Work Text:
Amelia De Riva floated into the ballroom on Viago's arm. The dress she wore tonight was a flowing, iridescent gown of deep green, its chiffon layers drifting around her like a gauzy veil. She could not remember ever feeling more beautiful. It was as though the fabric itself had conspired to elevate her. Her heels lifted her just over five feet tall, lending her a confidence she carried easily. Her dark brown curls had been swept into a simple draping style that framed her face, though her natural curls were allowed their freedom, spilling down her back and bouncing softly with each step. Candlelight caught in the sheen of her gown, breaking into emerald highlights that shimmered as she moved. Music swelled, polite and controlled, but Amelia felt the shift beneath it. This was Caterina’s house and her stage and Amelia knew better than to become too confident.
Viago leaned closer as they crossed the threshold, his expression easy but his eyes alert. “Breathe,” he murmured. “She’s watching.”
Of course she was. Amelia did not look for the First Talon immediately. Instead, she allowed herself to be drawn into the rhythm of the room, accepting greetings and returning smiles. Silver trays drifted past bearing delicate bites of sugared fruit and paper-thin pastries. She sampled one, her eyes fluttering slightly as raspberry crème flooded her mouth, sweet and sharp in equal measure.
She felt the unmistakable prickle of attention. Amelia shifted her weight subtly, her smile never faltering as she became aware of Lucanis Dellamorte watching her. His gaze held a quiet curiosity, as though he were not merely observing her movements but studying the choices she made as she drifted through the crowd.
“Would you like to dance?”
Amelia turned to find a man already offering his hand, his expression open and just uncertain enough to be sincere.
She smiled and placed her hand in his. “Yes.”
The music carried them forward, and her partner guided her into the dance with practiced confidence, spinning her once, the chiffon of her gown flaring out around her in a dark green halo. For a breathless moment, the room blurred into motion and light.
As she came back to herself, Amelia’s gaze lifted. Across the floor, Lucanis was still watching her. His expression gave nothing away. Then, as their eyes briefly met, he looked away.
Amelia’s smile deepened, just a fraction.
She danced once, then again, allowing herself to be passed from one partner to the next with deliberate ease. The first was a minuet, all measured steps and graceful turns, a dance that favored composure and quiet precision over spectacle. The second drew her into an Orlesian waltz, the tempo quicker, the closeness more daring, skirts flaring as couples spun through the candlelit floor.
Amelia smiled when expected, laughed when prompted, let herself be admired without lingering. She kept herself in motion, never still long enough to be claimed. She felt the weight of attention follow her, the ballroom's tension coiling elsewhere.
By the end of the fifth dance, she excused herself with murmured thanks and stepped away as the music began anew.
Viago was waiting at the edge of the room, precisely where he was meant to be. He passed her a glass of dark red wine.His expression was carefully severe, the sort of glower meant to be read from across the room.
“Long enough,” he said quietly.
Amelia sipped and tilted her head in quiet agreement. They had walked the line perfectly, forcing the First Talon and Lucanis to earn the moment without outright refusal.
Now it was time to confront the Demon of Vyrantium and give Caterina exactly what she wanted.
Lucanis stood apart, eyes scanning the ballroom before drifting to the shadows beyond. Couples twined, laughter spilling softly, only to fade into garden paths or empty hallways, their whispered promises carried from the light and music. He wrinkled his nose at each disappearance, hoping they didn’t linger too long.
Amelia stepped forward, cutting a careful path through the party-goers, skirts swaying with effortless grace. She carried one of the pastries she had sampled earlier, still vividly sweet in memory, and offered it to him with a tilt of her head.
“Try this,” she said, voice soft but teasing, cutting through the hum of the room without demanding attention. A smirk tugged at her lips. “It’s far sweeter than that red-faced merchant prince over there, who seems determined to test the limits of human decency.”
Lucanis’ eyes followed hers to the man. A single twitch of his brow betrayed amusement, and irritation at once. Then he looked back at Amelia, his expression neutral once more.
She held out the pastry like a challenge wrapped in sugar, and for the first time, the muted music and distant chatter seemed to fade around them.
Her gaze flicked to another couple slipping into the shadows, her head nodding just enough for Lucanis to catch. A small, almost imperceptible signal, but all the suggestion she needed.
“Do they think candlelight excuses everything?” she murmured, light and dripping with mock disapproval. “Or is it merely the garden that inspires moral flexibility? That is not his wife—she is at home while he flaunts his affair."
Lucanis’ eyes followed hers as a corner of his mouth lifted in the faintest smirk, almost imperceptible, before his measured voice finally reached her across the space between them.
For the first time that evening, Lucanis addressed her directly. “It is not uncommon for a married man to have a mistress. And yet,” he said quietly, “they hope no one is watching. Perhaps they underestimate their audience.”
“I suppose not. If I were a married woman, I would hope my husband loved me enough to think of no other.” Amelia’s smile sharpened, amused, as she held out the pastry between them. The challenge hung in the air.
She laughed softly, a small melodic hum that seemed to float from nowhere, yet carried clearly. Lucanis remained still. With exaggerated flourish, she took a deliberate bite, savoring it. The hum of pleasure slipped from her again, light and happy, and finally drew his attention.
