Maia stood in the dim corner of the grand ballroom, her champagne glass trembling in her hand. The chandeliers glittered like stars in the night sky, illuminating the dancers who twirled around the room like ballerinas in a music box. Maia wished she could escape from this depressing ritual that took place every weekend, where ladies queued for hours to be chosen as dance partners, praying to find a husband at the end of it all.

Her eyes drifted over the room, and her gaze eventually settled on her stepmother, Duchess Theon, whose lips were curved into a sly smile as she spoke with one of the princes of their kingdom. Maia noticed how her fingers delicately brushed against his arm. It wasn’t a heavy touch that would seem inappropriate, just light enough to be mistaken for a graze, which sent a thrill through the men like no other. Beside her stood Ember, Maia’s stepsister, dressed in a vibrant green gown that seemed to glow like moss clinging to a rocky cliff. Her wide smile betrayed her desperation—oh, what she wouldn’t give to marry into a well-off family.

The air was thick with the scent of perfume and cologne, mingling into a cacophony that threatened to overwhelm Maia’s senses. However, she pressed on, determined not to be intimidated by the opulence on display around her.

A server in a sleek black tuxedo leaned forward, “Another glass of champagne, miss?” he inquired.

Maia stared into the distance, her face a mask of concentration and her heart pounding in her chest. She thought of the marriage proposal offered by her stepmother to Dante Cassius, the renowned Grand Cross and right hand of the King. His legendary skills in warfare had earned him vast respect within the kingdom, and his refusal to engage in unnecessary bloodshed had made him a trusted advisor. Taking a deep breath, she finally spoke. “Thank you, but no,” she said firmly.

Maia scanned the ballroom, uncomfortable in her restrictive dress and heels. The stories shared about Dante were conflicting: some described a kind-hearted suitor with a wickedly sharp wit, while others described an icy figure whose affections could be bought only by outrageous dowries. Maia was at the dance at her stepmother’s insistence, desperate to find a suitor that would bring prestige to their family name. But as the hour inched past midnight, and the music slowed to a steady drone, it became clear that Dante wasn’t coming. Relief washed over Maia; deep down, she knew she didn’t want to marry—not now, not ever.

As the night dragged on, Maia grew increasingly uneasy. She watched Ember laugh and fawn over the prince while Duchess Theon’s voice rang with insincerity as she fed him empty compliments. When Maia met her stepmother’s cold gaze, a wave of revulsion coursed through her body. Her eyes drifted to her drink, and the memories of her late father played through her mind like an old film reel. Tears blurred her vision, and she blinked them away.

“Such a lovely evening, isn’t it?” Maia froze, startled by the deep baritone that had crept up behind her like a stealthy fog on a chilly night.

She slowly rotated her body, nearly too afraid to look. As her eyes met his, she felt a chill run through her veins. Cato, the high-ranking general and close confidant of Dante Cassius, stood before her. His gaze was unnerving; a mix of genuine curiosity and barely contained amusement flitted across his face. He seemed to enjoy watching her squirm.

She cleared her throat and replied, “Indeed.” Her pulse raced as she nervously glanced at him, wondering what he knew about the proposal. “But I must excuse myself,” she forced a smile and put down the half-empty glass of wine before straightening back up. With her head held high, she made her way outside.

“Of course,” Cato nodded in agreement, his gaze following her back as she gracefully stepped away from the revelry. He watched until she had melted into the crowd.

Maia dashed down the long hallway, her heart pounding in her ears. The edge of a rose-colored carpet dragged beneath her feet as if trying to slow her progress. As she drew closer to the exit, the walls seemed to draw nearer and compress, engulfing her with their suffocating weight. She could feel each beat of her wings pounding against them, pushing her farther until she finally burst through the double doors into the outdoor court. An icy breath hit her face, carrying with it the scent of jasmine and magnolia blossoms. A soft blue light illuminated the empty garden, offering a momentary respite from the chaos inside. Every nerve shook with anticipation as she wondered what lay ahead for her if Dante accepted her stepmother’s offer.

