are allowed to choose him. Truly choose him. Not just because you were told you belong to him. But if you ever reach a day when you don't want this, when the binding feels like a cage instead of a shelter—you speak." He paused giving her time to grasp the concept then continued, "To me, if to no one else. I will stand beside you, even if it means standing against what was planned."
Her eyes widened. "Lucius…"
"I mean it," he said. "I may be a guest here, but I'm not blind to danger. Or to the way people can use duty to silence the frightened. If this ever feels wrong, I will be your voice until you find your own."
A lump rose in her throat. "You…would do that for me? Even if it meant angering him? Or this court?"