Chapter Twenty Eight - He finally Came
LIORA
The music rose into a waltzing crescendo, sweeping couples into graceful motion across the grand ballroom floor. Gilded mirrors caught their silhouettes in spinning fragments of light. I stood near one of the marble pillars, a faint smile on my lips, but my eyes drifted often to the gilded entrance, heart gently thudding in my chest.
He wasn’t there. Not yet.
Kaira had long since disappeared into the crowd, swept into conversation with nobles and courtiers, with Renese. I remained poised and graceful, but a flicker of uncertainty danced behind my gaze.
I stood alone for a heartbeat, surrounded by a sea of nobles dressed in brilliant silks and velvets, each pair swirling across the dance floor like pieces in a living painting. My sapphire gown caught the candlelight and glowed faintly. Still, my gaze remained fixed on the tall double doors, waiting—hoping.
Then it happened. Few minutes.
Without fanfare, without a single trumpet to announce him—the grand double doors at the far end of the ballroom creaked open.
At first, no one noticed. The music played on. Conversations continued.
But then the light from the hallway flickered across steel-toed boots. A figure stood at the threshold, tall and broad-shouldered, shrouded not in a cloak or hood as many expected—but in elegance.
Kieran.
He stepped into the light fully, and the air shifted—like a room drawing breath.
His attire was nothing like the somber garb he usually wore. Tonight, Kieran wore midnight. A tailored black coat trimmed in silver embroidery hugged his form, the velvet catching the light with every movement. His collar was slightly open, revealing a glint of a silver chain at his neck. His brown hair, usually tousled or hidden beneath a hood, was combed back, letting the strong lines of his face show fully. His eyes—cold, sharp gold—scanned the room.
No mask.
No armor.
No shadows to hide behind.
He was a prince tonight.
And everyone knew it.
Gasps echoed softly across the ballroom. Even the musicians faltered slightly before the conductor urgently motioned them to continue. Murmurs began to rise like smoke—“Is that him?” “Prince Kieran?” “He’s never attended a ball before.” “He’s… Handsome.”
Powerful. Regal.
Even the king, seated at his elevated dais with his advisors, leaned forward in his chair, brows lifting in startled disbelief. He said nothing—but the tightening of his jaw and narrowing of his eyes spoke volumes.
Renese, who was with Kaira, stiffened. Her wine glass trembled slightly in her fingers. Her wide eyes locked on Kieran, disbelief painted across her face. She leaned toward Kaira and whispered something, but her gaze never left him.
My breath caught.
I saw more than the attire. More than the regal posture. I saw the storm beneath his calm gaze, the intensity veiled just beneath that princely exterior. And yet, my heart lifted.
He had come.
Kieran’s gaze looking for mine.
For a moment, it was as though the entire room dimmed. The candlelight seemed to shrink, the crowd disappeared, and only the space between us mattered. His expression shifted subtly—his features softening, a warmth flickering behind those golden eyes.
And then, his eyes found me.
I stood at the edge of the dance floor, luminous and waiting. My lips parted, stunned not by the grandeur of his arrival, but by the raw presence he carried with him—how he seemed to shift the very balance of the room.
Then he walked—purposeful and unhurried—across the ballroom floor.
People parted for him like waves before a dark tide. No one dared stop him. No one dared interrupt.
He reached me.
The silence was absolute.
My heart fluttered. I had never seen him this way—so composed, so unmistakably royal, yet so wholly himself.
He bowed slightly, his voice low and rich. “Apologies for the lateness.”
My smile bloomed fully. “You came.”
I blinked, then smiled—softly, shyly. “I thought you wouldn’t come.”
“I promised, didn’t I?” he said, offering his hand to me.
I placed mine into his without hesitation.
And the moment our fingers touched, the music changed.
And with that, he pulled me into the center of the floor. The music returned, tender and slow at first. As we moved together, the others joined in gradually, but it was clear who held the attention of the hall. We were a picture out of legend—Kieran, regal and fierce in black and crimson; me, graceful and bright as moonlight.
He placed a gentle hand on my waist, the other holding my hand as he began to move—guiding me, steady and sure. His grip was warm, protective. His touch light but grounded. I followed easily, letting the rhythm of his steps guide my own.
“You've improved,” he said in his deep cold voice.
I laughed quietly, breathless. “You’re making quite the entrance, Your Highness.”
“I thought I should give them something to talk about.”
We danced in silence for a few moments, my gown flowing like water with each spin, his movements graceful and protective. Then he leaned in, his breath brushing her ear.
“You look beautiful tonight, Liora.” My heart sank to my stomach. First time he has ever said that to me.
I looked up, lips parting. “You’re not so bad yourself.”
We laughter mingled with the music, quiet and close. For the first time since stepping into the palace, I felt weightless.
And Kieran, the man so often shrouded in darkness, danced under the chandeliers like he belonged in the light all along.
We danced not with practiced formality, but as though we moved by instinct, each step drawing us closer, each turn speaking more than words ever could. I barely noticed the eyes that followed us, the murmurs rising like waves.
All I could feel was the steady warmth of his hand on my waist, the strength in his hold, and the quiet, stormy look in his eyes that, for once, seemed made only for me.