Five
The Glasshall was alive with warmth and beauty, a breathtaking sight where everything sparkled as if made by skilled craftsmen. The atmosphere buzzed with laughter and chatter, creating a cheerful mix of voices as the lively people of Valeforte interacted under the sparkling chandeliers. Amara moved gracefully through the crowd, her head held high, wearing a gown that flowed like shimmering moonlight, catching the light above her. With each step, she became more a part of the elegant scene that surrounded her.
But inside, she felt like glass herself fragile, transparent, one wrong touch away from shattering.
Her father’s command echoed in her mind.
“The Veylan. Their son his interested in you”
Interest. That was how her father spoke of alliances, of people, of her. Always in the language of power.
She took a sip of the wine in her glass barely tasting it.
Beside her, Darius moved silently, tall and guarded. He didn’t reach for a drink, didn’t lower his guard. His hand rested close to his side, near enough to his jacket where his weapon might be. His sharp gaze tracked every entrance, every shift of movement.
When Amara turned to glance at him, she caught him already watching her.
Their eyes met for a second too long.
“Do I have something on my face?” she asked, voice low, the bite of sarcasm her only shield.
“No,” he said simply.
“Then stop staring.”
His jaw shifted, the faintest muscle tick, before he replied. “I’m not staring. I’m working.”
“Right,” she muttered, taking another sip. “You’re working.”
The evening stretched on. Guests laughed too loudly, whispers coiled like smoke in every corner. Amara was introduced to officials, heirs, merchants, and anyone her father thought useful. Each time, she smiled, bowed her head, played the part.
And each time, she felt Darius near, a silent wall at her back.
When Don Veylan’s son finally approached, she felt the weight of expectation press harder.
He was tall, broad-shouldered, with slick hair and a polished smile. His suit gleamed, his rings caught the light. He bowed took her hands to his lips
“Lady Amara,” he said, voice smooth, practised. “Your beauty is spoken of, but words fail to do justice to how beautiful you look”.
She forced a smile. “How kind, thank you.”
Her father’s voice echoed behind her. Interest.
Veylan’s son leaned closer… too close. His cologne was heavy, suffocating. “I'm Lucian Veylan by the way, and perhaps, later, we might speak in private? I’d be honoured.”
Before Amara could reply, a shadow cut between them.
Darius.
He didn’t speak, didn’t bare his teeth, didn’t even touch the man. He simply stepped forward, his body a wall that forced distance. His cold stare was sharp enough to cut through silk and charm alike.
Lucian faltered, his smile twitching. “Ah… your guard.”
Amara swallowed the laugh threatening to rise. She tilted her head, voice smooth as glass. “Yes. My guard.”
Darius didn’t move until the man bowed himself away, the charm slipping from his shoulders as he turned.
Amara exhaled, the tightness in her chest easing.
“You didn’t need to….” she began.
“Yes, I did,” Darius cut in, his tone final. His gaze flicked down at her, lingering for a breath. “He was too close.”
Her lips parted, words caught somewhere between protest and something else. The way he said it like it wasn’t just duty, like it mattered burned more than the wine.
She looked away. “You can’t protect me from everything.”
“No,” he agreed quietly. “But I can protect you from tonight.”
The hours blurred. Music swelled, dancers twirled, and conversations bent around wealth and threat alike. Amara’s feet ached, her smile felt brittle. But Darius stayed steady at her side, a cold anchor in the sea of masks.
When the night neared its peak, her father appeared once more. His glass raised, his smile fixed.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he called, his voice carrying over the crowd. Silence fell like a curtain. “Tonight, we celebrate not only Valeforte’s strength, but the alliances that will secure its future.”
His gaze found Amara, pinning her where she stood. “My daughter will stand at the heart of this city’s tomorrow. And with her, a union worthy of her name.”
Gasps and whispers rippled outward. Amara’s chest froze. Her fingers tightened around her glass until it nearly slipped.
A union.
Her father had just promised her out like a prize before she had even agreed.
Her breath came short. The room felt smaller, the walls pressing in. She caught Darius’s eyes, sharp and unreadable, yet locked on hers.
Not pity. Not shocked. Something else.
Something that held her steady when her world tilted.
Her father raised his glass higher, the crowd echoing him in glittering unity.
“To the future,” he declared.
The crowd roared it back.
Amara whispered nothing.
When the toast ended and the music began again, Amara set her untouched glass on a tray and turned sharply on her heel. She needed air. Needed space. Needed to breathe without her father’s shadow.
She slipped through a side door, heels clicking on stone until she reached the terrace. The night was cooler there, stars faint above the glow of the city. She leaned against the railing, pressing her hands flat to its surface.
Her chest ached with the weight of chains she hadn’t agreed to wear.
She didn’t hear the door open, but she felt him before she saw him.
Darius.
He stopped a few steps away, his silence heavy, his presence larger than the night.
“You heard him,” Amara said, her voice brittle. “He’s already sold me off, and he didn’t even bother to name who. That's all I ever be to him a property he can use for power and discard Darius. A bargaining piece.”
Her throat burned, but she swallowed it down. She would not cry. Not here. Not before him.
Darius’s voice was steady when he answered. “You’re more than that.”
She turned her head, startled. His face was calm, the same cold mask but his words… his words slipped past it.
“You don’t know me,” she whispered.
His eyes held hers, unblinking. “I know enough.”
The silence stretched. The city pulsed beneath them.
For a heartbeat, Amara wondered if he’d step closer, if the wall he kept so carefully between them might finally crack.
But then his voice returned, flat once more. “The car will be ready when you are.”
He turned toward the door, his figure sharp against the glow inside.
Amara exhaled slowly, fingers tightening on the railing.
A guard.
A chain.
A shadow.
And maybe something more dangerous than all of it.
