Aziza stood near one of the tall windows, watching the dancers turn beneath the chandeliers. She had made it through the first part of the Charity Ball without tripping, forgetting anyone’s name, or accidentally offending a dignitary. Greg had introduced her to a steady stream of important people… ministers, ambassadors, noble families, and donors whose names she started to fear would be hard to remember. She had smiled, listened, and answered questions as confidently as she could.
So far, she thought, she had done well.
The ballroom glittered with candlelight and polished silver. Music floated above the conversations, and the dancers moved across the floor in graceful patterns. Aziza had been grateful for a moment to herself. She needed a little space to let all the names, titles, and expectations settle in her mind.
One of the women she’d met earlier had stayed with her thoughts. Lady Sophie was young, soft-spoken, and visibly nervous when introduced to a room full of strangers; however, she had seemed genuinely kind. She’d asked Aziza about her studies and listened to the answers rather than waiting for her turn to speak. When Aziza had admitted she was still learning the steps of royal life, Sophie had confessed she had also married into nobility and sometimes found the same world overwhelming.
She could imagine being friends with her. They had so much in common, and Aziza felt that she had finally found someone who could understand what she was going through.
It was a comforting thought. She needed someone here who didn’t look at her as a scandal, a political problem, or a woman who’d somehow won a prince.
Her gaze moved across the ballroom until she found Greg on the opposite side, speaking with two officials. He stood straight-backed in his formal attire, one hand resting at his side while he listened. Then, he looked up, as though he’d sensed her watching.
Their eyes met.
His expression softened into a smile meant only for her.
The sight pulled her back to the moment before they had entered the ballroom. She’d been waiting in their sitting area while a maid made the final adjustments to her gown. When Greg appeared in the doorway, he’d stopped so suddenly that she’d wondered whether something was wrong.
Then, he looked at her.
Not as a prince assessing whether his wife was dressed appropriately, or a man worrying about the evening’s demands. He looked at her with such open admiration that she forgot how to breathe for a moment.
“You look beautiful,” he’d said.
She tried to make a joke, but the words had come out smaller than she intended. “You look pretty good yourself.”
His smile had widened, “Pretty good?”
“Very good,” she’d amended, and he laughed.
Now, across the ballroom, that same smile warmed her. She felt it in her chest, a quiet reassurance amid the crowd.
She thought, too, of waking beside him that morning. For a few seconds she’d been too shy to do anything but stare at him, aware of the closeness between them and of how different it felt to wake up together after choosing to stay. Greg had made it easy to relax. He teased her gently, kissed her, and then reminded her that they had a full day ahead.
He’d asked her to move back into his rooms… wait… no… their rooms, he’d corrected himself.
She had wanted to say yes. The thought of returning to her own room every night suddenly seemed less appealing than staying beside him, but she’d held back, afraid of seeming too eager… or of promising something she hadn’t fully understood yet.
However, she still wanted to say yes.
She would tell him later, she decided. She would give it a trial run. It was a sensible way to put it, even if the truth was that she liked waking up beside him more than she wanted to admit.
“Your Highness.”
Aziza turned to find Queen Clarissa standing beside her, as elegant as before, in a gown of deep green. Her expression was composed, but not unkind.
“Your Majesty,” Aziza said, curtsying deeply, before looking back at her mother-in-law.
“I wanted to tell you that you’ve done very well this evening,” the Queen said. “You’ve learned a great deal in a very short time.”
“Thank you. I’m trying my best.”
“I can see that,” the Queen’s gaze moved over the room. “But, don’t mistake one successful evening for the end of your difficulties. There will be people who are pleased to see you succeed, and others who will be waiting for you to fail.”
Aziza’s smile faded, “Do you know who they are?”
“I know that they exist.”
“Then could you tell me more? I’d rather understand what I’m facing. If there are people who want to see me fail, I’d like to know their names.”
The Queen studied her for a moment. Then, a small smile appeared.
“An understandable request.”
“But?”
“But, I must tend to my other guests,” she said, inclining her head. “Enjoy the evening, Aziza.”
With one last pointed smile, she turned and was gone.
Aziza watched her leave, frustrated by the answer. The Queen had offered a warning without giving her anything useful to do with it. Was she trying to protect Aziza, or simply reminding her that she was still an outsider?
Before she could decide, Margaret appeared at her side with several other ladies.
“Aziza,” Margaret said, her smile polished and bright. “You seem to be managing the evening beautifully.”
“Thank you. I’m glad to hear it.”
“You must be exhausted. So many introductions, so many names,” Margaret gestured toward the women with her. “We were just discussing how difficult it can be to learn the customs of a new court.”
“I imagine it is,” Aziza said.
