28. The Nightbloom Ball #2
Lady Duskbriar was resplendent in deep green silk, her father in sombre black. Selene’s mother’s lips pressed into a thin line as she studied her daughter’s gown, and she nodded once, approving but without warmth. Her father barely spared her a glance before turning to Dorian.
They exchanged stiff pleasantries before moving past, vanishing into the crowd.
Selene released a breath, taking a moment to steady herself.
And then—
The Duke arrived.
His presence was like a chill in the air, creeping in through the candlelight. His mask was simple, black and edged in silver, but there was no mistaking the shape of his mouth as he smirked at her.
“Lady Nightbloom,” he drawled, bowing low. “I must say, you host a magnificent ball.”
Selene forced a smile. “You honour us with your presence, Your Grace.”
He straightened, his gaze flickering between Selene and Dorian. He didn’t even address him.
Dorian didn’t care. He watched him merge into the crowd.
One day, he was going to kill that man. He really hoped it was soon.
The dancing began. Selene moved through the crowd like a current in the river, pausing here and there, exchanging pleasantries, keeping a careful balance between charm and distance.
She ensured she spoke with everyone—the nobles lingering at the wine tables, the merchants hovering near the pillars, even the young debutantes pretending not to watch her too closely.
She was absolutely perfect, a marvel, and Dorian revelled in the fact that she knew it, too. Tonight, she knew how fabulous she was, and he was trying not to take too much pleasure in the fact that this beautiful, clever creature had chosen him.
Maybe not in quite the way he wanted her to, but her words from the other night and the Dashridge ball were still etched upon his heart.
I just want you.
Dorian appeared at Selene’s side after she finished talking with the Darlingtons. He inclined his head, offering his hand.
“Dance with me.”
Selene glanced at the dance floor. The waltz had shifted into something slower, something more deliberate, and for a moment, she hesitated.
Then she slipped her fingers into his.
Dorian led her onto the floor and pulled her into position. Her palm was warm against his, the other resting just below her shoulder blade, guiding her effortlessly through the first few steps.
“You’re magnificent,” he murmured, his breath brushing the shell of her ear.
She swallowed. “So are you.”
“We both know that’s not true.”
Selene lifted her hand from his shoulder and glided her fingers along his chin. “There is more than one way to be magnificent, my darling.”
His throat bobbed, but his gaze remained steady. Watching her. Seeing her.
They moved through the steps like swans in the water, their bodies a seamless rhythm. Around them, masked faces blurred and swirled, laughter and music weaving through the grand hall. The candlelight turned her hair into ribbons of golden light, made her eyes sparkle, her skin glow.
Dorian leaned in slightly, just enough that only she could hear him. “Do you think we’ve fooled everyone?”
Selene exhaled a quiet laugh. “Fooled them?”
“Do you think they believe how madly in love we are?” His voice was low, teasing, but beneath it was the question he was trying to summon up the courage to ask. Do you feel for me a fraction of what I feel for you? Are either of us still pretending?
He felt her pulse quicken against his palm.
The trumpets sounded.
A sharp, bright blast cut through the music like a blade, silencing conversation, turning every masked face toward the grand entrance.
The air shifted. The weight of the room tilted.
Dorian’s grip on Selene’s waist tightened, just slightly, just enough that she would feel it.
And then the doors were thrown open, and King Alden II of Haverland stepped inside.
He was dressed in deep crimson, a striking contrast to the rich gold embroidery that lined his doublet and the mask of lacquered black that hid half his face.
Even masked, there was no mistaking him.
He carried himself with the unshakable ease of someone who had never needed to question his authority.
A ripple moved through the crowd—surprise, awe, wariness. No one had expected him to attend. Invitations to royalty were often more a formality than an actual expectation, and yet, here he was, stepping into their home, his dark eyes sweeping across the ballroom.
Selene curtsied. Dorian bowed.
“Your Majesty,” Dorian said smoothly.
Alden smiled, sharp but not unkind. “Lord Nightbloom. Lady Nightbloom.”
His gaze lingered on Selene, and when she straightened, something flickered behind his mask—recognition.
“It has been some time, hasn’t it, Selene? ”
It was a ridiculously informal way to address one of his subjects, but Dorian was not about to correct a king. If anything, it was a good sign—perhaps Selene would finally be able to get the King to listen where Dorian had failed.
“Quite some time, Your Majesty,” she replied.
Alden’s gaze flicked briefly to Dorian before returning to her, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “May I steal the lady for a dance?”
Dorian hesitated. He hated this tradition of asking a man permission to dance with his wife, as if Selene wasn’t capable of giving her own consent, or as if Dorian’s meant more than hers.
No one could say no to a king, anyway.
