Page 54 of Smoke, Mirrors, & Misdemeanours

“I would’ve said I was sorry you didn’t win,” Cassia murmured beside him, her voice light, teasing. “But I have a feeling you’re not terribly disappointed. Are you?”

His brow lifted. She wasn’t supposed to see through it all.

“Why do you say that?”

She shrugged and took a slow sip of wine. “Just a hunch.”

During the thirty-minute break, they rose to circulate, to play their part as a courting couple very much in love. Cassia fell into step beside him, close enough that her shoulder almost brushed his—a small, deliberate choice that made the performance feel real. They had only made it a few steps into the shimmering sea of Daemaric-blue silk when a husky voice cut through the murmur.

“Arkenoth. It’s been a while.”

As Cassia turned, he shifted his stance, placing himself subtly between her and the speaker.

A demon woman stood before them, staring at him and, pointedly, at Cassia. Her gown was a spill of Daemaric blue, her hair a severe architectural masterpiece.

Ark inclined his head. “Lady Daaya.”

The attention of her small coterie was a physical weight. Their collective gaze shifted, with unnerving synchrony, to Cassia. He watched as Daaya’s eyes—the pale, chilling grey of a winter moon—swept over her. It was not as much of a glance as it was an audit.

“You have not yet been introduced to my Chosen.” He made his voice not a request, but a reminder of protocol, delivered from a position of undisputed authority. “May I present Miss Aura Cassia.” To Cassia, he said, “Starling, this is Lady Daaya, an old acquaintance.”

The pause that followed seemed a deliberate, tactical weapon. Daaya’s smile thinned. “How enchanting. I don’t believe I’ve heard the family name before.” A shallow crease appeared between her brows. “Is it . . . established?”

“Not in the way you mean, no,” Cassia replied, her voice infused with a light amusement that was far deadlier than any defiance. “The name ‘Aura’ came from the brand of suitcase the orphanage found my father in as a newborn. So you see—it may not be established, but it certainly is resilient.”

The effect was instantaneous. The proof that a child, packed away like forgotten luggage, had produced a daughter now standing beside a Daemar’s son—seemed to short-circuit Daaya’s mind. Her gaze flickered to Ark, as though checking if this was some elaborate jest.

He smiled innocently at her.

“How . . . colourful your origins sound,” she managed, the words strangled. “Why have we never seen you in society before?”

Cassia’s smile was perfectly polite. “Oh, I am out and about. We just don’t often circulate in the same rooms.”

“Did you enjoy the auction?” Daaya pressed, seemingly desperate to steer the conversation back to familiar, shallow waters.

“Immensely. It’s my first time. I had no idea the bidding would be so passionate.”

“Hmmm. Yes.” Daaya’s moonbeam eyes slid pointedly from Cassia to him and back again. “Though some need to take precaution. Excess passion might lead to a regrettable investment, as they often say.”

Ark felt the air shift, the flicker of interested glances from nearby tables. Daaya hadn’t been talking about the auction, of course. She’d been talking about them, boldly insinuating their engagement was a reckless mistake.

Which was . . . the entire point, wasn’t it?

The thought was a cold splash of water. The plan was a cold calculus, this feeling was anything but. He had chosen a woman of ‘unsuitable’ background precisely to provoke this exact brand of outrage. Daaya was playing her part perfectly in his grand design.

So why did her words feel like a physical blow? Why did the casual dismissal of Cassia’s worth make a wave of pure, undiluted fury rise in his throat, so visceral it nearly choked him? The urge to smother the entire Aetherium in shadow, to make Daaya’s blood run as cold as her tone, was a primal pulse in his veins.

Beside him, Cassia didn’t even flinch. Her head tilted, and her smile became one of genuine, almost pitying amusement.

“Is that what they say? How limiting for them.” She let the words hang, then continued, the tone conversational yet cutting to the bone. “It must be a lonely way to live, to only see the world in ledgers and bloodlines, and never understand that the most formidable returns often come from an investment in unique potential. But then,” she added, her gaze sweeping over Daaya’s impeccably bland coterie, “that vision requires an open mind.”

Pride rose in him, sharp and warm. He didn’t need to say a word. She hadn’t needed him to. Not only had Cassia just defended herself, she’d eloquently articulated the very reason he chose her.

He offered Daaya a cool, dismissive smile. “Now, you must excuse us.”

As he led Cassia away, he leaned close, his voice a whisper. “You magnificent creature. You didn’t just defend our union. You delivered a masterstroke.”

Cassia glanced up, lips pressed to hold back a chuckle. “I thought it was more elegant than pointing out that her own bloodline probably hasn’t produced a new idea in four hundred years.”