A Minor Inconvenience

Nikolas Vincent.

The eldest son of Duke Vincent, a man of wealth and influence—but utterly insufferable.

He was handsome in a manufactured way, too polished, too aware of his own attractiveness.

His hair was carefully styled, his noble attire chosen with meticulous vanity, and the overwhelming scent of cologne clung to him like a desperate lover.

I had spent my life perfecting the art of endurance.

And yet, he tested it.

"Did I?" I murmured, lifting my glass slightly.

"Indeed." He stepped closer, his presence stifling.

"And here I thought no man could persuade the elusive Princess Sia to dance."

I turned slightly, meeting his gaze with cool detachment.

He wasn't looking at my eyes.

His gaze flickered downward for the third time in the past five seconds—lingering on the curve of my chest, where the cut of my gown, while elegant, revealed enough to make lesser men forget their place.