Chapter 28

The celebration continued, and the ballroom soon returned to its former liveliness.

Music filled the hall once more, accompanied by the clinking of glasses and the steady murmur of conversations. The arrival of the Orynth delegation had become the center of attention, with nobles eager to exchange greetings and learn more about their distant allies.

Elowen's parents were occupied speaking with several delegates, while Nathaniel stood nearby, engaged in a conversation with one of the foreign nobles.

Taking advantage of the distraction, Elowen excused herself from the small gathering.

She had barely turned around when she bumped into someone.

"Oh!"

A hand caught the glass before its contents could spill. Elowen looked up and found herself standing before one of the Orynth delegates, a young man dressed in dark blue and gold. He regarded her with mild surprise, his drink still held securely in one hand.

"My apologies, my lady," he said.

"No, I should have been more careful."

Elowen offered him a shy smile. She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, lowered her gaze, and stepped aside as though embarrassed by the encounter.

The gesture was deliberate.

Without looking back, she made her way toward the balcony, choosing a route that avoided the more crowded parts of the ballroom. She glanced briefly over her shoulder, checking that her parents remained occupied and that Nathaniel was still engaged in conversation.

Behind her, the man set his glass on a passing servant's tray before following.

Elowen heard his footsteps approach the balcony doors. She waited until he had stepped outside and the doors had nearly closed behind him.

Then she moved.

The man had barely begun to speak when Elowen caught his arm, turned sharply, and used his own momentum to spin him around. Before he could understand what was happening, she drew the dagger concealed at his waist and pressed its cold blade against his neck.

The entire movement took only a heartbeat.

His back met the wall with a muted thud.

Elowen stood close enough to see the surprise widen his eyes. Her grip on the dagger was steady, her earlier shyness erased as though it had never existed.

At last.

After all these years, she had finally found him again.

A strange smile touched her lips.

"At last, we meet again."

The man stared at her.

For a moment, neither spoke. He seemed to be searching his memory, trying to understand why a Valorian noblewoman had dragged him into a darkened balcony and threatened him with his own weapon.

Then his brows drew together.

"Have we met before, my lady?"

Elowen's smile slowly faded.

He genuinely did not recognize her.

Of course he didn't.

To him, this was their first encounter. He had no reason to understand the weight behind her words, nor the years of memories that had suddenly returned to her with such painful clarity.

But Elowen remembered.

Every moment.

Every time she had wished she could turn back and undo what had happened.

The memories rose uninvited, crowding her thoughts until the ballroom beyond the doors seemed impossibly distant.

She pressed the dagger a fraction closer.

"You may fool the Emperor," Elowen whispered, her eyes fixed on his, "but you cannot fool a Ravelle."

The man remained motionless, his gaze shifting between her face and the dagger at his throat.

"You may not know me," she continued, her voice softening into something far more unsettling than anger, "but I know you better than anyone else ever could."

For a moment, she simply watched him, as though the sight of his face alone brought back a thousand memories she had spent years trying to bury.

Then, without warning, she withdrew the blade.

The man straightened cautiously, his hand moving instinctively toward his waist. Before he could reach for the weapon, Elowen tossed the dagger lightly into the air and caught it by the handle.

"Whatever plans you and your leader have brought to Valoria," she said, turning the blade between her fingers, "you may proceed at your own risk."

Her lips curved into a smile.

"But remember this. The Ravelles have much more to offer than gold."

She tilted her head, watching the faint confusion in his expression.

"If you insist on making an enemy of us, I assure you that what we give you in return will be far more memorable than anything you have received from the Emperor tonight."

She smiled as though they were discussing nothing more dangerous than the weather.

The dagger glinted between her fingers, turning slowly, almost playfully. There was something unnerving about the contrast between her delicate appearance and the ease with which she handled the weapon.

Beneath that smile, however, something far darker stirred.

Memories of her first life clawed their way into her mind. The suffering. The humiliation. The helplessness she had endured at the hands of people who had looked at her as though she were worth less than the gold they possessed.

And he—

He had been part of it.

The memory threatened to consume her, filling her with a fury so intense that, for one fleeting moment, she wanted to drive the dagger straight into his heart.

But she didn't.

Not yet.