“I need to know how to make these,” she said, crumbs clinging to her lips, eyes bright. Lucanis watched her tongue sweep across them, erasing the evidence.
“That is a raspberry crème puff,” he said after a moment, “they require patience, but are not overly difficult.”
She nodded thoughtfully. “I’ll need the recipe,” she said simply, as though it were the most natural request.
Lucanis’ gaze sharpened, a faint smirk tugging at one corner. “Are you aware,” he asked slowly, “that my grandmother and your Talon want us to meet?”
Amelia lifted her chin, steady and calm. “Yes. I think it would be good for both of us if we can find a way to satisfy them. Perhaps it need be no more than meeting and being seen together.”
A flicker of amusement passed over him. “Mm,” he murmured, low and quiet. “I have the feeling that won’t be enough. At least a dance will be required. And while we’re at it,” his eyes tracked movement across the room, “take note of that merchant prince.” His gaze followed a tall, ruddy man whose predatory eyes lingered on a red-haired elven woman dancing with Viago. “I would not leave her unguarded too long.”
Amelia’s lips twitched in suppressed amusement. “I imagine Viago has already noted his insolent interest,” she said lightly, nodding toward the merchant prince. “He won’t leave my fellow Crow unguarded but that's mostly for the man’s protection. If he acts, she would end him publicly.”
Lucanis’ eyes flicked to her, a faint smirk tugging at his lips, appreciating both her observation and audacity. He inclined his head toward the floor, gaze holding hers with the same quiet intensity he had all evening. “Shall we?”
Amelia placed her hand in his without hesitation, the warmth of his palm a subtle contrast to his cool composure. The music shifted, a waltz swelling through the ballroom, and they stepped into rhythm together.
The dance was deliberate at first, each movement measured—a careful negotiation of space and balance. Amelia followed, but never fully yielded; every turn, every step, a small assertion of control, a wordless conversation in silk and shadow.
Lucanis’ hands were precise but not heavy, guiding her without force, reading her movements with an intensity that made her pulse quicken. A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he noted her subtle defiance.
They moved as if no one else existed, though every eye inevitably followed them. Amelia’s skirt swirled, her laughter soft and teasing, carrying just enough for him to hear, just enough to acknowledge the sharpness behind her charm.
The song ended, and a new one began. He gave a small nod, eyes returning to hers. “Shall we dance one more?”
“Of course, Señor,” Amelia replied, her laughter light, genuine, carrying the unspoken challenge between them.
The dance deepened. The Antivan waltz carried them in a rhythm that felt less like steps than breath. Their bodies moved with surprising ease, turning and spinning as if they had been partners for a lifetime, each step anticipating the other’s, every glide perfectly aligned.
The music swirled around them, but it was their quiet conversation that filled the space between beats—soft words, half-smiles, playful remarks, almost private. Lucanis, usually so measured, let down a fraction of his guard. His calculating eyes softened, letting brief glimpses of amusement and warmth shine through.
Amelia seized it, tilting her head with a small, pointed remark. “I’d say you’re surprisingly easy to lead, though I suspect you’d argue otherwise.”
For the first time that evening, a genuine laugh escaped him, a low, soft sound that crinkled the corners of his eyes. For a heartbeat, his calculating gaze softened into something warmer. Amelia caught it instantly, her smile widening, her heart tightening slightly at the fleeting vulnerability. She tucked the moment into her memory, a private keepsake from the night.
He glanced at her, warmth lingering in his eyes. Amelia met it with the smallest, satisfied smile of her own, letting the waltz carry them onward. For a brief moment they were just two people entwined in step, free from the orchestration around them.
All at once, the dance ended. They lingered a heartbeat longer in the quiet intimacy of shared steps and subtle smiles before Lucanis inclined his head in a formal bow and lifted her gloved hand to his lips and pressed a gentle kiss there. “Please excuse me, Amelia. It has been my pleasure.” Her hand fell to her side and she stepped off the floor as the hum of music and conversation reclaimed the room.
Her gaze drifted across the room, landing on Caterina's pleased expression. Viago, nearby, offered a barely perceptible nod. She had played her part well. She moved deeper into an alcove of the ballroom and watched Lucanis slip silently into a hallway.
Amelia took a second glass of wine off a passing tray. With a small practiced movement, she slipped an agent into it to test for poisons. Clear. Satisfied, she drank deeply, letting the warmth settle.
She put the glass down with a tiny clink and then slipped from the party. The ballroom and its orchestrations faded behind her, but the memory of the dance, Lucanis’ rare laugh, and the evening’s quiet victories would remain safely tucked in her mind.
As she slipped through the garden toward the exit to where one of the De Riva carriages waited a hand gently caught her arm. She turned to see Lucanis standing there, his dark eyes steady and earnest. The corner of his mouth lifted ever so slightly as he held out a small slip of paper.
She took it, unfolded it carefully, and her lips curved as she read the delicate handwriting: a recipe for the Raspberry Crème pastries.
“Thank you, Lucanis,” she said softly.
When she looked up, however, he was already gone, leaving only the faint echo of his presence behind — an echo that smelled faintly of sugar and berries.