Fearful whispers of his coldness echoed in her mind, and she feared that he would only add to the abuse she already faced at the hands of her stepmother. But beneath the fear was an excitement that she refused to acknowledge. She tilted her head back, allowing the cool night air to awaken her senses as she studied the star-filled sky. Pinpricks of light illuminated her face, and a small smile curved her lips upwards as she took in the beauty of the heavens above. It reminded her of another world—one without judgment or hardship. A bittersweet smile graced her lips as she marveled at the world above her, so far removed from the turmoil below.

Maia released a slow breath and braced herself for what lay ahead. Her feet moved across the stone tiles in almost perfect silence, her light steps carrying her through the meandering castle halls. As she approached a room, a harsh voice reached out from within, vibrating with barely contained fury. “Another one? Another proposal of marriage?”

Her pulse quickened at the sound of the voice, and her breath hitched in her throat. She couldn’t help listening, curiosity mingling with dread in the pit of her stomach. Another one, she thought to herself.

Maia crept through the stone-lined hallway as eerie shadows danced across the walls. As she inched closer, she could make out two men conversing. The first’s voice was gruff and low; the second spoke with a mocking lilt. “Who’s the lucky lady this time?” He paused, followed by raucous laughter.

He sighed heavily, a sound that reverberated through the still air and sent an icy chill down Maia’s spine. “Duke Theon’s daughter,” he murmured with venom in his voice.

That’s my father. She thought to herself. Instantly, her stomach dropped, and she felt a wave of nausea wash over her. They were speaking of her, and the man whose voice seeped through the cracks like a venomous snake must have been Dante Cassius himself.

“Ah, the illustrious Duke Theon, may his soul rest in peace,” the second man mused. “An intelligent, resourceful man who left behind quite an inheritance.”

Dante’s voice was a low growl, and his expression shifted from disdainful to calculating as he spoke. “Indeed,” he spat, “but it is not his wealth that I am interested in, Cato. It’s his daughter. Can you imagine what will become of me if I am shackled to such a woman?”

With a twinkle of mischief in his eyes, Cato said, “I saw her at the dance earlier. The one you decided not to attend. She seems nice. Perhaps you should get to know her first before passing judgment.”

Dante’s lip curled in a sneer as he spat out his words. “Or not. I’d rather face a thousand charging knights than have to suffer through a marriage to some ignorant, pampered noblewoman. They’re all delusional, prideful snobs who think they are above everyone else. It would be a living hell.”

Is that so? Maia thought, her chest tightening with anger. How dare he make such assumptions about her without ever having met her? She was no fragile flower, wilting at the first sign of adversity. No, she was a tempest, a force to be reckoned with, and she refused to let him define her by his narrow-minded views.

Cato’s voice was low and deep, resonating inside Maia. He said with a glimmer of hope, “Maybe she’ll surprise you.”

Dante rolled his eyes and let out a snort. “Unlikely,” he scoffed. “The richer they are, the more conceited they are. Her father was one of the richest dukes in the kingdom. I refuse.”

Maia’s heart raced as Dante’s harsh words rang in her ears. The sting of his insults cut deeper than any slight from her stepmother. She had reached her limit. The pressure to marry and his condescending remarks were too much to bear. Taking a deep breath, Maia pushed the cracked door open and stepped into the room.

Maia’s steps faltered as she laid eyes on Dante Cassius. He stood over six feet tall, every inch of him radiating power and confidence. His features were striking: piercing silver eyes, short dark hair, and a small scar along his right jawline—a reminder of the many battles he fought and won. His body was toned and athletic, which added to the charm of his knight’s armor, tailored to fit his frame perfectly. Even though Maia felt her heart skipping a beat at the sight of him, she quickly suppressed it. Her burning rage overshadowed any admiration she could have felt for Dante.

“Good afternoon, Commander Cassius,” she said through clenched jaws as her eyes burned with barely contained wrath. She stood stiffly, her hands folded before her, her gaze unwavering, “May I have a word?”