Chapter 45: _ He Picked ME?!

As we approached, the muffled hum of the orchestra grew louder, reminding me of the circus we were willingly walking back into.

I took a deep breath, bracing myself for impact, and pushed the doors open.

The moment we stepped inside, the wave of heat, music, and collective judgment hit us full force. It didn’t take long for the whispers to start. Heads snapped in our direction.

"Look, she came back..."

"Is she entirely shameless?"

"The dragonless fraud who broke the Heartstone..."

"Careful, she might yell at another prince."

I kept my eyes fixed on the floor tiles, counting my steps, trying desperately to radiate an aura of nonchalance. It was a complete lie; inside, my stomach was twisting itself into agonizing knots.

"Before the traditional floor opens, we observe the opening custom of the five pillars. The host prince shall claim the first dance, after which the remaining royal heirs and nobility may join the floor."

A collective high-pitched intake of breath traveled through the hall. Every female initiate within a fifty-foot radius instantly straightened her spine, smoothed her skirts, and plastered on a desperate smile, hoping they were chosen by one of the visiting princes once the floor opened.

Bren let out a yawn, leaning her weight against a pillar. "I cannot believe we walked back into this den of vanity just to watch a live auction."

"Hush," Miriel hissed, her fingers gripping her own neckline so tightly her knuckles turned white. Her eyes were fixed on the Wolf Prince. "He’s going to pick me. Prince Ivar is definitely going to pick me. My heart is going to burst."

I didn’t say anything. My eyes were glued to the dais, entirely unable to look away from the four princes, despite every instinct screaming at me to run.

Fear, confusion, and white-hot fury churned in my gut. I was furious at Remus—partly at him for looking right through me as if I were air, and partly at myself for the humiliation of having run toward him in the first place.

I was terrified of Ivar, knowing I had hurled a mountain of abuse at a lethal predator who might have technically saved us in the Sunken Arch, but whose stalking behaviour still made my skin crawl.

And I was hopelessly confused by Zev, whose watchful interest felt less like a greeting and more like a spider weaving a web.

Worse still, as the Lion Prince rose from his throne to fulfill his host duties, I could swear their eyes locked onto us.

Specifically, onto me.

He started walking down the steps, descending into the sea of trembling nobles.

Panic seized my throat. Around us, the domino effect of mass delusion began. Miriel let out a choked squeak, her knees buckling as she convinced herself Ivar was marching straight for her from the side.

In the cluster immediately in front of us, three high-born girls gasped and began fanning themselves into a frenzy, whispering,

"He’s coming for me, he’s looking right at me–"

Every single one of them was wrong.

The heavy footsteps weren’t heading for the front rows of wealthy debutantes. They were tracking a straight line toward the corner where Bren, Miriel, and I stood frozen.

My foot twitched backward to bolt.

Then, cutting across the floor, the Lion Prince himself stepped right in front of me.

The boy whose name I didn’t even know, the golden host of the entire gala, bypassed the weeping aristocrats, ignored the high-born daughters waving their painted fans, and walked directly up to a nobody from the trenches.

The entire ballroom collectively stopped breathing.

A deafening hush fell over the room. No one expected the Lion Prince to ask a dragonless, markless commoner for the opening dance. In fact, no one expected any prince to ask a lowly girl for a dance, period.

Beside me, Miriel’s jaw hit the floor, and Bren’s eyes widened in genuine shock.

The blond prince stopped right in front of me. The hostility and judgment in the surrounding air were so thick I could chew on it, but he didn’t seem to notice. Or worse, he didn’t care.

He offered a warm, disarming smile, extending a hand.

"Would you do me the absolute honor of gracing this floor with the first dance? I am Ajax," he said, introducing himself as he waited for my answer.

My brain completely stalled. I blinked stupidly, half-convinced I was having a stress-induced hallucination. I looked past his shoulder to check if there was an actual noblewoman standing behind me.

There wasn’t.

"Me?" I squeaked.

Ajax’s smile deepened slightly. He glanced briefly over my shoulder toward the dais. I followed his line of sight and felt my stomach drop into my boots.

Zev stood frozen halfway down the steps, surprise now replacing his usual amused smirk. Ivar looked ready to murder someone with his bare hands. And Remus, staring right at me from the edge of the carpet, wore an expression that twisted something in my chest.

It wasn’t anger. It looked uncomfortably like hurt.

Why on earth would the snobbish Prince be so uncomfortable with another Prince asking me for a dance?

I didn’t know why I cared. I didn’t even know why my chest tightened at the sight of it. For a fraction of a second, I felt an absurd urge to look back at them as if asking for permission.

Ajax caught my hesitation, his gaze tracking my distracted look.

"Don’t feel intimidated by them," Ajax murmured, taking a half-step closer so his voice didn’t carry to the gaping crowd. "You’ll be entirely safe with me."

For some completely insane, self-destructive reason, my instincts whispered that I would rather be anywhere else—even standing in the line of fire with one of the terrifying triad behind us. But common sense violently slapped me across the face. This was an olive branch from the host prince. A shield against the wolves and Fae factions.

I swallowed hard and placed my shivering hand in his palm.

As I did, I could physically feel the shockwaves ripple through the room. I could feel Ivar’s fury, Zev’s disappointment, and Remus’s brooding gaze boring directly into my spine like physical nails.

A sudden, jarring echo of Ivar’s words from outside rang in my ears: Who gave you the permission to let another man touch you?