"May I have this dance, Roxanne?"
I looked up from my strategic corner position, where I had been trying very hard to blend into the wallpaper, to find Duke Lucien Asterion standing before me.
Deep navy coat with silver embroidery that caught the light. Crisp white shirt. Hair styled back, revealing those sharp features and those stupidly perfect gray eyes.
He looked like he had stepped out of a romance novel cover.
The same romance novel where he KILLS YOU, Emily. Remember that part?
The ballroom stretched out behind him, a glittering sea of nobles in silk and jewels, all pretending not to stare at me while absolutely staring at me. An orchestra played something elegant and complicated in the corner.
And I was standing here, isolated like I had the plague.
They had dressed me beautifully, and I had to give the palace servants credit. The gown was stunning, a deep emerald green that apparently "brought out my eyes" (according to Marissa, who had gotten teary-eyed while saying it). My hair was swept up in an elaborate style with what felt like a thousand pins. A necklace of diamonds and emeralds sat cool against my throat, and a pair of long white gloves completed the ensemble.
I looked like a princess.
The Emperor had introduced me barely an hour ago, "My daughter, Princess Roxanne Valtoria", to a room full of nobles who had looked at me with barely hidden disdain. The whispers had started immediately:
"Illegitimate..."
"Slave girl playing dress-up..."
"Those eyes—not even green..."
"The scandal..."
And then the Emperor had been called away for some urgent matter, leaving me alone in a room full of people who clearly wished I would disappear.
Arabella stood across the ballroom with her gaggle of followers, fanning herself delicately while shooting me looks that could melt steel.
And now the Duke was here, hand extended, asking me to dance.
Nope. Absolutely not.
"No, thank you," I said politely.
He grabbed my hand anyway and pulled me toward the dance floor.
"Wha—HEY!"
We swept onto the floor just as a new waltz began. Only two other couples were dancing, probably because everyone else was too busy watching the spectacle of the illegitimate princess and the Duke.
Great. Perfect. Just what I needed. More attention.
"I don't know how to dance!" I hissed, trying to keep the smile on my face. "And I told you no!"
"Just follow my lead," he murmured, one hand settling at my waist, the other clasping mine.
The music swelled.
We moved.
Or rather, he moved, and I stumbled after him like a baby giraffe learning to walk.
"We..." The Duke cleared his throat. "Perhaps our first meeting wasn't the best. And I didn't mean for that."
I twisted my head to stare at him. "Ugh?"
Was that.…..was that an apology? From the Ice Duke himself?
"I mean to say—" He spun us, and I nearly tripped. His hand tightened at my waist, steadying me. "That is.….I may have been... less than courteous."
Oh my god. He's trying to make conversation. And he's TERRIBLE at it.
"Less than courteous?" I echoed, sarcasm dripping from every word. "You called me pathetic and tried to leave me in the forest."
"I didn't—" He paused. "Well. Yes. I suppose I did."
I stepped on his foot.
He winced but didn't say anything, he just adjusted our position and continued guiding me through the steps.
Left, right, turn, step—how is anyone supposed to remember all this?
"You were ready to abandon me yesterday," I said, meeting his eyes. "And you certainly hated me this morning. Why this?"
His expression shifted at my question, but his mask slipped back into place before I could read it.
"I find your honesty.….refreshing."
I rolled my eyes hard I nearly gave myself a headache. "My honesty? Is that supposed to make me rejoice?"
"Yes. Wait, no to the latter question." He spun us again, and this time I managed not to trip. Yay me. "I'm surrounded by people who tell me only what they think I want to hear. Flattery. Agreements. All seeking favor with me, and through me, the Emperor."
Oh. Right.
The memories clicked into place. Duke Lucien Asterion wasn't just some noble, he was the Emperor's closest advisor. His most trusted confidant. Practically family. The Emperor saw him as a son in some way.
Which was why Arabella had been so determined to marry him in the original story. Power, influence, status, all wrapped up in one emotionally constipated package.
The Duke who didn't love her. Who had barely noticed her.
Until Roxanne was accused of trying to poison Arabella, and then suddenly he had cared very much about seeing justice done.
Justice. Right. More like murder.
I stepped on his foot again. Accidentally this time.
He looked pained but said nothing.
