Cat and Mouse

The night of the ball arrived faster than Nora anticipated.

Her hands were steady as she adjusted the delicate sapphire necklace at her throat, the deep blue jewels glistening under the candlelight. Her dress, a flowing gown of the same midnight shade, fit her like a second skin, the embroidered patterns of silver threads shimmering with each movement. She looked the part of the Duchess—poised, elegant, untouchable.

At times like this, she remembered the words her mother would always whisper in her ears when she was young: Let them stare, let them wonder.

But beneath the surface, her mind was anything but calm.

She had barely spoken to Caspian over the last few days, avoiding him as much as possible. Every time she looked at him, all she could see was the image of him with them. The way he would hold that child. The way he would look at that woman. And Lacey—now a quiet shadow in their home—was too much for her to bear.

Still, she had no choice but to push forward.

The ball was an opportunity. An opportunity for what, exactly, she wasn't sure yet. But she did know one thing—Lucien Draco would be there tonight.

Lucien. The biggest villain in the novel. The man who had made Caspian and Lacey's lives a living hell.

He had framed them for crimes, poisoned their allies, and even once attempted to have Lacey kidnapped and sold off to the highest bidder. He was ruthless, calculating, and utterly unpredictable.

But that was precisely why she wanted to meet him.

Caspian appeared in the doorway behind her, already dressed in his formal attire—a dark navy suit with a crisp white shirt, his golden hair neatly combed back. He looked the very image of a nobleman, every inch the Duke that he was.

"You look beautiful," he said, voice soft.

Nora turned to him, offering a polite smile. "Thank you."

Caspian hesitated, as if debating whether to say more, but then he stepped closer and extended his arm.

"I mean it, Nora," he continued. "But I want to make something clear before we leave. If I see even the slightest sign of exhaustion from you tonight, we are leaving immediately."

She let out a soft breath of amusement. "I'm fine, Caspian."

His jaw tightened. "Three days in bed, claiming illness, says otherwise."

Nora tensed but kept her expression neutral. "I'm feeling much better."

Caspian studied her for a long moment, then exhaled and offered his arm again. "Just promise me you won't push yourself too hard."

There was genuine concern in his eyes, and for a brief moment, she wavered.

But then she remembered that he had chosen to lie to her.

She slipped her hand into the crook of his arm. "I promise."

—

The palace was a spectacle of grandeur, its towering crystal chandeliers casting a golden glow over the ballroom. Women in dramatic gowns, they would only wear once and men in embroidered suits moved through the space in effortless grace, their conversations blending into a hum of aristocratic pleasantries.

Nora kept a polite smile on her face, nodding where appropriate, but her attention was elsewhere.

She was looking for him.

Lucien Draco, the rumored illegitimate child of the throne.

It didn't take long for her to find him.

He stood near the far end of the ballroom, partially shadowed by the golden glow of the candlelit chandeliers. Even from across the room, he was impossible to miss.

Tall and lean, he wore a tailored black suit with subtle crimson detailing—just enough to give the impression of something dangerous. His dark hair, nearly black, was tied back at the nape of his neck, a few stray strands framing a sharp, handsome face. There was an effortless charm to him, but his expression carried a quiet edge, as if he found the entire event mildly amusing.

He caught her staring.

A slow smirk curled at his lips as he raised a single brow in silent acknowledgment.

Nora didn't look away.

Instead, she turned toward the open archway that led to the palace gardens, casting one last glance over her shoulder before stepping outside.

She had no doubt he would follow.

—

The night air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of blooming jasmine. Lanterns hung from the trimmed hedges, casting soft pools of light along the stone pathways. It was quiet, the sounds of the ball muffled behind her.

She didn't have to wait long.

"Most people tend to stay inside during these affairs."

The deep, velvety voice sent a shiver down her spine.

She turned to find Lucien standing just a few steps away, his hands lazily tucked into his pockets. Up close, his presence was even more striking—calculated, controlled, as if every move he made was deliberate.

Nora offered a small smile. "I suppose I enjoy a bit of fresh air."

His gaze flickered over her, assessing. "And here I thought the Duchess of Dawn was merely avoiding her husband."

Her stomach twisted, but she kept her expression unreadable. "Should I be insulted by such an assumption?"

Lucien chuckled, stepping closer. "Not at all. I find it rather interesting."

Nora tilted her head. "And what else do you find interesting, Lord Draco?"

He hummed, pretending to think. "That a woman of your status would seek me out."

She wasn't surprised that he had caught on so quickly. Lucien was many things, but foolish was not one of them.

She met his gaze without flinching. "Perhaps I was simply curious."

"Curiosity can be dangerous." He leaned in slightly, voice dropping just a fraction. "Especially around me."

There it was. The barely concealed threat beneath his words.

But Nora was not afraid.

If anything, she was intrigued.

"I suppose that depends on why I'm curious," she mused.

Lucien studied her, the amusement in his eyes sharpening into something more analytical.

"Then tell me, Your Grace," he murmured. "Why are you?"

Nora hesitated.

She didn't have a solid answer, not yet. She only knew that she needed to understand him—to figure out why he was the villain, what had driven him to torment Caspian and Lacey in the novel. If she could uncover that, perhaps she could use it to her advantage.

So instead of answering, she simply smiled. "Would you ask a woman to reveal all her secrets so soon?"

Lucien let out a soft laugh. "Clever girl."

Then, to her surprise, he extended a hand. "Dance with me."

Nora blinked. "Here?"

"In the gardens, under the moonlight. Romantic, isn't it?" He smirked. "Unless, of course, you're afraid."

Nora lifted her chin. "Of course not."

