Episode 38

The night was clear, dotted with stars, but London never slept. The cobbled streets reflected the glow of the gas lamps, and the sound of carriage wheels echoed through the crisp air. The aristocracy’s procession glided toward St. James’s Palace, each carriage carrying secrets, ambitions, and a fate about to be sealed.

Gabriel’s carriage moved steadily through the illuminated streets. Inside, the silence was thick. Damien, seated across from him, watched him closely, hands folded over his cane, a slight smile playing on his lips.

"I’ve never seen you this tense," he observed, studying him intently.

Gabriel kept his gaze fixed on the window, where darkness blended with the flickering city lights. "Because you’ve never loved anyone the way I love Lilian."

Damien arched an eyebrow, but for once, there was no sharp remark. Instead, he leaned forward slightly. "And does that frighten you?"

Gabriel turned away from the window and met Damien’s gaze. "More than any battle I have ever fought."

Damien tilted his head, assessing him. "And what is your strategy?"

Gabriel looked at him, unwavering. "To win."

***

In another carriage, Lilian, Lady Penelope, and the Duke of Cavendish travelled toward the ball. The silence inside the vehicle was almost palpable, broken only by the discreet creaking of the wheels over the cobblestones and the occasional tinkling of the lanterns attached to the carriage. Lilian took deep breaths, trying to steady the nervousness growing inside her. The white gown she had chosen draped over her body like a reflection of the night itself, light, ethereal, yet undeniably striking. Small embroidered crystals shimmered in the fabric, as if she carried the stars with her. For the first time, her hair was not pinned into a rigid style. Loose waves framed her face, a delicate string of pearls woven into the dark strands.

Across from her, the Duke studied her with an impassive gaze. There was no longer fury in his eyes, but neither was there approval. He was assessing every detail of his daughter, as if trying to understand something that eluded him.

Lady Penelope, seated beside Lilian, squeezed her hand lightly. "My dear, do not forget who you are."

Lilian turned to her godmother. "And who am I?"

Lady Penelope smiled, that warm, maternal smile that had always accompanied her. "A woman who will not be defined by the decisions of others."

The Duke let out a low sound, more a breath than a laugh. "If you’re so certain of that, I hope you know what you’re about to face tonight."

Lilian held firm. "I do."

The Duke held her gaze for a long moment before looking away, turning his eyes to the window. "Then I hope you are prepared to face the consequences."

Lilian inhaled deeply. "I am."

Silence settled once more.

Lady Penelope shot her brother a warning look but said nothing. The carriage slowed as it neared the illuminated gates of the Palace.

***

In the carriage ahead, Whitaker ran his fingers over the invitation resting beside him. A single thought circled his mind. "Who is about to fall?" He leaned back, his eyes narrowing, a nearly imperceptible smile forming on his lips. "If the king intended to demonstrate power, so be it."

***

The line of carriages formed a spectacle worthy of the court, the horses’ hooves echoing over the cobblestones. Servants lined up to assist the guests as they descended, and chandeliers gleamed in the palace’s grand entry halls. When Lilian stepped out of the carriage, the murmurs ceased for a moment. She radiated a beauty impossible to ignore. The white gown contrasted against her dark hair, and the embroidered crystals on her skirt shimmered as if carrying the very light of the moon.

The Duke stepped out behind her, and for a fleeting second, their eyes met. Lilian saw something she had not expected, hesitation and a flicker of uncertainty in her father’s gaze. But it was brief, passing like a shadow.

At the entrance to the ballroom, Gabriel had just stepped inside. For an instant, the entire world around him seemed to vanish.

On the other side of the room, Whitaker also noticed the impact Lilian had. And the smile that curved his lips held no warmth.

Lady Penelope rested a hand on her niece’s arm and murmured in her ear, "Now, my dear, is the moment to show them all that you are the one who writes your own destiny."

Lilian lifted her chin and stepped forward into the ballroom.

Gabriel took a step toward her. But before he could move closer, Whitaker was already walking in her direction.

The night had begun.

***

The Ballroom of St. James’s Palace was a vision of splendor and grandeur. Magnificent chandeliers illuminated the polished marble floors, and the painted ceiling depicted mythological scenes against a starry sky. Music floated through the air, a graceful melody setting the rhythm of the evening. London’s aristocracy moved elegantly through the room, exchanging trained smiles and whispers hidden behind fans and champagne glasses. But everyone knew this was no ordinary night. The king had summoned the nobility for a reason, and the scandal hanging in the air made every glance charged with unspoken meaning.