Chapter Twenty-three-A Ball of Masks

The ballroom sparkled with grandeur. Golden chandeliers hung like frozen fire above the polished marble floor, casting light that danced upon velvet gowns and polished boots. Laughter, clinking glasses, and the rhythm of violins filled the room, while lords and ladies paraded their finery as though their worth depended solely on how much shimmer they could wear.

At the heart of it all sat the emperor, his eyes trained on one woman alone.

"Why didn't you wear the dress I had sent for you?" Xander whispered to Lola, leaning close so only she could hear. "And why, might I ask, did you arrive so fashionably late?"

Lola turned toward him, her lips curled into a secretive smile. "Ah, the dress," she mused, letting the words hang in the air. "It was left in shambles, I'm afraid."

Xander's brow furrowed. "Shambles?"

She chuckled softly, clearly enjoying the confusion that briefly crossed his face. "Do not trouble yourself. It's nothing that cannot be handled."

"And the tardiness?" he pressed.

"Not by choice, I assure you," she replied smoothly, her eyes scanning the crowd with practiced ease. "But at least I'm here now."

Xander let out a quiet sigh of relief. "I had begun to wonder if you would come at all. I must admit, I was… disappointed."

"Come now, Your Majesty," she teased. "What's the fun in arriving early? I've always believed a late entrance is the surest way to steal the room."

Xander laughed, a low, delighted sound. "You certainly have stolen something tonight."

Before he could say more, a polite cough interrupted the moment. They turned to find Lord Caspian and Gabriel standing just behind them, the latter with his usual calm expression, the former with a glint of mischief in his eye.

"If milady has no objection," Gabriel said with a courteous bow, "we would request a moment alone with His Majesty."

Lola offered a playful smile. "Oh, I wouldn't dream of hoarding the emperor. Let others have their turn, or they might say I've become selfish."

Xander smirked. "And would that be such a dreadful thing?"

"We'll just have to find out, won't we?" she replied with a wink, her skirts whispering against the marble as she stepped away.

The crowd welcomed her instantly. She moved gracefully, eyes seeking her friends amid the sea of silk and perfume. But her path was quickly blocked by a cluster of ladies, each painted to perfection, their smiles tight and saccharine.

"Good evening to you, Acting Queen," one said sweetly, though the edge in her voice was sharper than any blade.

"If you're not too terribly busy commanding His Majesty's attention," another chimed in, "why don't you grace us with your presence?"

Lola offered a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Of course," she said with the elegance of a practiced diplomat. "I would never dream of ignoring such a warm invitation."

As she joined their circle, the weight of their scrutiny pressed in like a corset laced too tight.

And she knew, without a doubt, that this night meant for dancing, was about to become a battlefield.