The mansion was bathed in pale light.

  A milky light filtered through the tall windows of the hall, casting bluish shadows on the marble floor. Everything was silent, still numb. Only the discreet clinking of a chandelier, rocked by a draft, broke the calm of this suspended hour.

  Lyssandra walked slowly down the hallway leading to the main staircase. An intoxicating perfume wafted around her. The dark silk of her dress glided over her cool skin, gently cinched at the waist, revealing a carefully sculpted silhouette. Her corset forced her to stand up straight, but it was the gaze of the ghostly maids—still present in her thoughts—that continued to unsettle her.

  She had never been so... prepared. So transformed.

  Downstairs, Kael waited. Motionless. Dark. Majestic.

  With his back to the light, he stood near the large, half-open door of the mansion, framed by the tall black columns of the vestibule. The wind ruffled the hem of his long coat slightly. He had removed his gloves and was holding them in one hand.

  When Lyssandra appeared at the top of the steps, he looked up.

  His gaze locked with hers.

  A heartbeat.

  Then another.

  She descended slowly, each step perfectly measured. Her heels echoed softly against the polished wood, while the light brushed against the embroidered patterns on her dress, revealing dark red and silver reflections. Her hair was carefully pinned up, leaving her neck exposed, fragile, and burning.

  Kael followed her with his eyes. Silent. Intense. His eyes were almost too bright in the shadows of the hall.

  When she finally set foot on the last step, she hesitated for a second.

  Then she approached him.

  “You're early,” she whispered, almost amused.

  “And you, enchanting,” he replied bluntly. Too much, perhaps.

  She pursed her lips slightly, touched but embarrassed.

  “It's just a dress...”

  “No, it's not the dress, Lyssandra.”

  He extended his arm gallantly, an old habit ingrained in the noble blood he carried despite himself. She slipped her hand into it, still a little feverish, and felt the warmth of his palm beneath her fingers.

  “The carriage is ready,” he added. “We mustn't be late.”

  She nodded silently.

  And as they crossed the threshold of the manor together, a cool breeze brushed her neck like an invisible caress. Her gaze lingered for a moment on the pale sky above the moor.

  They got into the carriage without another word.

  The capital awaited them.

  And the ball had not yet begun.

  The sky was still pale when the black carriage set off. Pulled by two dark horses breathing heavily, it sped across the moor, its wheels sometimes squeaking against the stones on the road. Clack—clack... rhhkk... clack...

  Inside, silence reigned at first.

  The cabin was richly upholstered in dark velvet, the windows tinted with an opaline sheen that filtered a soft, flickering light, as if the world outside no longer really existed.

  Lyssandra sat opposite Kael.

  Her fingers played nervously with the end of her sleeve before drifting, as if against her will, to the bracelet that encircled her wrist.

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  “It's still early,” she whispered to break the silence.

  Kael looked at her. He said nothing. Just that look... intense, fixed, disturbing in this closed space.

  “Are you uncomfortable?” he finally asked.

  Her deep voice vibrated faintly against the padded walls (mmm—), as if it were brushing against the fabric rather than passing through it.

  “No,” she lied, looking away. “I'm just... not used to all this. The baths. The maids. This dress. This silence.”

  “You'll get used to it.”

  She raised an eyebrow.

  “Is that supposed to reassure me?”

  A very slight smile touched his lips. Kael, however, did not smile. But a spark passed through his eyes.

  “This world,” he said, “will try to mold you. To bend you to its rituals, its celebrations, and its hypocrisies. But as long as you keep that fire inside you... you remain dangerous to them.”

  A breath.

  “Dangerous?” she repeated, feigning amusement.

  “For them. For me too, perhaps...”

  He leaned slightly toward her, an almost imperceptible gesture. The car swayed slightly—thud—and his legs brushed against hers.

  Lyssandra didn't move.

  “You gave me this bracelet,” she said after a silence, almost in a whisper. “Why?”

  “Because you don't have another one.”

  She stared at him. Her eyes searched for a flaw. But there was none.

  “It's special, isn't it? I can feel it... alive.”

  — Is it burning?

  — No. It's pulsing. Like a slow heart. Like you.

  Another silence. Heavier this time.

  Clack... clack... shhrrk—

  The wheels slowed down. They were approaching the first hills leading to the capital. In the distance, turrets emerged from the mist.

  Kael spoke, more quietly:

  “Always wear it. That's all I ask.”

  She looked down at the jewel. The stones seemed to swallow the light. A shiver ran down her spine.

  “And you, will you protect me too if something bad happens, or is it only the jewel?”

  One beat. Then two.

  Kael slowly reached out his hand. And, in an almost unreal gesture, he gently touched her knee.

  “If I had to choose between this bracelet and you... I would choose you.”

  His fingers moved up, just a little. Just enough to make her hold her breath. Then he withdrew, without explanation.

  Lyssandra bit her reddening lip.

  And, in that tense heat, that enclosed space saturated with unspoken words, the rest of the journey seemed to last an eternity.

  The gentle rocking of the carriage punctuated the slow journey to the capital, the wheels squeaking softly on the road, while the cool wind made the heavy velvet curtains dance around them.

  Lyssandra remained motionless, sitting with her fingers mechanically tracing the dark stones of the bracelet around her wrist; an almost living warmth emanated from it, an invisible presence she could not understand.

  Tomorrow... No, today. The weight of this simple thought crushed her and carried her at the same time. The prince's ball, the sumptuous party, the eyes that would be upon her, like silent and merciless judges. She knew that every gesture, every smile, and every silence would be scrutinized, analyzed, and judged.

  A trembling breath escaped her lips. Was she ready? The dress, that marvel of velvet with hints of red wine, made her look like a queen. But beneath this perfect appearance, she felt the fragility of a novice about to plunge into a world whose rules she did not yet know.

  Kael, sitting opposite her, remained impassive, almost distant, his eyes hidden in the shadow cast by the curtain. He did not speak, but Lyssandra could sense the intensity of the glances he stole at her. Those mysterious, unfathomable looks seemed to contain a thousand secrets and infinite patience.

  Who are you really, Kael? She wondered, her mind tormented by this silent enigma.

  The whisper of the wind through the branches, the soft clatter of wheels on stone, the flashes of light from the countryside passing beyond the windows—everything seemed distant, like a dream floating between anxiety and hope.

  I must be strong. For myself, for him, for what tomorrow means... for everything I don't yet know. A shiver ran through her skin, as sharp as a warning or a silent promise.

  The sound of the carriage grew fainter, and the landscape gradually transformed into imposing gray silhouettes: the city was awakening, its towers, labyrinthine streets, shadows, and lights ready to intertwine in a complex ballet.

  Lyssandra closed her eyes for a moment, trying to calm her racing heartbeat and soothe the turmoil within. This ball... it won't just be a party. It's a stage, an arena where much more than dancing and glances will be played out. A game where the cards are dealt, where she will have to find her place without ever losing herself.

  As the carriage pulled onto the wide cobbled avenues, she opened her eyes again, ready to face the unknown. The game had just begun.