One of the ladies tilted her head, “And yet, you seem to have adapted quickly.”
“I’ve had some very patient teachers, Greg included.”
“Greg?” one of the ladies asked, confusion written all over her face.
“Oh… I mean my husband, Prince Alexander Gregory.”
Margaret’s smile tightened, “And a great deal of attention, it seems.”
“Attention is hard to avoid when people keep pointing it out.”
A few of the women exchanged glances. Margaret gave a small laugh, as though Aziza had made a charming joke.
“You do have a way with words,” she said. “I suppose that must be useful when you’re still learning how to behave at court.”
Aziza felt the barb beneath the compliment. “Well…”
“Though, a word of advice,” Margaret said, placing her hand on her chest. “You mustn’t forget to always use a person’s proper name at all times.”
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Prince Alexander Gregory. You keep calling him Greg,” she said, cutting Aziza with her eyes, as she smirked slightly.
“Um… ok… so, what’s the problem?”
“Well, for one, it’s not his name,” Margaret glared at her as though it were obvious. “Secondly, he hates nicknames as well as his middle name.”
Aziza chuckled quietly, “Really, because he doesn’t seem to mind when I call him that.”
“Oh, poor thing! No offence, but he’s probably tolerating your horrid American ways. Trust me, I’m one of his oldest friends, so I know for a fact how much he abhors that name. He would rather you call him Alexander.”
Knows him, Aziza couldn’t believe what she was hearing. This woman doesn’t know the back of her own pinky finger let alone my husband!
She drew a deep breath, already forming a reply that would be polite enough to pass as harmless and sharp enough to sting.
However, before she could speak, a familiar voice interrupted.
“Aziza. May I claim the dance you promised me?”
Crown Prince Alexander stood beside them, offering his arm.
She blinked, then remembered the dance he’d demanded earlier. “Of course, Crown Prince Alexander.”
“Alex,” he reminded her, with a slight smile.
“Right… Alex,” she glanced over at the ladies beside her.
They all looked back and forth between Aziza and the Crown Prince with their mouths half open and eyes wide. However, Margaret’s expression was difficult to read as Aziza accepted his arm.
The Crown Prince led her toward the dance floor, leaving the other women behind. As they joined the dancers, Aziza glanced across the room. Greg had turned toward them. His eyes followed her and his brother, his expression unreadable.
She hoped he wouldn’t worry, and she hoped this dance would be easier than the conversation she just escaped.
The music started and they began moving across the floor in a waltz. Aziza had practiced this dance for several hours each day for the past few weeks, but she still found herself counting the steps in her head, struggling to keep from looking down at her feet. Alexander guided Aziza into the next turn of the dance, his hand resting lightly at her back. She followed the steps as best she could, grateful for the lessons that had left her with at least a general sense of what to do.
Across the ballroom, Greg was still watching.
Aziza tried not to look too often. She didn’t want him to think she was uncomfortable, though she wasn’t entirely sure what to make of dancing with his brother after the questions he’d asked her in the parlor.
“You’re improving,” Alexander said.
“Thank you.”
“Though you look as though you’re expecting me to ask you another dozen questions,” he paused, looking over in Greg’s direction. “Or, are you worried we’ll make my brother jealous by us dancing so close to each other?”
Was he generally curious, or was he trying to get a reaction from her? She wasn’t sure, but one thing was for certain… she was being tested. The only question now was why?
“Are you…” she asked, looking up at him, “planning to ask me more questions?”
“Only a few.”
She gave him a wary look, “That’s what you said last time.”
He smiled, “And you survived.”
The music carried them through another turn. Aziza tried to relax her shoulders.
“Crown Prince Alexander…”
“Alex.”
She hesitated, “Al… Alex… I’m not sure I’ll get used to calling you that.”
“You’ll manage.”
“I'm beginning to think everyone in this family enjoys telling me what I’ll manage.”
“Only when we’re right.”
She almost laughed. “That’s a very royal answer.”
“Then let me ask a less royal question,” his expression shifted. “What happened with Travis?”
Aziza’s step faltered for half a beat. Alex steadied her without comment, and she recovered before the next turn.
“Travis?”
“Your former boyfriend.”
She looked at him in surprise. Then she remembered… he was the Crown Prince. He could know about her past even if the newspapers hadn’t printed it. To her relief, the story of her breakup hadn’t become part of the public narrative. The press had focused on the Vegas marriage, the scandal, and her sudden arrival in Valoria.
“How do you know about him?” she asked.
“I know enough about my brother’s life and the people he associates with to know that you were hurt before you married him.”
Now it all made sense. Her former relationship and chaotic union with Greg were the reason for all the questions and tests. Aziza considered how much to say. The music gave her time to choose her words, and Alex waited without pressing her.
