The ball resumed, but the earlier scene lingered like a stain upon the evening. The orchestra played, couples danced, and laughter rang out, but every glance toward Grace carried whispers. Mirelith, standing near the room's edge with Sophia and Mia, drank it all in.

Across the ballroom, Grace sat on a chaise, her ruined gown hidden beneath a shawl Caius had draped over her shoulders. His voice, quiet but unmistakably protective, drifted through the room as he leaned in close to reassure her.

Sophia scoffed, her sharp green eyes narrowing. "She's managed to twist your clumsiness into another triumph," she muttered. "Even ruined, she's still glowing."

"Not glowing," Mia said softly, her lips curling in an edge of bitterness. "Just perfectly pitiful. Men love that."

Mirelith's jaw tightened, her eyes fixed on Caius's hand as it lingered a moment too long on Grace's arm. "It's not her fault they fall for it," she said coolly. "But innocence only carries a person so far. The court will see her for what she is—eventually."

At that moment, Felix, the Duke of Vaelcrest, approached them, his usual grin subdued. "Enjoying the evening?" he asked, though his tone betrayed his boredom.

"Delighted," Sophia replied dryly. "And you, Felix? Come to brighten our mood or to escape yet another lecture on duty?"

Felix smirked, but before he could reply, a steward approached him, speaking in hurried tones. Felix's expression darkened.

"What is it?" Mirelith asked, sensing his unease.

"Marcus is ill," Felix replied grimly. "I've just been told. He won't be joining us tonight."

Sophia's fiery demeanor softened. "Ill? Is it serious?"

Felix's gaze darted across the room. "Serious enough for me to excuse myself. The King's court is fragile enough without rumors of sickness."

Mirelith's chest tightened. Marcus had been a friend to her in quieter moments, his sharp mind and warmth a rare comfort in the sea of calculation that surrounded her. She watched as Felix left, his carefree mask slipping as he exited the ballroom.

"Maybe we should find a way to salvage the night," Mia suggested, her tone timid but her gaze sharp. "Grace can't keep all the attention to herself."

Before Mirelith could reply, the orchestra struck up a waltz. Couples began to fill the floor, swirling in time to the music. Her heart sank as she watched Caius stride confidently across the room, his hand outstretched toward Grace. The two began to dance, their movements seamless, their connection undeniable.

Sophia's voice cut through Mirelith's tumultuous thoughts. "Victor isn't dancing."

Mirelith followed her gaze. Victor stood alone at the edge of the ballroom, his brow furrowed as his hazel eyes followed the dancers. "He looks lost in thought," she murmured.

"Perhaps he's contemplating who to ask next," Sophia said, her voice tinged with nervous hope. A faint blush rose in her cheeks as she smoothed the fabric of her gown. "Maybe I should give him the opportunity."

Mirelith smirked, though it didn't reach her eyes. "By all means."

Straightening her shoulders, Sophia glided toward Victor, her usual confidence evident in every step.

Mia leaned closer to Mirelith, her voice low and hesitant. "Do you think this war will amount to anything? Eldermor's so far away from the border."

"It's not our concern," Mirelith replied curtly, her gaze locked on Caius and Grace. "Let the men handle it."

Mia chuckled softly, her tone a mix of shyness and amusement. "Fair enough. Our battles are fought here, in silks and smiles."

But as Mirelith watched Caius guide Grace effortlessly across the floor, his attention solely on her, she couldn't help but feel as though her war was already lost. No matter how hard she fought, Grace always seemed to win. And with each victory, Mirelith's determination to see her fall only grew sharper.