Lord Marius Valmont, the son of the Marquess of Highmere, had been watching the ballroom all evening with a glass of wine in his hand and a storm brewing in his chest.
His dark hair was swept back from his face in the style favored by young nobles who wanted to look older than they were, and his deep brown eyes, usually warm and kind, were cold and hard as he scanned the crowd for the one face he had hoped never to see again.
He had known Princess Cordelia since they were children.
Their families were close, they directly served the royal family, their estates bordered each other, and they had grown up together in the shadow of the Imperial Palace. He had watched her laugh and cry and grow from a shy girl with skinned knees into the most beautiful woman in the Empire.
He had stood beside her at banquets and balls, had danced with her when no one else would, and held her hand when she was scared and wiped her tears when she was sad.
He loved her.
He had always loved her.