“Travis and I were together for a little over a year,” she began. “We were comfortable with each other. At least, I thought we were. We knew each other’s routines, spent time with the same friends, and talked about what we might do after college.”
“And then?”
“He cheated on me with someone he used to know. When I found out, he apologized, but he also wanted me to pretend it hadn’t changed anything. He wanted us to stay together… or at least stay close… because he didn’t want to lose me.”
Alex’s expression grew serious, “And you ended it.”
“I did. It hurt, but I knew I couldn’t trust him the same way anymore.”
They moved through another turn. Aziza could feel the memory settling over her, but it no longer had the same sharpness it once did. She had been hurt by Travis, but she had also learned something about herself. She didn’t want to stay with someone simply because leaving was difficult.
“After the breakup, my friends took me to Las Vegas to get me out of my own head,” she continued. “Greg came with us. We were friends, and he’d been there for me before. The marriage happened after a night that got out of control.”
Alex’s brow lifted, “You make it sound remarkably simple.”
“It wasn’t simple at all,” she glanced toward Greg, then back at his brother. “But the important part is that I chose to stay married to your brother after I knew what I was agreeing to. I didn’t marry him because I was trying to replace Travis.”
“And you have no lingering feelings for your former boyfriend?”
“No,” her answer came easily. “I don’t want to go back to him. I care about Greg. I’m committed to our marriage.”
Alex seemed to consider that, his expression thoughtful rather than judgmental.
“Then let me ask you once again,” he said. “Are you in love with my brother?”
Aziza’s chest tightened.
She had known the question would come eventually. Still, hearing it asked so directly made her feel as though the ballroom had grown smaller around her.
“To be honest, I’m not ready to give you an answer to that yet,” she said. “I care about Greg… a great deal, but I’m still trying to understand what I feel and what it means.”
Alex didn’t immediately respond.
Aziza took a breath and turned the question back on him, “You care about him, too… don’t you?”
His eyes flickered, “What makes you say that?”
“The way you’ve been questioning me since we met. You’re trying to make sure I won’t hurt him.”
“I’m trying to understand whether you’re good for him.”
“I know,” she held his gaze. “But I think you’re more protective of him than you want him to know, or anyone else for that matter.”
Alex’s expression closed slightly, but he didn’t interrupt.
“Well, I can tell you right now that you’re not fooling anyone,” she paused, glancing over at Greg again. “Well, I take that back, there’s one person you’re managing to fool.”
Alex followed her gaze over to where Greg was standing. He hadn’t taken his eyes off of them and it seemed that with every minute they danced, he became angrier.
“Maybe, you should show him just how much you care,” Aziza said. “Not just by questioning the people who get close to him, but by letting him know you care.”
They moved through another turn. Alex’s gaze had drifted off in the distance, and she wondered if she’d said too much.
“I know I don’t understand everything that happened between you,” she added. She knew she should stop, but she couldn’t. It needed to be said. “I probably shouldn’t say anything. It… it isn’t my story to tell, but I do know that there was a time when Greg was given a big responsibility, and instead of feeling supported, he felt ridiculed. I think it hurt him more than he lets on.”
Alex stopped speaking.
The music continued around them, and Aziza followed his lead through the remaining steps. His face had gone still, his eyes fixed somewhere beyond her shoulder.
She didn’t press him. She just let the statement hang there between them.
“I believe it’s my turn now.”
Aziza glanced behind her, as Alex brought her to a stop. Greg stood there with barely a civil look on his face.
“Well, I see that our time is up, dear sister-in-law,” Alex said, still looking at Greg with a sly smirk. “It seems that my brother has had enough of our little plot to make him jealous.”
“What… that’s not… we didn’t plan…”
“You can let go of my wife now,” Greg sighed, holding his hand out for hers.
Smiling wider, Alex released her hand.
“I’ll consider what you said,” he looked at her once more, slightly bowing his head.
“Thank you,”
Lifting her hand again, he kissed it as he looked at Greg from the corner of his eyes. His smile widened as he said, “Enjoy the rest of the evening, Aziza.”
Then, he placed her hand in Greg’s and left.
Greg glared at Alex’s back for a few seconds before taking in a deep breath and turning towards her.
“Finally, I have you to myself,” he said.
He led her back into a waltz, as though the dance was never interrupted. Aziza fell easily into step with Greg as they moved around the ballroom floor.
“I missed you,” he said softly.
Aziza couldn’t help chuckling. “Missed me? How could you miss me when we came here together? I’ve only been across the room from you.”
“And yet, it felt like we were miles apart.”
She looked away, her cheeks burned. She could only hope that he didn’t see her blushing. They slowly came to a stop for only a few minutes, before swaying side to side as the next song began to play.
