I hear the music long before I'm allowed to leave my room. String instruments form a tune that spirals in the air and seeps through the miniscule crevices in the balcony doors.

After the maids picked up and left, instructing me to stay put and not to sit and wrinkle the gown, I paced the room, watching as the sky darkened, and fought the urge to rub my face. And now, staring at myself in the vanity, I don't truly recognise the girl staring back.

My face is so full of colour—pink, grey, red. It meshes beautifully with the suffocatingly tight emerald dress adorning my body. My dark hair is braided in a crown around my head, swept completely off my shoulders. Each breath I take feels more difficult, my chest constricting against the dress as it cuts just across the top of my breasts in a square neckline, short sleeves meeting silky gloves reaching my elbow. The skirt of the dress, tight till my hips, fans out in an elegant train covering my feet entirely.

The sky has darkened by the time there's a knock at the door. The intruder doesn't wait for a response before twisting the knob and opening it, the old door creaking beneath the pressure. A guard. She stands with her hands behind her back, chin lifted, dark hair secured in a sleek ponytail at the nape of her neck.

"Miss Raune," she greets. "I'm to escort you to the ball."

I swallow the lump in my throat and wipe my hands on the sides of the gown, stepping towards her. Eyeing her as I step past, I catch a glimpse of that gleam in her eye—probably shifter. The human servants I've seen don't have the same air of confidence.

I'm silent as she leads me through the corridors and down the stairs, venturing further to a different wing I haven't been allowed into before. We descend elaborate staircases and winding halls. The music hums through the floor, nearly overpowered by the hum of conversation, laughter, life. The sound is so beautiful I forget where I am—a human heading into a den of wolves.

It reminds me of a time with Samu and my father, in the village. The hum of the spring festival, a farewell to winter, when the lightning bugs start to migrate and fill the air with a purple glow.

The guard comes to a stop at the bottom of the spiral stairs, a large, double wooded doors closed ahead of us. Vibrations travel through the floor to my feet, coursing through my body—warning me of the den of wolves that stand on the other side. And when the guard opens the door, I have to remind myself that beautiful things can be deadly.

The room, ballroom, extends further than I can see, with high ceilings and thick pillars tumbling down to the ground supporting it. An enormous chandelier hangs from the ceiling, on a long enough rope I'm sure it would sway given the slightest wind. But despite the beauty of the room, I'm quickly distracted by the people. I've never seen so many indoors before—hundreds of people gather in the ballroom, dressed in extravagant gowns with painted faces and flutes filled with bubbling liquids in their hands. But that's not what makes my stomach halt—they've all stopped their conversations and turned to look at me.

Nobody says anything for a few moments—not me, not the crowd staring. It's only when the crowd starts to part like a tide that Elora becomes visible. The guests of the ball lowering their heads as she glides through them. I keep my eyes trained on her, forcing myself to roll my shoulders back and maintain eye contact, despite her piercing intimidation.

She stops several feet away. "Miss Raune." She pauses, scanning the length of my body. "You look... acceptable."

The room takes a collective breath as they await my response. Every eye feels like a laser, tearing apart my appearance, every single hair on my body—as if searching for something wrong.

Killian's warning flits through my mind. I cross my ankles and dip before Elora. "Thank you."

I force a smile, meeting her gaze as I rise. Her lips twitch as the crowd starts to turn away, resuming their chatter, casting fleeting glances our way when they think we won't notice. I glance around the room, anxiety snaking through my stomach as Elora's gaze persists. A band of musicians stand on a slightly raised platform to the left of a spiral staircase leading to balcony's overhead. Before it, a dance floor, accommodating pairings of people swaying in a choreographed motion, each in tune with the other.

I trail my eyes along the balcony above. Small groups of people cluster, looking out at the dance floor below. They're too far away for me to make out their features.

"I am sure this is all very new to you, Miss Raune," Elora says.

"It's very different from where I come from."

"I imagine so."

The smugness in her tone irks me. The parties and festivals in Veymaw were always so freeing. People danced in the streets till they could no longer and laughed till their faces hurt. But this ball, however beautiful and regal, feels so cold.

