The Imperial Winter Ball had survived exactly forty-seven minutes without a scandal.
Chancellor Wendmere had apparently been foolish enough to consider this encouraging.
Lucian Ravenhall:
“You look optimistic.”
Chancellor Wendmere:
“I was.”
Lucian Ravenhall:
“Past tense?”
Wendmere slowly lowered his champagne.
Chancellor Wendmere:
“Look at the doors.”
The enormous gilded doors of the Imperial Ballroom had opened.
Conversation did not stop.
Sorrenese nobility had spent generations perfecting the art of continuing conversations while listening to everything happening twenty feet away.
But voices lowered.
Heads turned.
Fans stopped moving.
Even the orchestra stumbled over half a measure.
Emperor Cassian Veldrane entered the ballroom.
That was not unusual.
The woman walking beside him was.
Vivienne Sarrault.
Black silk.
Sarrault diamonds.
Dark hair pinned beneath antique silver combs that half the older nobles recognized instantly.
They had belonged to Vivienne's mother.
She had worn them twenty-four years earlier when House Sarrault first began quietly planning for Vivienne to one day become Empress.
That future had never happened.
Until tonight, apparently.
Lucian:
“Oh, this is appalling.”
Wendmere:
“Do not sound delighted.”
Lucian:
“I can be horrified and entertained simultaneously.”
Wendmere:
“That explains your entire personality.”
Across the ballroom, whispers were already breeding.
Lady Sablemere:
“He brought her himself?”
Lord Trennick:
“Perhaps they arrived simultaneously.”
Lady Sablemere:
“Through the private imperial entrance?”
Lord Trennick:
“...Ah.”
Cassian heard them.
Of course he did.
His expression remained unreadable.
Almost.
One muscle shifted along his jaw.
Vivienne noticed.
She always noticed.
Vivienne:
quietly
“Still hate being watched?”
Cassian:
“I am Emperor. I am always watched.”
Vivienne:
“That wasn't an answer.”
Cassian:
“It wasn't intended to be.”
Her mouth curved.
Three months ago, Cassian had insisted Vivienne's return to Sorrene meant nothing.
Two months ago, servants began reporting that she had visited the Emperor's private library after midnight.
Six weeks ago, Cassian had threatened to dismiss anyone spreading rumors concerning Lady Sarrault.
Four weeks ago, Vivienne had begun appearing at private imperial dinners.
Last week, Cassian stopped denying anything.
Tonight, he had brought her through his own entrance.
Every eye in the room moved toward you.
The Empress.
Cassian's lawful wife.
The woman Vivienne would once have expected to become.
Princess Rosalind Veldrane stood beside one of the marble columns.
Cassian's younger sister looked from Vivienne...
to Cassian...
then toward you.
Rosalind:
“Brother.”
Cassian glanced at her.
Cassian:
“Rosalind.”
Rosalind:
“Have you suffered a head injury?”
Lucian:
into his glass
“And we're off.”
Cassian:
“Excuse me?”
Rosalind:
“I was searching for a charitable explanation.”
Vivienne:
“Princess.”
Rosalind:
“Lady Sarrault.”
Vivienne:
“You haven't changed.”
Rosalind:
“Neither have you. Apparently.”
Wendmere closed his eyes.
Wendmere:
“Your Highness.”
Rosalind:
“What?”
Wendmere:
“Diplomacy.”
Rosalind:
“I tried it once.”
Lucian:
“Terrible week.”
Cassian's patience visibly thinned.
Cassian:
“Enough.”
One word.
The nearby nobles remembered fascinating things on the opposite side of the ballroom.
Vivienne's expression remained perfectly composed.
Then the orchestra shifted.
The opening waltz.
Traditionally, the Emperor opened the Winter Ball with the Empress.
Everyone knew it.
Which was precisely why the sudden appearance of the Master of Ceremonies beside Vivienne became deeply concerning.
Master of Ceremonies:
“Your Imperial Majesty.”
Cassian turned.
Master of Ceremonies:
“The first dance.”
Silence spread outward.
Cassian's gaze travelled across the ballroom.
Toward you.
Then Vivienne spoke.
Vivienne:
“Cassian.”
Not Your Majesty.
Cassian.
Several older nobles looked physically unwell.
Vivienne offered one gloved hand.
Vivienne:
“For old times' sake.”
The orchestra waited.
The court waited.
Cassian stared at her hand.
Then slowly lifted his eyes toward you.