"But I'm a mere slave girl," I said sweetly, throwing his own classism back at him. "Aren't I beneath your notice?"
His jaw tightened. "You're not a slave girl. You're a royal—"
"Really?" I batted my eyelashes. "Really? Because this morning you seemed quite convinced I was insolent trash who needed to learn respect."
To my absolute shock, he smiled.
Not a smirk. Not a condescending expression. An actual, genuine smile that transformed his entire face and made him look about ten years younger and devastatingly handsome.
No. Stop. Bad Emily. He kills you. KILLS YOU.
"You're very interesting," he said. "I'd love to call upon you. Perhaps take you to see the Imperial art gallery? They have some remarkable pieces—"
WHAT.
WHAT IS THIS.
The Duke showing interest?! In ME?! After ONE dance?!
"Hmm." I kept my voice light despite my racing heart. "Unfortunately no, Duke Lucien. I cannot. Perhaps another time."
The music ended with a flourish.
I dropped into a curtsy, probably not a good one, but good enough, and ran off the dance floor before he could respond.
Nope. Nope nope nope. Not happening.
My heart raced in my chest as I wove through the crowd, ignoring the stares, the whispers, heading for—
Where? Where could I even go?
I spotted some familiar faces from the book:
Lady Clarissa Harrington, kind eyes, gentle smile, someone who became one of Roxanne's only true friends in the original story.
Lord Matthias Sterling and Lady Eloise Winters, also friendly to Roxanne eventually, though they had been cautious at first.
And then….
Lord Adrian Beaumont.
Brown hair. Hazel eyes. Classically handsome in the way Disney princes were handsome.
The man Roxanne had loved. Who had broken his engagement to another noble lady to pursue her. Who had sworn he would protect her.
Who had abandoned her the moment she was accused.
I looked away quickly, moving past all of them, and heading for a quieter section of the ballroom. There was a small balcony area on the second level, I had spotted it earlier, with a drinks table.
Perfect.
I climbed the stairs, grabbed a glass of something that looked like wine, and downed it.
"You know," a sweet voice said behind me, "a princess shouldn't drink that much."
I froze.
No.
I turned slowly.
Arabella stood there, resplendent in her pink gown, smile angelic, eyes like frozen poison.
"Fuck you," I muttered under my breath.
"What was that?" Her smile didn't waver.
I plastered on my own fake smile. Right, I couldn't use the f word without being accused of summoning ancient demons. "Nothing."
"I see you've caught the attention of Duke Lucien." She stepped closer, still smiling. "How.…..unexpected."
"I'm not interested in him, if that is what you are concerned about," I said quickly.
"Hmm. Good." Arabella's smile sharpened. "He cannot be with an insect like you. A filthy creature who has been a slave. Can you imagine?" She laughed, a pretty, tinkling sound that made my skin crawl. "The great Duke, attached to garbage?"
Breathe. Don't kill her. You can't kill her. Yet.
"Please leave me be, Princess Arabella," I said, voice tight.
"Oh?" Arabella tilted her head, expression innocent. "What's wrong, sister?"
She poked my shoulder.
"Please. Leave. Me. Be." I repeated.
She giggled and reached for one of the wine glasses on the table behind me.
I saw it happening in slow motion.
The glass tipping.
Red wine arcing through the air.
Splashing across my dress, my beautiful emerald dress, in a crimson stain that spread like blood.
I gasped. "You—!"
My hand flew up instinctively…..
Arabella suddenly stumbled backward with a yelp of pain, hand flying to her cheek.
What—I didn't even touch her!
"SHE SLAPPED ME!" Arabella shrieked, loud enough for half the ballroom to hear. "MY SISTER SLAPPED ME!"
THIS BITCH.
The music stopped.
Everyone turned.
Arabella was on the ground, how did she even get there?!, hand pressed to her face, tears streaming down her cheeks.
"She attacked me!" Arabella sobbed. "I was only trying to be friendly, and she—she hit me!"
Nobles gasped.
Guards started moving toward us.
And I stood there, wine-stained and furious, with my hand still raised from a slap I never landed.
You absolute. Conniving. SNAKE.
Arabella met my eyes for just a moment, and I saw it, the triumph. The calculation.
She planned this.
All of it.
And I had walked right into her trap.