"Will the King be attending tonight?" I ask, turning back to Elora.

"Soon."

The confirmation spurs a burning in my stomach, the reality of the evening settling in. King Ereon of Elel at a ball for me. And what will become of him when the deserters plan sets into motion? What will become of me if it doesn't go according to plan?

Panic furls in my stomach at the thought. I try my best to shove it down, but it only regurgitates up my throat.

"Please, walk with me," she instructs, leaving no room for refusal.

I roll back my shoulders and suck in a breath of air, chest constricted by the gown. She walks with her chin tilted high, and wherever we move, the crowd parts for us. I try my best to pretend it doesn't bother me. I cast my eyes above, to the balcony accommodating small clusters of people. They watch as we drift about the room, seated in golden throne-like chairs as they observe those below.

"Is that the Royal Family?" I ask.

Elora follows my gaze as she straightens our path, heading towards the staircase she descended. "How much do they tell you of the royals in your village?"

"We know of King Ereon. Not much is spoken about his family."

She hums beneath her breath but ignores my question. "Have you considered my offer any further, Miss Raune?"

Her offer—that if I tell her about the hyacerite, she'll free Samu. I squash the tendril of hope the thought gives me, remembering Killian's promise. If tonight goes as planned, I won't need to make any deals to secure Samu's safety.

I raise my eye to meet hers. "I have."

"And?"

"I'll give you the information you want. But I have one condition."

Her smile twitches. "Your condition?"

"I'll only speak to the King."

She stares at me for a long while. The music in the room echoes off the high ceilings and bounces around us, swirling in the air like flames, but I don't dare break her gaze.

"I shall inform the King of your wishes." She pauses. "He will be very pleased, Miss Raune."

"That's all I want."

Her smile tightens, hostility seeping through the mask of her pleasantries. There's a violence sparking in her eye that sends a chill down my spine. And as it grows, I feel the sting of her slap against my cheek all over again. I can't help myself—my gaze casts to the ground as the memory burns in my mind. I try to shake it free, but it only serves to terrorise me. The reality of my situation settles in—I don't have any back-up, it's just me and a ballroom full of powerful shifters.

"Elora."

A woman's voice breaks the thick tension between us. I raise my eyes to the approaching crowd. A woman, of similar age to Elora, and a younger male waft towards us, gazes not to subtly lingering on me.

"Cerelia. Philipe," Elora greets, nodding her head. Cerelia offers a curtsey, Philipe a bow. "I must introduce you to Miss Freya Raune, our guest."

"It is an honour to meet you, Miss Raune," Cerelia lowers her head, crown full of dark curls ducking forward.

Philipe takes my gloved hand and raises it to his lips, pressing a light kiss. "You look most lovely."

I take my hand back, clutching it to my side as his icy eyes raise to meet mine. There's a perfection to his appearance that's unsettling—crystal eyes, sandy hair, porcelain skin.

Cerelia murmurs something low beneath her breath to Elora, who smiles tightly and nods. "Philipe," Elora announces, "perhaps you could invite our guest to dance."

"Of course," Philipe nods, offering me his hand. I stare at it, my heart pounding as I glance over his shoulder as the dance floor. Despite her intimidation, Elora is the only person I know at this ball. There's a security in remaining close to her.

But I think of Killian, so brave and fearless, and put my hand in Philipe's. He guides me to the dance floor. Even through the fabric of my glove, his touch is warm as he pulls us to a stop in the centre, placing his other hand on my back. I glance up at him, those icy eyes drilling into my own as he guides us to the music.

The music is unfamiliar to me, but the placement of Philipe's hands reminds me of the Moon festival—dancing with Killian beneath the stars.

"You dance well," Philipe compliments.

"There's no need to flatter me, sir," I respond. "I know what I do well, and what I don't."

He merely tilts his chin in response, spinning me in cue with the music, and switches partners. I keep my eyes trained on the floor, ignoring the heated stares as I move from partner to partner. The music shifts and changes but I'm stuck on the dance floor for what feels like hours, my cheeks aching from fake compliment and smiles, strangers' hands imprinted on my body. Glancing over my shoulder, I can no longer see Elora, Cerelia, or Philipe. The dance floor is clustered, and I'm stuck in the middle, no clear path to escape.

