3. Rowan
I hate everything about this.
The uniform. The polished floors. The way every surface gleams like it's never known dirt, never known struggle. Even the air feels different in places like this, too clean, too controlled, like it's been stripped of anything real.
"Try not to look like you want to stab someone," Kai mutters beside me, adjusting the tray in his hands.
"I don't want to stab someone," I say flatly. "I just wouldn't mind it."
He snorts. "Yeah, that's exactly the problem."
I ignore him, scanning the ballroom instead.
Gold.
Silk.
Diamonds.
Too many people pretending to be something they're not.
Or maybe this is exactly what they are.
Either way, I don't belong here.
"Just get through the night," Kai says, lowering his voice. "Smile, serve, don't cause a scene."
"I don't smile."
"I know. That's why I'm reminding you."
I roll my eyes, grabbing a tray of wine glasses before he can say anything else.
One night.
That's all this is.
One night of pretending I don't hate every second of it.
It's easy work.
Too easy.
Walk.
Serve.
Step back.
Repeat.
No one looks at me, at least not really.
Not as a person.
Just part of the background, like the music or the lights.
Invisible unless I make a mistake.
I prefer it that way.
Until I don't.
Because the more I move through the crowd, the more I see.
Calculated smiles.
Forced laughter.
People watching each other like predators dressed in silk.
And then...
I notice them.
Across the room.
A girl in gold, Princess Aethylla, I assume. She's standing beside a man who looks at her like she's the only thing that matters.
Not the prince.
Someone else.
That must be the brother.
The one who actually wants her.
Something about that sits wrong with me.
Before I can think too much about it, Kai bumps my shoulder lightly.
"Focus."
"I am focused."
"On the wrong things."
I don't respond.
Because he's probably right.
I grab another tray of red wine, weaving through the crowd with practiced ease.
This part is simple.
Keep moving.
Don't stop.
Don't think.
Then...
I turn.
And everything goes wrong.
I collide with someone solid, the tray tilting before I can stop it.
Wine spills.
Dark red against white fabric.
Shit.
For a split second, the room goes completely silent.
"My, my apologies, Your Highness, " I hear myself say automatically.
Your Highness.
Of course.
I look down first, the damage is obvious. Expensive shirt, ruined in seconds.
Then I look up.
And...
Something shifts.
He's... not what I expected.
Prince Caelum isn't smiling. Isn't angry either. Just... still. Watching me in a way that feels too sharp, too aware.
Like he's seeing something he shouldn't
And then,
My wrist burns.
I flinch slightly, the sensation sudden and unfamiliar. Heat spreads beneath my skin, not painful, but intense enough to demand attention.
I glance down instinctively.
And freeze.
A soft pink glow pulses faintly beneath my skin.
What the hell,
I don't have time to process it.
Because something else catches my eye.
Across the room,
The princess.
Her wrist.
Glowing.
And beside her,
The brother.
Same glow.
Same color.
My stomach drops.
No.
That doesn't make sense.
I drag my gaze back to the prince.
And for a second,
I swear I see it on him too.
Faint.
Pink.
Then it's gone.
Like it was never there.
"...I'll have it cleaned immediately," I say, forcing my voice steady.
He doesn't answer right away.
Just watches me.
And something about that look,
It gets under my skin.
"It's fine," he says finally.
Fine?
I just ruined what probably costs more than everything I own combined, and it's fine?
I don't know why that irritates me.
But it does.
"Follow me," I say, stepping back slightly. "We have a private room."
There's a pause.
Like he's deciding something.
Then,
"Lead the way."
The hallway is quieter.
Good.
I need a second to think.
Except I can't.
Because my wrist still feels like it's on fire.
Because I know what that glow means.
Because that's not supposed to happen.
Not to me.
Not like this.
I push the door open, stepping inside and grabbing a clean cloth from the side table.
"You should take that off," I say, nodding toward his shirt.
He hesitates.
Of course he does.
Right.
Prince.
"Or don't," I add dryly. "Your choice."
That earns me a look.
Sharp.
Slightly surprised.
Good.
At least he's not completely made of stone.
He sighs, pulling the ruined fabric away from his skin. For a second, I look away, habit more than anything else.
Boundaries.
Even now.
I hand him the cloth. "It'll stain if you don't deal with it properly."
"I'm aware."
There's something in his tone that makes me glance back at him.
Annoyance?
No.
Something else.
I don't have time to figure it out.
Instead, I move to the wardrobe, pulling out a replacement shirt.
"Here."
He takes it, our fingers brushing briefly,
And there it is again.
That heat.
Stronger this time.
I pull my hand back immediately.
No.
Absolutely not.
"Is there a problem?" he asks.
I shake my head quickly. "No."
Lie.
Everything is a problem.
He studies me for a second longer, like he knows that's not the truth.
Then,
He looks away.
Just like that.
Like whatever just happened doesn't matter.
Like I don't matter.
And something about that,
It hits wrong.
Of course.
Why wouldn't it?
He's a prince.
I'm just the guy who spilled wine on him.
Whatever that glow was, it doesn't mean anything.
It can't.
Because people like him don't end up tied to people like me.
"That'll be all," he says, already buttoning the clean shirt.
Dismissed.
Just like that.
I step back, jaw tightening slightly. "Right."
Of course.
What did I expect?
For him to notice?
To care?
Stupid.
I turn toward the door, already done with this, already pushing the moment away,
But something lingers.
That heat.
That pull.
That feeling I can't explain.
And I hate it.
Because it doesn't make sense.
Because it shouldn't exist.
Because for a second,
Just a second,
It felt like something real.
And now?
Now it's just another reminder.
Of exactly where I stand.
And exactly where I don't belong.