“Of course,” Dorian said, his voice perfectly even. “It would be an honour.”
Alden grinned as he extended a hand toward Selene. “Shall we?”
Selene danced with the King as beautifully as she did everything else. Dorian watched from afar, gripping the stem of his wine glass. He couldn’t hear their conversation. Selene smiled, but there was a seriousness to her expression.
“She’s good,” remarked Soren, stepping out of the shadows.
Dorian knew this, he knew this, and while his chest swelled with pride, it also scared him.
It scared him not only because she was putting herself out there, but also because he’d forgotten that she could do this, and he couldn’t help but wonder if they could have resolved everything together, timelines ago, if only he’d been brave enough to seek her out each time, strong enough to stomach the nothing in her eyes.
There wasn’t nothing in her eyes, now. She brimmed with life, and when she looked at him… She looked at him. It was far more than politeness and gratitude and friendliness. He was sure of it.
“She’s excellent,” Dorian agreed.
Soren paused. “She likes you,” he said, hesitantly. “I think quite a lot, actually. Maybe almost as much as you deserve.”
“Has she said anything?”
“Not all declarations are written or spoken,” Soren told him. “And you’re a terrible spy if you can’t see it.”
Long after the ball had ended, Dorian retired to his chambers and sunk into bed.
He had not discovered anything tonight. He’d been too busy playing the perfect host and watching Selene move around the ballroom like a queen on the chessboard.
She might have found something out. He’d have to ask her tomorrow.
He knew he ought to be more worried about things—how society would view them now, the King’s unexpected visit, the Duke being under their roof—but exhaustion dampened all worries. Exhaustion, and the memory of Selene in his arms, smiling at him, looking at him with her eyes all bright and warm…
He was already half asleep when he thought he heard the door knock. But no, it was far too light. He turned over and tried to sleep.
The door creaked open.
“Dorian?”
He blinked, turning slightly onto his back. “Selene?” His voice was rough with exhaustion. “What’s wrong?”
He reached for his glasses on the bedside table, but before he could take them, her hand pressed lightly over his. She hesitated, exhaling, and he felt her uncertainty as keenly as if it were his own.
“I—” She swallowed. “I couldn’t sleep.”
Dorian studied her in the dim light. “The Duke?”
She nodded. “I don’t trust him.”
“I would be deeply concerned if you did.”
A quiet laugh escaped her, and he found himself smiling. He’d always loved the sound of her laughter. He wished he could hear it more often. He wished he could hear it forever.
“I don’t like him in our home,” she admitted. “I don’t like knowing he’s sleeping just down the hall. ”
Dorian sighed, running a hand through the front of his hair. “He won’t try anything under our roof, not when half the nobility is here to witness it.”
“And after they leave?”
“You’re worried about something specific.”
A pause. A hesitation. “Just a feeling,” she murmured.
Dorian watched her for a long moment, then raised an eyebrow. “Do you plan to watch me all night?”
Her breath caught, just slightly. He noticed. “Would that be all right?”
He blinked at her, momentarily thrown. He reached for his glasses again, but Selene swatted at his hand.
“You don’t need those right now!” she hissed.
“I like seeing you,” Dorian insisted. “I like knowing you’re here.” And not something I have conjured in my dreams.
Her expression softened, and for a moment, he thought she might kiss him. The thought sent his pulse racing, but she hesitated, pulling back.
“I’m here,” she told him instead. “And, if you’re all right with it, I’d really like to come into bed with you.”
Dorian’s heart trembled against his throat. He smiled, reaching up to brush his fingers against her cheek. “My brave protectress,” he murmured. “You’re much prettier than Soren.”
She rolled her eyes. “Is that a yes, then?”
In response, he lifted the covers and shifted over to make space. Selene climbed in beside him, her arm draping around his waist. She was warm, solid, real. Dorian exhaled slowly, letting himself relax into her, savouring the feeling of holding her and being held.
If he told her that he loved her now, would she welcome it?
Would she ask him why—or worse, when? He had no answer for that, nothing that wasn’t a lie.
He wanted to give her all his truths, but he was afraid that they wouldn’t just break her, but them.
Their happiness was as fragile as sugared petals.
Everything he’d created between them could snap.
He had died a dozen times, but thought that that might truly kill him.
“Your heart is beating very fast,” she remarked.
“Yes, you’re very pretty, and it makes me nervous sometimes,” he admitted.
She was silent for a moment, then, softly, “Would you believe me if I told you that I think you’re pretty too?”
Dorian tensed, just for a second. “No,” he said. “But thank you for saying that.”
The fire flickered in the hearth, casting long shadows across the room.
“Goodnight, husband,” Selene murmured.
“Goodnight, wife.”