My next partner, an elder male, spins me to the next. I watch my feet, trying to catch the tumble I took a couple partners ago, and fall into the next hands.

"You're improving."

My gaze darts up to meet those dark, familiar eyes. Killian. I glance over his shoulder, but nobody is watching any closer than they have been all night. "What're you doing here?" I hiss.

"Your left foot, it's the reason you can't keep up with your dance partners," he says. "An easy fix, really." I gape at him, leaning back slightly so the distance between us is more on par with the guests dancing around us. "Here." He pulls me closer once more, our chests flush against one another. "Like this."

The warmth of his hands through my gloves makes my stomach tighten. If I closed my eyes, I could believe we were back in Veymaw, dancing beneath that star-lit sky.

"Killian." I lower my voice. "They could see you."

"I'm merely one of many guests ogling you, they'll pay me no mind."

"But the plan—"

"Everything is set up. Casimir and Elex are in position." He leans back slightly, his eyes raking the length of my body. "Nice dress."

"I'm sure you're disappointed it isn't red."

"Not at all. I'm starting to understand why green is your favourite."

My cheeks warm. It's dangerous for him to be here, potentially very stupid, and yet I can't bring myself to care because it's the first time all night that I've felt a sense of security.

At the leap in the song, he spins me so fast I nearly stumble, righting myself by gripping the material of his shirt, chest flush against mine. I glance up, breathless at the quick spin, noting the smirk on his face and the way his arms tighten around me.

"You did that on purpose," I accuse.

"How else was I going to get you closer?"

He's merely a breath away. I can see the dark shadow around his chin, the freckle by his left eye, the lines on his lips. Emotions run through me as his touch registers, burning hotter than it did mere seconds ago. I feel the brush of his hands as he leant closer in that hallway, the roughness of his cheek as it brushed mine, the warmth of his lips.

"I told Elora I'd negotiate with the King," I whisper. "He's not here yet, I don't think."

"The King is elusive from what I've heard in the village, it's been years since he's showed himself in public."

King Ereon has ruled over Elel ever since I was a little girl. He was even King when my father was my age, though nobody alive in Veymaw ever encountered him. I used to wonder if he was immortal by some magical force, as we never heard of his passing, but my father dismissed my questions with a 'tsk' followed by a 'magic isn't real'. Still, one can't help but wonder how the same King has managed to rule for so many years. The thought is a welcome distraction, even as my eyes fight to dart to Killian's lips.

"What do I say to him? When he asks for information?"

"We'll be long gone before it comes to that."

"And if we're not?"

He meets my eyes, and though it didn't seem possible, pulls me closer. "We will be."

We stare at one another. Though I should think of the morbid possibility that this may be another promise he cannot hold, I'm too preoccupied with the feel of his breath on my cheek to care.

In the back of my mind a voice screams at me to push him away, to create distance—both emotionally and physically. We're standing far closer than anybody else. On the most important night of my entire life, I can't afford any mistakes. But Killian infiltrates every one of my senses, blocking all rational thought.

"Perhaps we should stop dancing," I whisper.

"But you were just starting to improve."

That wicked grin, dark, hooded gaze—they remind me all too much of how he looked at me in the hallway before he kissed me. I step back all too fast I crash into one of the other dancers.

It's an older female who scowls at my intrusion, her partner sending me a nasty expression. Their upturned noses barely register as I take another step away from him, staring at Killian just over their shoulders. He remains amongst the crowd of dancers, his lips slightly parted, hand outstretched towards me.

"Miss Raune," he calls, voice loud enough to be heard by those around us, "are you alright?"

I force a nod before turning on my heel. Scanning the ballroom, the walls seem to concave, shrinking my surroundings into an impossibly small area. A cool breeze wafts through the room, countering against the warmth of all the bodies. I eye the double doors on the opposite of the ball room and bolt towards them, ducking between crowds of people who murmur beneath their breaths.