Elowen had learned that revenge was not always a matter of spilling blood. Sometimes, it was allowing an enemy to walk away knowing that someone had finally seen through him.

She stepped aside, giving him an unobstructed path back to the ballroom.

"Enjoy the celebration," she said pleasantly. "And do give my regards to your companions."

Her smile widened by the slightest degree.

"After all, we have only just begun."

Elowen slipped the dagger back into its rightful place at the man's waist before stepping away from him.

Without another word, she turned toward the ballroom.

The moment she crossed the balcony doors, the familiar warmth of the chandeliers and the gentle melody of the orchestra welcomed her. The celebration continued exactly as before. Nobles laughed, servants moved between the guests, and the foreign delegation remained surrounded by people eager to earn their favor.

Nothing had changed.

At least, not to anyone watching.

Elowen lifted her chin and straightened the folds of her gown. She smoothed a stray lock of hair behind her ear, then walked into the crowd with the same graceful composure she had maintained throughout the evening.

Only her hands betrayed her.

They were trembling.

She curled her fingers into her palms, hoping the pressure would steady them. It did little to help. The memories were still there, vivid and merciless, replaying themselves in fragments she could neither silence nor escape.

Not here.

She could not afford to lose control here.

Not in the imperial palace. Not with her parents only a short distance away. And certainly not while the Orynth delegation remained under the Emperor's hospitality.

A passing servant caught her attention. Elowen took a glass from the tray and raised it to her lips, drinking more quickly than court etiquette allowed.

The cool liquid slid down her throat, but it did nothing to ease the turmoil inside her.

Her fingers tightened around the glass.

Breathe, Elowen. Just breathe.

She drew in a slow breath and forced herself to relax her shoulders. She counted silently, concentrating on the music until the trembling in her hands became less noticeable.

But the memories refused to quiet.

Because she remembered what that man had done to her in her first life.

He had violated her countless times, treating her body as though she had no right to it, as though her pain and pleas meant nothing. Even now, the memory of those terrible days made her feel as if she were trapped all over again, unable to escape no matter how desperately she fought.

Her fingers tightened around the glass.

And the worst part was that he had stood before her tonight without even recognizing her.

To him, she was a stranger.

To her, he was the face of a nightmare she had spent another lifetime trying to survive.

Elowen lowered her eyes, swallowing the bitterness rising in her throat.

Not again.

She would never allow herself to become that helpless girl again.

The thought brought no immediate comfort. Her hands were still cold, and her heart continued to pound against her ribs. But she held on to the one truth that mattered.

She was no longer trapped in that life.

She was Elowen Ravelle, standing in the imperial palace, surrounded by people who knew her as a duke's daughter—not a helpless captive.

No one here knew what she remembered.

No one needed to.

A black coat suddenly settled over Elowen's shoulders.

She stiffened.

But when she turned her head, the familiar figure standing beside her.

Duke Nathaniel Ashbourne.

He stood close, his expression as unreadable as ever. The scent of wine lingered faintly around him, suggesting he had been drinking with the other nobles.

"You're cold," he remarked.

Elowen opened her mouth to respond, but no words came.

Instead, without thinking, she reached for his hand.

Nathaniel glanced down at their joined hands. Her fingers were icy against his palm, and when he felt the faint trembling in them, his expression changed.

"Lady Ravelle?"

She tightened her grip.

It was an unconscious gesture, one she might have regretted had she been thinking clearly. For once, however, she did not pull away or remind him of the distance she had carefully established between them.

Nathaniel studied her face for a moment before looking toward the surrounding guests.

"Come with me."

He did not wait for an explanation. Keeping her hand in his, he guided her away from the gathering, taking a quieter corridor that led to a private sitting room reserved for members of the imperial household.

Elowen followed without protest.

The moment the door closed behind them, the music became a distant murmur.

Nathaniel led her farther into the room, stopping beside a wall concealed by heavy, floor-length curtains. He turned toward her, and Elowen found herself with the wall behind her and Nathaniel standing directly before her.

He had effectively cornered her, though he made no attempt to touch her beyond the hand he still held.

For several seconds, he simply looked at her.

"Look at me."

Elowen slowly raised her eyes.

