The ballroom glittered beneath hundreds of candles, their warm light reflecting from crystal chandeliers and polished marble until the entire hall seemed to shimmer.
Noblemen and ladies drifted between clusters of conversation, their laughter blending with the gentle melody of the string quartet positioned at the far end of the room, while servants moved silently through the crowd carrying silver trays laden with wine and delicate pastries.
Everything had been arranged meticulously to celebrate this farce of an engagement.
Cassandra stood near one of the tall windows overlooking the flower garden in the Ravenshire estate, a wine glass resting untouched in her hand.
Across the ballroom she watched John smile at one of the guests.
It wasn’t the same smug smile she remembered him wearing at her execution.
It was another one. A charming one.
The same one a few women in the past had described as devastating to the heart.
He laughed easily with an elderly countess before bowing gracefully over her offered hand. Moments later, he turned to greet a group of young officers, listening with such genuine interest that each man appeared convinced he alone possessed John’s complete attention.
From there he excused himself to compliment a Vicar’s wife on the exquisite jewels adorning her gown before moving on to exchange greetings with her father.
Then her brother.
Then another guest.
Every conversation flowed effortlessly into the next.
Every laugh came at precisely the right moment.
Every compliment felt sincere.
The room revolved around him as though he were the centre of it.
People adored him.
Cassandra watched noblewomen blush beneath his attention. Elderly lords greeted him with approving smiles. Even the servants straightened ever so slightly whenever he addressed them.
In her past life, she would have stood exactly where she was now and watched him with pride.
She would have believed herself fortunate.
Now she could only watch him in horror.
The illusion had finally shattered.
With him, it had always been a performance.
John changed to suit each conversation, becoming precisely the man each person wished him to be.
She had once mistaken that remarkable ability for thoughtfulness. Now she recognised it for what it truly was.
Manipulation.
Her fingers tightened around the stem of her glass until it threatened to shatter.
Was anything about him even real?
No one else saw it. How could they?
To everyone gathered inside this ballroom, John Ravenshire embodied everything a gentleman ought to be.
Courteous.
Patient.
Attentive.
Honourable.
But the man charming half the ballroom was the same man who had taught her to fear the sound of his approaching footsteps.
A wolf dressed in sheep’s clothing.
A familiar panic tightened around her chest.
How had she failed to see it before?
For one terrifying heartbeat, she imagined crossing the ballroom.
She imagined lifting one of the dinner knives from a passing servant’s tray, her fingers curling tightly around its polished handle.
She imagined driving the blade straight through John’s chest, imagining the shock on his face. She imagined the blood staining his immaculate coat.
Imagined wiping that perfect smile from his lips forever.
The fantasy was so vivid her fingers twitched.
Then—
No.
She squeezed her eyes shut and drew a calming breath.
Violence had never come naturally to her.
Throughout her years serving beside Queen Delphine, she had preferred negotiations to threats, diplomacy to bloodshed. She settled disputes between nobles, and negotiated treaties without ever once reaching for a weapon.
John, however, had always managed to awaken something ugly inside her.
If she attacked him now, she would become exactly what John needed her to be. The situation would only work against her. As satisfying as it would be to strike him in such a reckless, hostile manner, it would only serve his interests in the end.
She would be seen as an unstable woman. Exactly the image John had always wanted the world to believe.
An unstable woman.
An irrational fiancée.
A thoughtless wife.
Everything he had spent years convincing people she was.
Throughout their marriage he had delighted in provoking her until she finally reacted, only to step back and play the innocent victim while she appeared unreasonable.
He had done it so often she lost count.
If she lost control tonight, she would lose everything. Her place beside the Queen, her place in court and any chance of uncovering the conspiracy. Delphine will still die.
Any hope of changing her fate would be gone.
She would hand victory to the very people who had orchestrated her downfall.
When Cassandra opened her eyes again, her anger was no longer the wild thing from moments ago.
Across the ballroom, John happened to glance in her direction.
Their eyes met and he smiled at her before raising his glass ever so slightly.
He truly believed he had won.
After all, he had dismissed her letter, dismissed her objections. Dismissed every attempt she had made to end their engagement.
He believed tonight was merely another step towards their wedding.
Cassandra smiled back. She knew exactly how this evening would end.
After John had visited Ashford House, she had exhausted every reasonable option. She had appealed to her parents time and time again.
Each attempt had been ignored.
They had already made their choice. Now she would make hers.
"Lady Cassandra." The voice carried clearly across the ballroom.
Conversation gradually quietened as William Ravenshire, John’s father, stepped forward with an expression of unmistakable delight.
"If I may ask the future bride and groom to join us."
The musicians allowed the final notes of their performance to fade into silence.
Every guest turned expectantly towards the couple.
John crossed the ballroom with quick strides and stopped before Cassandra, offering her his arm.
"As always," he murmured softly enough that only she could hear, "you’ve come to your senses."
Cassandra lowered her gaze to his outstretched arm.
For a single moment, she simply looked at it. Then she walked past him.
Her behavior confused some of the guests and they exchanged puzzled glances.
John remained motionless for only the briefest instant before smoothly lowering his arm and following after her as though nothing unusual had happened.
His smile never wavered.
Together, they stepped before the gathered nobility.
Nathaniel Ashford looked thoroughly pleased with himself. Her mother, Vivienne, positively glowed with pride.
Neither noticed the widening distance between their daughter and the man standing beside her.
"My lords and ladies," William Ravenshire announced, his voice echoing throughout the ballroom, "tonight we gather to celebrate the forthcoming union between House Ashford and House—"
"You needn’t continue."