Aldric’s brow furrowed slightly—the first crack in his polished facade. “Misunderstanding?”
“You speak of proper alliances. Of equals.” She turned and extended her hand to Rykan, who took it immediately, his golden eyes blazing with something fierce and tender. “Allow me to introduce you properly. This is Rykan. He is not my escort. He is not my guard.”
She lifted her chin and let her voice ring out proudly across the assembled crowd.
“He is my mate.”
The word landed like a thunderclap.
For one perfect moment, the ballroom was utterly still. Then the whispers began—rushing through the crowd like the wind through dry leaves, rising and falling in waves of shock and speculation.
Aldric’s face went through a rapid series of transformations. Surprise. Disbelief. A flash of something ugly and quickly suppressed. Finally, his mask of charming composure snapped back into place, though the edges were visibly frayed.
“Your mate.” His voice was flat. “I see.”
“I apologize if my previous silence on the matter caused confusion.” She kept her tone gracious, but her eyes were steel. “I prefer to keep my personal life private. But since you’ve raised the subject so publicly, I felt it only fair to be equally direct.”
Aldric’s gaze moved to Rykan, and this time there was no casual dismissal. He assessed the Vultor with new eyes—taking in the predator’s stillness, the barely-restrained power, the absolute certainty of a male who had claimed his female and would die before surrendering her.
“A Vultor.” Aldric’s smile was fixed, his charm operating on pure reflex. “How… unconventional.”
“I’ve always preferred substance over convention.”
The barb landed. Aldric’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
“Well.” He straightened his already-perfect jacket, reclaiming what dignity he could. “I wish you both happiness, of course. Though I confess I’m surprised. You always seemed so… traditional in your outlook.”
“People change.”
“Indeed they do.” His blue eyes met hers one final time, and beneath the polished surface she glimpsed something cold and calculating. “Indeed they do.”
He inclined his head in a mockery of courtesy and withdrew into the crowd. The whispers followed him, but she had already dismissed him from her attention.
The crowd surged forward.
“Miss Duvain! Is it true?”
“A mating! How romantic!”
“The Vultor—is he from one of the mountain clans?”
The congratulations came in a flood—some genuine, many forced, all laced with the sharp curiosity of predators scenting blood in the water. More than one of the women who congratulated her ogled Rykan in a way that made her want to scratch their eyes out, but she kept a gracious smile on her face. She politely accepted the handshakes and air-kisses and expressions of delight while her mind cataloged every false smile and calculating glance.
Lady Thornton, whose husband had opposed her father’s policies for years, gushed about the romance of interspecies unions. Lord Castel, who’d been quietly acquiring Duvain stock for months, offered his most sincere wishes for their happiness. A succession of faces blurred together, each one a potential ally or enemy, each one filing away this new information for future use.
Rykan stood beside her through it all, a silent pillar of strength. He answered questions when directly addressed—brief, politeresponses that gave nothing away—but mostly he simply existed at her side, his presence a statement louder than any words.
Mine,his posture said.She is mine, and I am hers, and nothing you do or say will change that.
The crowd pressed closer. The music continued. The glitter and spectacle of the Trade Alliance Ball swirled around them in a dizzying whirl of color and noise.
And then Rykan’s hand closed around her wrist.
“Enough.”
The word was quiet, meant only for her, but it cut through the chaos like a blade. Before she could respond, he was moving—guiding her through the crowd with the easy authority of someone who expected people to get out of his way.
They did.
