Chapter 46

The orchestra played a lively waltz, its melody filling the air with a sense of giddy excitement. Samael, with a practiced ease, guided Aurelia onto the dance floor. His steps were precise, each movement a testament to his mastery of the art.

Aurelia, despite her initial apprehension, found herself drawn into the rhythm of the music. The steps, the turns, the dips - they were familiar, as if her body had a memory of its own.

As they moved across the polished floor, their bodies in perfect synchronicity, Aurelia's gaze met Samael's. His eyes, a mesmerizing shade of gold, held a certain intensity, a strange recognition that sent a shiver down her spine.

"Your memory seems to be dawning on you, sweetness," Samael murmured.

Aurelia blinked, startled by his observation. She had been so lost in the dance, in the rhythm of the music, that she hadn't realized the extent to which her movements had betrayed her. "The ball," she managed to whisper, her voice barely audible over the music.

Aurelia, her heart pounding in her chest, raised her brow. "We've danced before, haven't we?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper. The question hung in the air, a silent accusation.

Samael shrugged, a nonchalant gesture that belied the storm brewing within his eyes. "Perhaps," he replied, his voice low and dangerous. "The mind plays strange tricks, doesn't it?"

Aurelia felt a cold shiver run down her spine. She remembered the encounter at the ball. The golden eyed stranger. The moment she'd confessed her desire to kill the King. She'd told him that she wished to kill him. How foolish of her to go on telling her tasks to a stranger. The realization was terrifying. The stakes were higher than she could have imagined.

The music abruptly stopped, the silence that followed heavy and oppressive. Yet, Samael's grip on her waist remained firm, his gaze unwavering. It was as if he was holding her captive, not only in a physical sense, but in a psychological prison of his own making.

Aurelia struggled to maintain her composure, to project an image of calm and indifference. But the truth was, she was terrified. The man who stood before her, the man who she'd had told that she wanted to kill him, was now holding her in his arms, as if they were lovers lost in a passionate embrace.

The realization was a bitter pill to swallow.

The crowd began to disperse, their conversations a distant murmur in the background. But for Aurelia and Samael, the world had narrowed down to just the two of them.

A gruff voice cut through the hushed conversation, drawing Aurelia's attention. A man, his face etched with the lines of age and experience, stood before them. His imposing figure and the respectful nods from those around him hinted at his status. Beside him stood Cecilia, her face flushed with a mixture of excitement and nervousness.

Aurelia was more than certain that this was Cecilia's father, the Duke of the South, a man known for his wealth and influence and cunningness.

"Your Majesty," Cecilia's father began, his voice deep and resonant, "it is an honor to have you grace our humble abode with your presence."

Samael acknowledged the greeting with a curt nod, his expression impassive.

Cecilia, her eyes sparkling with a mixture of admiration and something akin to desperation, turned to Samael. " Your mahesy," she said, her voice laced with a seductive undertone. "I hope you enjoyed the dance." Cecilia cast Aurelia a withering glare.

Samael, his gaze fixed on Cecilia, replied with a single word, "Memorable."

Cecilia's father cleared his throat, his expression a mix of pride and concern. "My daughter, it seems, has developed a rather… profound admiration for Your Majesty."

Samael's lips curved into a slight smile. "A dangerous thing, admiration," he replied, his voice low and dangerous.

Aurelia, caught in the undercurrent of their conversation, felt a shiver run down her spine.

Cecilia's father, oblivious to the undercurrent of tension, continued, "Perhaps a private conversation between your majesty and my daughter would be in order?"

"Perhaps it would be more expedient to discuss whatever it is you wish to convey here, rather than seeking a private corner," Samael suggested, his voice low and carrying a hint of impatience.

Cecilia's cheeks flushed a deeper shade of pink. "But..." she began, her voice wavering.

Samael's gaze, sharp and penetrating, cut through her hesitation. "Speak, Cecilia," he urged, his tone firm but not unkind.

Gathering her courage, Cecilia took a deep breath. "It would be better if we could speak in private, Your majesty." she said, her voice barely a whisper.

Samael nodded, his expression impassive. "Very well," he replied, turning his attention to Cecilia's father then at Aurelia. "We shall return shortly."

With that, he walked off, leading Cecilia towards the exit of the room. The crowd parted to make way for them, their whispers and murmurs following in their wake.

Aurelia was left alone with Cecilia's father, the weight of the world pressing down on her shoulders. She watched as Samael and Cecilia disappeared into the crowd, a sense of dread creeping into her heart.

Cecilia's father cleared his throat, the sound grating on Aurelia's nerves. He looked down at her with a condescending gaze. "You, girl," he began, his voice gruff, "shouldn't think too highly of yourself. That little dance with the King doesn't change your status. You're nothing but his slave, nothing more."

Aurelia raised an eyebrow, a spark of defiance lighting her eyes. A wave of confidence, unexpected and thrilling, washed over her. This man, with his puffed-up chest and inflated sense of importance, was easy prey.

"Arrogant, aren't we?" she replied, her voice laced with a feigned politeness that dripped with sarcasm. "Like father, like daughter, I suppose."

Cecilia's father',s face flushed a deep crimson. "How dare you, a mere slave, speak to me in such a tone!" he bellowed, his voice losing its previous composure. "Learn your place, girl! That dance with the King was nothing but a whim. It doesn't make you worthy of anything."

A smile, cold and humorless, played on Aurelia's lips. This man, for all his bluster, was a fool. She couldn't care less about his daughter's relationship with the king.

"Worthy?" she echoed, her voice dropping to a low whisper. "Perhaps not. But then again, I doubt your daughter is."

Cecilia's father recoiled, taken aback by her audacity. His anger simmered, but beneath it, a flicker of fear crossed his eyes.

"The King's favor is fickle," he sputtered, regaining some of his composure. "But my daughter will be Queen. And I, the King's father-in-law. Do you understand your insignificance now?"

Aurelia averted her gaze, her eyes scanning the opulent ballroom. The once vibrant atmosphere now seemed muted, the laughter and chatter replaced by a hushed undercurrent of intrigue. She caught glimpses of people whispering, their eyes darting between her and Cecilia's father, their faces a mask of curiosity and speculation.

Cecilia's father, oblivious to the growing tension, continued his tirade, his voice rising in pitch. But Aurelia had tuned him out, her mind racing with a thousand possibilities.