Chapter 40: A Dance with Danger

The grand hall of the royal palace shimmered with candlelight, chandeliers sparkling like frozen stars above the crowd. Nobles in jewel-toned gowns and embroidered coats glided across the marble floor, their laughter soft as silk.

Verbena stood at the entrance, Theodore beside her, his hand resting on the small of her back. His touch was light, but there was an undeniable weight in it — a warning disguised as affection.

"Smile," he whispered into her ear, his breath warm against her skin. "We wouldn't want anyone to think we're fighting, would we?"

Her heart stumbled, but her lips curved into a practiced smile.

As they stepped into the room, the whispers began — a low hum that followed them like a shadow.

"Did you hear? The Duchess and Duke are…closer than ever these days."

"My maid's cousin works at Hellgrave Manor. She said they share the same bedroom now."

"How scandalous! And romantic."

Verbena fought the urge to bury her face in her hands. The rumor mill had gone wild — all because of a few stolen moments and suspiciously loud laughter from their garden strolls.

Theodore, of course, basked in the attention. His arm tightened around her waist, pulling her closer, his smile a razor-sharp threat to anyone who dared look too long.

And then—

"Verbena," a voice purred from across the hall.

Crown Prince Lance stood at the top of the stairs, his silver hair catching the light, his pale blue eyes gleaming like polished ice. He descended slowly, each step a calculated performance.

Theodore's fingers dug into her waist, but Verbena forced herself to smile.

"Your Highness," she greeted, curtseying just low enough to be polite — and no lower.

He took her hand, brushing a kiss against her knuckles, lingering just a heartbeat too long.

"I've missed you," Lance said, his voice a purr only she could hear. "I was worried your husband might have locked you away."

Verbena's smile didn't falter. "I've been very…occupied."

"With him?" Lance's gaze flicked to Theodore, who stood beside her like a storm cloud about to burst. "How tragic. A rose trapped in a thorn bush."

Theodore's smile sharpened. "Better a thorn bush than a wilting garden."

The tension between them crackled like a live wire.

"Dance with me," Lance said suddenly, offering his hand to Verbena.

The room fell silent. Every eye turned to them — the scorned fiancé asking the married duchess for a dance.

Verbena hesitated. Declining the Crown Prince in public was a social death sentence. Accepting was marital suicide.

Before she could decide, Theodore's hand closed over hers.

"She's already promised her first dance to me." His voice was smooth, but his grip was iron.

Lance's smile didn't falter. "Then I'll have the second."

Without waiting for permission, Theodore swept her onto the dance floor.

The music swelled, a waltz as sweet as honey. But their dance was anything but gentle.

"You're enjoying this too much," Verbena hissed under her breath, her hand resting on his shoulder.

"And you're too worried about a man who isn't your husband," Theodore shot back, spinning her hard enough to make her skirt flare.

"I told you, I didn't invite him—"

"Then why does he write you love letters?"

Her steps faltered. "You read that?"

"You left it in the fireplace. Half-burned."

She groaned. Of course the one time she tried to destroy evidence, it backfired.

"I want nothing to do with him," she said, her voice low and urgent. "You're my husband, Theodore."

His eyes darkened, but the corners of his mouth lifted — just a little.

"Say that again."

She blinked. "What?"

"Say it."

"You're my husband."

The waltz slowed, the music fading into the background as he pulled her closer. Their bodies pressed together, the heat of his hand searing through her gown.

"Don't forget that." His voice was barely a whisper, but it set her pulse racing.

When the music ended, applause filled the hall, but Verbena could barely hear it over the pounding of her heart.

And then Lance stepped forward, hand outstretched for the second dance.

Theodore didn't let go.

"Shall we give the nobles a show?" he murmured in her ear.

"What kind of show?"

He didn't answer — he kissed her instead.

Right there, in the center of the ballroom, in front of the entire court and the furious Crown Prince.

Verbena's knees nearly gave out, but Theodore held her firmly, his kiss slow and thorough, leaving no doubt in anyone's mind who she belonged to.

When they finally broke apart, the room erupted — half in scandalized gasps, half in envious sighs.

Lance's smile was gone.

Theodore offered his arm. "Shall we, wife?"

And just like that, they left the Crown Prince standing alone, their exit a victory lap for the ages.

---

End of chapter