His expression remained serious, but the usual coolness in his gaze had given way to something more attentive.

"What happened?"

"Nothing."

The answer came too quickly.

Nathaniel's jaw tightened.

"Do you expect me to believe that?"

She lowered her gaze, unable to bear the thought of explaining something she could barely bring herself to remember.

He noticed the movement. Then, perhaps realizing that his questions were only making her withdraw further, he fell silent.

Instead, he lifted her cold hand between both of his.

"Your hands are freezing."

"They'll warm up."

"Not like this."

His voice was quieter now.

Nathaniel had consumed enough wine that a faint warmth colored his cheeks, and his usual reserve seemed to have loosened at the edges. Yet his movements remained careful as he brought her hand closer.

Then, with a gentleness that caught her entirely off guard, he pressed her palm against his cheek.

His skin was warm.

Elowen stared at him.

The contrast between his warmth and her cold fingers was almost startling. His eyes briefly closed as he leaned into her palm, as though the simple contact offered him some comfort, too.

"See?" he murmured. "I'm warm enough for both of us."

For a moment, Elowen forgot how to respond.

This was Nathaniel Ashbourne—the man who had spent years making her wonder whether she had ever mattered to him at all. The man whose silence had once made her feel lonelier than any cruel word could have.

Yet now he stood before her, holding her hand against his face as though he had noticed something everyone else had missed.

Her fingers trembled again.

Nathaniel opened his eyes immediately.

"Elowen."

His thumb moved lightly across her knuckles.

"Whatever happened out there," he said, his voice low, "you don't have to tell me right now."

She looked at him, startled by the unexpected restraint.

"But don't stand there pretending you're fine when you can barely keep your hands still."

His gaze held hers.

"At least not with me."

Nathaniel lowered his eyes to her hand, still resting against his cheek. He turned his face slightly and pressed a lingering kiss to her palm, then another against the delicate inside of her wrist.

Elowen's breath faltered.

When he lifted his head, his half-lidded eyes settled on hers. The warmth in his cheeks and the faint unsteadiness of his gaze made it clear that he had drunk far more than she had realized.

"Nathaniel, you've had too much to drink."

Perhaps he heard her. Perhaps he didn't.

Before she could say anything more, he leaned forward and caught her lips in a sudden kiss.

Elowen froze.

Her thoughts scattered, leaving her unable to comprehend what had just happened. The man before her was Nathaniel Ashbourne—the same man who had spent years keeping his feelings, whatever they might have been, carefully hidden from her.

And now he was kissing her as though the distance between them had never existed.

She stood motionless, her back against the wall and her fingers still resting against his warm cheek. She neither returned the kiss nor managed to push him away. She was simply too stunned by the unexpectedness of it all.

When he finally drew back, their faces remained only inches apart.

Nathaniel gazed at her, his expression strangely unguarded.

Elowen stared back, her lips parted as she struggled to find her voice.

"What... are you doing?"

Her question came out little more than a whisper.

Nathaniel stared at her for a moment, as though her question had reached him through a considerable distance.

Then, without answering, he drew her into his arms.

Elowen's eyes widened as his embrace closed around her. His black coat slipped slightly from one of her shoulders, but he seemed unconcerned. He tucked her closer against him, resting his chin lightly above her head.

"Let's go home," he murmured.

She stiffened at the words.

"Your Grace, what are you—"

"I'm taking you home."

His voice was low and unusually stubborn. He held her as though he had already made up his mind and had no intention of entertaining an argument.

Elowen placed her hands against his chest, trying to create a little distance between them.

"Nathaniel, my parents are still in the ballroom."

"I'll tell them."

Despite herself, Elowen glanced up at him. His eyes were heavy, his expression softer than she had ever seen it, and his arms remained firmly around her.

For a moment, she wondered whether he even understood what he had done.

This was not the reserved Duke Ashbourne who had addressed her formally throughout the evening. This was a man whose restraint had apparently been loosened by too much wine.

"Nathaniel," she said more gently, "you should return to the celebration."

He shook his head.

"Not without you."

The answer came so quickly that she fell silent.

She didn't know whether to be grateful or unsettled by it.

After a long silence, Nathaniel loosened his embrace enough to look at her.

"Let me take you home, Elle."