She placed her hand in his, and Lucien's grip tightened just enough to be firm but not unkind. With effortless ease, he pulled her into a slow waltz, guiding her across the stone path as if they were still within the ballroom.

His movements were smooth, precise, but his eyes never left hers.

"I must admit," he murmured, "I had expected the frail Duchess to be more… conventional."

"And yet, here I am," she replied smoothly.

"Yes," he said, voice thoughtful. "Here you are."

The slow waltz continued, their steps quiet against the stone path. The lantern light flickered, casting shadows across Lucien's sharp features. He was studying her, she could feel it—the way his gaze searched for cracks in her facade, testing, prying. He was playing a game.

But so was she.

"You seem awfully interested in me, Your Grace," Lucien mused, his voice smooth, teasing. "Does the Duke know his wife enjoys midnight dances with dangerous men?"

Nora smiled, refusing to flinch. "My husband doesn't control who I converse with."

"No?" His grip on her waist tightened just slightly, the pressure light but unmistakable. "Interesting. And yet, I imagine he would be terribly displeased to see you here with me."

She let out a small, breathy laugh, tilting her head as if amused. "Do you enjoy being seen as a threat, Lord Draco?"

Lucien smirked, dipping her slightly before pulling her back into the dance. "I don't need to try to be a threat, Duchess."

The words sent a shiver down her spine, but she ignored it, maintaining her mask of amusement.

"You're an interesting man," she mused softly, looking through her lashes. "Your reputation precedes you."

"I'd be disappointed if it didn't."

"I imagine it must be exhausting," she said lightly. "To always be playing the villain."

Lucien's expression barely flickered, but something in his eyes sharpened. It was gone as soon as it appeared, buried beneath a lazy smile.

"Oh?" He hummed. "And here I thought I was simply misunderstood."

"I doubt many people misunderstand kidnappings and poisonings. Allegedly, of course."

His smirk widened, but it didn't reach his eyes. "You wound me, Your Grace. Are you saying you don't approve of my hobbies? Allegedly," he mocked.

"I suppose it depends on your reasons."

"And what makes you think I have reasons?"

Nora hesitated. That was the problem—she didn't know. The novel had made him out to be a force of destruction, but now, standing before him, she wasn't so sure. There was something controlled about him, something deliberate. Villains with no reason for their cruelty were rare.

She decided to test him.

"Maybe it has something to do with Lacey," she said casually.

For the first time, Lucien's grip faltered.

It was slight—barely more than a half-second hesitation in his step—but she felt it.

And then, just as quickly, his hand slid from her waist to her wrist, fingers curling around it.

It wasn't tight, not painful, but it was firm.

And then he laughed. Soft. Amused.

But his eyes were sharper than ever.

"Lacey." He let the name roll off his tongue as if tasting it, his thumb brushing against the inside of her wrist. "Now, that's a name I haven't heard in a while."

Nora swallowed. "Is it?"

Lucien tilted his head. "You know, Duchess, it's fascinating how often people speak of ghosts, thinking they are long gone, when in reality, they are much closer than they appear."

A chill ran down her spine.

Was he hinting at something? Did he know?

She kept her face neutral, but inside, her mind was racing. How? How could he possibly know? Lacey had been hidden carefully, tucked away as nothing more than a mere servant, and yet—

Lucien was still speaking.

"I must say, I didn't expect the Duchess of Dawn to be so intrigued by past affairs." His voice was lighter now, playfully mocking. "Tell me, what is it about the woman that fascinates you? Her history with your husband? Her tragic story?" He smirked, leaning in just slightly. "Or is it the fact that she's still breathing?"

Her blood turned to ice.

There it was. The unspoken truth wrapped in a veil of insinuation.

He knew.

But how?

She had spent days drowning in her own frustration, feeling trapped in her ignorance, but now, here was a man who wasn't even in her household, yet somehow, he had seen more than she had. He knew things she didn't, and that infuriated her.

Her fingers curled slightly against his shoulder, her nails pressing just enough to make her presence felt.

"And you, Lord Draco," she said, forcing a calm tone, "seem to know a great deal about things that don't concern you."

Lucien exhaled a quiet chuckle. "Oh, but everything concerns me, Your Grace. You should know that by now."

His hand brushed against hers as he twirled her, and when she faced him again, there was something darker in his expression.

"I hear things, Duchess," he murmured. "I see things. Like, for instance, a certain noblewoman spending three days in self-imposed isolation, claiming illness." He tilted his head. "That's concerning, isn't it?"

Nora's breath hitched.

"That's hardly—"

He cut her off with a low hum. "No need to defend yourself. I'm simply concerned for your well-being."

There was no warmth in the words.

Only quiet, simmering amusement.

A warning.

She set her jaw. "How kind of you."

"Oh, I am kind," Lucien murmured. "But tell me, Your Grace… have you ever considered that certain illnesses aren't just ailments?" His eyes flickered down, taking in the delicate pulse at her throat. "Sometimes, they are symptoms of something… deeper."

He leaned in closer, yanking her flush against him until their hearts beat as one. His breath brushed the shell of her ear, "You should keep a better eye on your medicines, Duchess."

A cold wave of dread settled over her.

The meaning in his words was unmistakable.

He knew.

Maybe not everything, but something.

And worse—he wasn't just making an observation. He was warning her.

The dance came to an end. Lucien stepped back, giving her one last, lazy smirk.

"Whatever it is you want with me, Duchess," he said smoothly, "I have no time for jaded housewives."

With that, he turned on his heel and walked away, disappearing into the shadows of the garden, leaving her standing there, breathless and unnerved.

Nora clenched her fists, rage simmering beneath her skin.

She had thought she was playing a game of cat and mouse.

But now she wasn't so sure who was the cat anymore.