Chapter 19– A dance with the Night king

Lena stood near the banquet table, her fingers trailing the edge of a crystal goblet, gaze drifting toward the gilded doors. Music swirled around her—light, haunting melodies meant to charm—but her heart only settled when she saw him enter.

The Night King

The crowd seemed to part instinctively. Shadows curled closer to his presence, and murmurs followed in his wake. But Lena? She smiled.

He crossed the floor toward her, his crimson gaze locked on hers as if no one else existed.

"You came back," she said softly, the relief in her voice slipping through before she could guard it.

The Night King lips curved ever so slightly. "Did you think I wouldn't?"

She tilted her head playfully. "You did hand me a dagger and vanish into a meeting of bloodthirsty nobles. Forgive me for wondering."

He extended his hand without a word.

Lena blinked. "You want to dance?"

"You did say you wanted to be courted properly," he murmured.

She took his hand, and he pulled her into the center of the ballroom.

Around them, nobles stared. Gasps, whispers, disbelief.

One pair of eyes in particular burned with fury.

Lady Calista.

The Duke's daughter had spent the last ten minutes mentally rehearsing how to ask the Night King for a dance—what smile to wear, what compliments to offer, what graceful, regal tone to use. But now, watching him waltz across the floor with *her*, the human witch, Calista's hands clenched at her sides.

"This is a mockery," she whispered under her breath.

Lena laughed mid-turn as The Night King spun her. "They're all watching."

"They always watch," he replied. "Let them."

The music swelled, the lights dimmed slightly, and as the song built toward its crescendo, Lena met his gaze and asked with mischief in her tone:

"Tell me, Your Majesty—what will they say when I dip *you*?"

The Night King brows lifted slightly, his lips twitching into the faintest hint of a smirk. "Is that a challenge, Lena?"

She stepped closer, resting one hand on his shoulder, the other sliding into his waiting palm. "Maybe. Or maybe I just like the idea of shaking the room a little."

The music swelled again — haunting and elegant — and the Night King led her onto the floor, all eyes turning. Whispers bloomed like firelight among the nobles, but The Night King only had eyes for her.

"You're dangerous," he murmured, spinning her effortlessly.

"And yet," she whispered back, "you keep pulling me closer."

Their dance was dark and fluid, more like a ritual than a waltz. Every turn, every glance between them, thick with something unspoken.

At the edge of the ballroom, Lady Calista stared, fury tightening her painted features. She clutched her glass too tightly — and when it shattered in her hand, no one dared comment.

Lena smiled up at The Night King. "Careful, Your Majesty. If you keep looking at me like that, I might start thinking you care."

The Night King leaned in, his breath cold against her skin. "What if I do?"

Lena's gaze held his, steady and unafraid, even as the music swirled around them like a storm.

She leaned in, her voice barely above a breath, yet it struck him like a spell.

*"Have you fallen for me, Your Majesty?"*

The Night King's smirk was slow, dangerous, and far too charming. He dipped her one last time, his mouth brushing close to her ear.

*"You wish,"* he whispered, velvet and fangs.

Lena let out a low, amused laugh as he pulled her upright again. The dance ended, but the heat between them did not.

He offered his arm. "Shall we?"

They turned, walking side by side off the dance floor — the perfect picture of power and tension, shadow and flame. The room buzzed behind them, full of stares and stunned silence.

Far across the hall, Lady Calista's nails dug into her palm. She would not let this stand.

Not for long.