From where he stood on the stone white balcony, Rhys instinctively scanned the ballroom for potential threats, his hand flexing at his side, as if needing to reach for the sword he knew was not there. The king had relieved him of his duties for the night so he could attend the winter ball as a guest, allowed to revel in the festivities the event had to offer alongside his fellow nobles. He was expected to enjoy himself, but instead, he found he was counting down the minutes until everyone would become so drunk on wine and mirth that they wouldn't notice him slipping out.

His eyes landed on the figure in the center of the dance floor, standing out amongst the sea of dancing people in her crimson Victorian gown.

The princess. His princess.

She was beautiful beyond words. She shone like the brightest star in the sky, drawing the attention of everyone in the room. She was slow dancing with the duke, laughing as he held her close and brushed back a strand of hair from her eyes. She looked so happy, so content to be in his arms.

The duke lowered to whisper something in her ear then, and Rhys turned away. He couldn't bring himself to watch the pair any longer. He could taste his jealousy on his tongue a bitter and unsavory thing.