My mind is in disarray. Killian is my only sense of security in this retched ball and yet my priority is to get away from him, from his touch, his voice, that wicked grin that makes my stomach clench. As I reach the opening and burst out onto a balcony, I try to banish him from my head. My attempts are futile, he's a relentless vine weaving throughout all my thoughts.

What I first thought was a balcony is more of an alcove off the main room. It gives the illusion of being outdoors—a railing wrapping around the edge covered in white flowers, there's no airflow, no view to what lies outside, only another stone wall. I take a shaky breath and tuck around the corner away from the opening, leaning my back against the wall.

It doesn't take Killian long to find me lingering in the shadows, his cheeks flushed. "Freya?" He stops a few feet away, eyebrows furrowed. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

He frowns and take a step closer. "You've gone pale." He reaches a hand to brush against my forehead. "Are you cold?"

I swat his hand away. "I'm fine. I'll be out in a moment."

"Freya—"

"Just go, Killian. You shouldn't even be here," I snap. He blinks at me, expression unfathomable. "Does Casimir even know you're here tonight?"

He ignores my question, taking another hesitant step forward. "Did they hurt you?" he asks, voice low.

"What?"

"I was watching so closely but there was about five minutes where I lost sight—"

"You shouldn't have kissed me," I blurt.

He stops in his tracks, dropping his hand as his brows furrow. "What?"

"Last night. In the hall. I wish you hadn't done that."

"It was a split-second decision to keep our cover."

"There must've been another way."

He grows very still. I wish I could read his stoic expression. "I'm sorry, I should've... I didn't realise you were so upset about it." He takes a step closer, eyes growing serious. "I wouldn't tell anybody if that's what you're worried about."

I let out a shaky breath, looking over his shoulder. Nobody has come to search for me yet, and if they did, I'd see them long before they'd see me tucked in the shadows. I came out to escape Killian, but it has only served to frustrate me more. He doesn't understand the root of my anger, and it's far too embarrassing to admit.

"I should get back inside," I say. "I am the guest of honour, after all."

I step past him, but Killian catches my wrist. "A kiss doesn't mean anything, Freya. Not if you don't want it to."

I can't keep the words from escaping. "Is that what you want? For it to mean nothing?"

His lips part, eyebrows drawing together as his eyes rake across my face—from my nose to my forehead, to my lips, back to my eyes.

"This is the most important night of my life," I say when he doesn't respond. "If anything goes wrong, I'm risking everything I've worked towards this past year. But instead of worrying about Casimir or Elex or whether Elora is going to hurt me I'm thinking of you. It's infuriatingly distracting." I take a shaky breath as his grip on my wrist tightens. "There. Is that what you want to hear?"

He shakes his head but pulls me back into the shadows. His scent wraps around me as his eyes cast to my lips, lashes casting shadows across his cheekbones. "You... you don't know what you're saying."

"Yes, I do."

His breath is as shaky as my own. The minuscule space between us buzzes with my irritation and the electricity of something magnetic. "You hate me," he murmurs, craning his neck. "You think I'm an arrogant prick, remember?"

"Because you are." I shudder as his lips brush against my cheek. "And you think I'm reckless and hostile."

"You are."

He pulls away only an inch to stare down at me. His eyes were warm before; now they burn. And I wonder if maybe, just maybe, the magnetic pull between us isn't a figment of my imagination.

"Freya," he whispers. "We're from two different worlds. You're not like me."

"Just because I'm not a deserter that doesn't make me inferior to you."

"That's not what I meant. I don't think that. You know I don't. You just... you don't know what you're--"

"Stop telling me what I know."

We stare at one another, the tension burning. I don't know who closes the distance between us, but his lips finally brush mine with the delicacy of a feather. His body is completely taut as our lips part, our breath intermingling.

When our lips meet again, everything falls away—the ball, Elora, the music—it's only me and Killian standing in the shadows of the towering pillar. I only feel his lips, the hands gravitating to my waist, tightening when I grip his arm. Slow, soft, tender. My back presses against the pillar. There's no room between us and yet the need for closeness plagues my every thought. His arms snake around my back, his kiss deepening.