Greg’s expression changed, as he locked eyes with her. “Next time, don’t accept a dance with my brother.”
“Greg, how can I say no to him? He’s the Crown Prince.”
“Just don’t accept it.”
“You sound pretty jealous right now.”
“I am,” there was a pause. “You just don’t know how much I wanted to knock him out at that moment.”
Staring at the floor, Aziza tried to hide her smile. For some reason, that made her happy. The fact that Greg had actually got jealous over one little dance was ridiculous; however, she completely understood it.
When the dance ended, he escorted her from the floor and returned her to the side of the ballroom. Unfortunately, Margaret stood nearby with a larger group now… several women and men, all dressed in formal evening attire. Aziza’s stomach sank. Of all the places Greg could have brought her to, it just had to be the one near that woman. She had hoped for a few minutes alone with her husband, not another gathering.
“You must be thirsty? What would you like,” he asked.
She nodded. “Water would be nice.”
“I’ll be right back with your water,” Greg said, as he pushed a stray hair behind her ear.
“Thank you.”
He caressed the side of her face for just a moment, before he smiled then walked off in search of refreshments.
Margaret stepped forward first, “There you are. We were wondering where you’d gone.”
“Dancing,” Aziza said, keeping her tone pleasant.
“Of course,” Margaret’s gaze slid toward Greg’s retreating figure. “How fortunate that Crown Prince Alexander was able to rescue you from our conversation earlier.”
Aziza’s smile thinned, “I wasn’t aware I needed rescuing.”
A man in the group laughed awkwardly, then looked away.
Margaret’s expression remained sweet, “I only meant that you’ve had a great deal to manage tonight. Especially after yesterday’s unfortunate incident in town.”
Aziza felt her stomach tighten.
“What about it?”
“Oh, surely you’ve seen the article.”
“I have.”
“Such a shame,” Margaret continued. “The story made it sound as though you caused quite a disturbance.”
Several people turned toward Aziza. One woman frowned with what looked like concern.
“Was it true?” she asked. “Did you confront someone in the market?”
“Was it really a scene?” another added. “The paper said security had to restrain a woman.”
Aziza’s fingers curled against her palm.
The article… the headline. The comments she’d read that morning, when she’d been unable to stop herself from scrolling through the public reaction, had taken its toll on her. Reginald had to pry the tablet from her hands, forbidding her from looking at the thing for a whole week. However, it didn’t stop her from seeing how people called her ungrateful, saying she’d married Greg for his title. A few people even said she was a disgrace and had no business representing Valoria.
She could hear the woman’s voice from the market again… sharp and furious, accusing her of being unworthy. She remembered Greg catching the woman’s arm, the sudden rush of security, the way everyone had stared.
“I didn’t cause it,” Aziza said, quietly.
Margaret’s brows rose, “I didn’t say you did.”
“But… you brought it up.”
“Only because people are talking about it.”
“People are talking about a story that isn’t true.”
The woman who had asked about the incident shifted uncomfortably, “I’m sure it was frightening, but the article said…”
“The article lied.”
The words came out louder than Aziza intended. A few nearby guests turned toward them.
Margaret lifted her hands, “No one is accusing you, Aziza.”
“Then stop asking me to explain something I didn’t do.”
A hush spread through the small group. Aziza felt heat rush to her face, and she wanted to leave. However, every path seemed blocked by people watching her, waiting for her to say something else.
She tried to breathe.
She could feel herself slipping into the panic that had overtaken her in the market. The ballroom was too bright, the music too loud, the faces around her too close. She remembered how frightened she’d been when the woman lunged at her, and then how the newspaper had turned her fear into a spectacle.
“I was attacked,” she said, her voice shaking. “And now everyone is acting as though I did something wrong.”
No one answered quickly enough.
Margaret’s expression softened into something that might have been sympathy, “I’m sure that’s not how anyone means it.”
Aziza stared at her. She couldn't tell whether Margaret was being sincere or simply trying to appear gracious in front of the others.
“I need some air,” Aziza said.
She turned before anyone could respond and hurried toward the ballroom doors. She knew she should have excused herself properly, and she knew people were watching. However, she couldn't stay another moment beneath their curious gazes. What made it worse was the expressions on her new in-laws’ faces… the King’s satisfied smile, the Queen’s neutral look with a hint of disappointment shining through her eyes, and Daphne’s sad and concerned look. Her only regret was not waiting for Greg to return, but she hoped that he would understand.
The music and conversation faded behind her as she crossed into the corridor. Her hands trembled, and she pressed them together, trying to steady herself.
She had no idea where she was going.
Only that she couldn't go back into the ballroom… not yet… perhaps not at all.
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