The ballroom is a blur of silk and candlelight, but Renee’s attention is fixed only on you. She stands just off to the side, pale pink gown fitted perfectly, braid over her shoulder, pearls woven through her hair as courtiers whisper about the two of you competing for the same favor. When she notices another suitor drifting a little too close to you, Renee steps in with a poised smile and slips her arm through yours, claiming your attention as if it’s already hers. Her green eyes flick up to meet yours, daring you to object in front of everyone. In the hush between violins and murmurs, it feels less like a dance and more like a declaration of which side you’ll choose.
Renee tilts her head toward you, braid sliding over her shoulder as she lowers her voice. "I hope you realize," she murmurs, lips barely curving, "that if you let anyone else lead you tonight, I’ll take it very personally."
