Dion Lancaster's jaw locks, his back teeth grinding together. A cold radiation bleeds from his skin, forcing the surrounding crowd to drift away. He stalks over to Felix and leans into the guard's ear.

"Highness?" Felix's eyes go wide. "What... what are you doing here? You're supposed to be in the Hall." Dion jerks his chin toward the exit and presses a finger to his lips. "Follow me."

Inside the royal washroom, Dion flicks his wrist. A shimmer of magic ripples over Felix's skin, molding the guard's features into a perfect replica of the Prince. Queen Bellaceline is still in the Crystal Hall; the rest of the court won't notice a thing.

"Highness," Felix whispers, his voice trembling. "This is your Royal Ascension Trial. Is this... wise?" Dion turns to the mirror. His own regal features begin to melt away, replaced by the anonymous mask of a common guard.

"You took those damn lessons for me. Go dance with my partner." Felix's jaw drops. "Highness, that's... that's a direct violation of—" "Do it for my mother. If I step on that floor, I'll embarrass the entire House Lancaster."

Felix stares at the floor. "Understood..." Dion claps a hand onto the guard's shoulder and shoves him through the door.

Ruby spots a familiar face in the crowd. Jacob Vraj. He stands among the elite, an invited guest of the Ascension Trial. She reaches for his sleeve, a question about Angelina Arthur on her tongue.

She swallows it as a group of nobles drifts past. Jacob leans in, a small smile on his lips. "The items you requested... I brought a significant supply." What items? Ruby's eyes light up. The gift. The "protection fee" for the Vampire Prince.

"Thank you. Truly." "It's nothing." Jacob's nostrils flare as he leans closer. The scent of an Elder Vampire clings to her skin, heavy and possessive. He wrinkles his nose.

They keep their voices low. Jacob spins a tale of the roads outside Châtelet, his words painting pictures in the air. Ruby's shoulders relax, her eyes anchored on his face. A hand suddenly clamps onto Ruby's wrist.

A stranger in a guard's uniform looms over them. Ruby gasps, her fingers clawing at the iron grip. It doesn't budge. Jacob lunges forward, his fingers inches from her silk sleeve. A blur of motion hits the air. They vanish.

Jacob stands alone in the center of the hall. He doesn't move. The speed... the scent on her skin... the culprit is obvious. Only one person would kidnap the bride from her own ball.

The world becomes a streak of grey and gold. Ruby raises her arm to shield her face. Suddenly, the motion stops. They are outside, deep in the shadows of the Rose Gallery.

The music from the hall is a faint, rhythmic pulse. The guard's face begins to shimmer. The plain uniform and common features melt into the air, revealing the pale, perfect symmetry of Dion Lancaster.

Ruby blinks hard, her vision clearing. His grip on her hand is white-knuckled and crushing. Her fingers throb. "Why," Dion rasps, his eyes burning crimson. "Why were you with him?"

"We ran into each other." Ruby jerks her arm. She didn't know Jacob was an invited guest. Dion's pupils shrink to pinpricks. "Why was he permitted into the hall?"

"He's a Duke. He had an invitation." Dion's jaw sets. She knows his rank. He studies her face. Does she know the danger? He looms over her, his shadow swallowing her whole.

Ruby winces, her breath catching in her throat. She snaps her head up, her brown eyes meeting his glowing crimson ones. The ruby pupils pulse with a dark, erratic heat. The usual coldness is gone.

Her gaze drops to his compressed lips before darting back to his eyes. Dion jerks his head to the side, breaking the connection. "I'm not running." ? Dion's head snaps back toward her.

"I have nowhere to go. I'm staying right here." She looks toward the spires of Solara Palace. Another quiet ghost in the West Wing. "Stop worrying about Jacob. Stop worrying about me leaving."

Her voice is a flat, steady line. Dion stares at her. "Why...?" He drops his gaze to her boots. "Do you hate my kind?"

"No."

His fingers loosen. He looks her in the eye. "Do you hate me?" ... Dion's fingers twitch at his side. The wind rustles the leaves.

A melody drifts from the hall. A rhythmic, swaying waltz. She touches the skin of her neck. The bite mark is a ghost beneath her fingers.

"I don't hate you."

"I don't hate anyone. This was my choice." She remembers the carriage ride from the Kingdom of Aurelia. Dion's brow hitches.

He watches her shallow breathing. His eyes trace the line of her jaw. Ruby tilts her head. The music swells, the violins crying in the dark.

Her foot taps against the grass. "Can you dance?" she asks.

"What?"

"Can you dance to this song?"

Dion tilts his head, his ears twitching as the melody hits him with clinical precision. The rhythm is a foreign language.

Ruby's feet tap against the grass. Angelina Arthur's praise kept her dancing for hours back in Aurelia. The music is a ghost pulling at her limbs.

Ruby's palm touches the silk of his sleeve. Dion's arm stiffens. He looks at her fingers but stays rooted to the spot.

She tilts her head, her eyes scanning his jawline for a sign of a snap. Her pulse hammers against the skin of her throat.

Dion jerks his chin up, his eyes darting away to the trees. He forces his breathing into a steady, shallow rhythm.

Ruby bites her lip. Her hand begins to slip from his arm.

"Forget... forget it. This is a mistake..."

A blur of black silk hits her. Dion's arm wraps around her waist, pulling her flush against his chest.

Her cheek slams against a gold button on his lapel. She winces, her brow furrowing as she tries to push back.

"Stop... I'll follow you," the vampire rasps.

"Vampires move differently than humans."

Ruby recalls the ballroom floor—the steady, rhythmic turns of the nobles. She pauses, her gaze fixing on his silver cravat pin.

She gives a short, hesitant nod.

"Fine." She reaches for his hand in the dark.

Dion's fingers twitch at the contact. He pulls back an inch, his throat working as he swallows hard. He stands like a marble statue.

She steps forward. Dion stumbles, his boots catching the grass. He watches her feet, his movements a jagged echo of her own.

"Look at me," she says.

"Why?"

His pupils expand, the red swallowing the light. His fingers tighten on her waist.

"Nobody... nobody dances without looking at their partner."

"Do your people... do you just close your eyes and hope for the best?"

Dion looks away. He remembers the door slamming on his etiquette tutor.

He stays silent, his jaw locking.

Ruby holds his gaze, her brown eyes tracking every flicker of his pupils. Her palm is a steady heat against his cold hand.

Dion's eyes anchor on hers. He stops blinking.

The trees, the music, the palace... they all blur into a grey fog.

She spins, her skirts brushing the grass in a perfect arc. Dion's finger traces a restless line across the center of her palm.

Ruby's brow hitches. She grips his hand tighter, steering his weight back into the rhythm.

She adjusts her step as he nearly trips over his own boots.

She slides her foot back just before his heel comes down.

The final violin note dies in the air.

Ruby pulls her hands back. She takes a long step into the shadows.

Dion stares at the empty space between them. "I'm... I'm taking you back," he rasps.

Ruby looks at his pale hands and holds her wrists together in front of her chest.

Dion's lip curls.

He grabs one of her wrists and jerks her toward the trail.

His boots crunch on the gravel. He keeps his pace slow, matching her stride as they follow the Rose Gallery toward Solara Palace.

"The dress... does it have to go in the fire?" Ruby asks at her door.

She looks at the rose-red silk, then at the corridor where the maids sleep. Her fingers touch the hem.

Dion's eyes scan the fabric. He traces the line of her shoulder.

His gaze anchors on the silk and the flush on her cheeks. He stays silent.

"Keep it... if you want." He blurs into the dark before the door clicks shut.