As they moved through the crowd, Alina's aunt whispered urgent warnings about drawing attention, about not embarrassing the family name that had only just accepted her.
But Alina barely listened. Her mind kept circling back to the intensity in the duke's eyes, the strange desperation behind his question.
She glanced over her shoulder and found him still watching her unmoving, as though the entire ballroom had faded around him.
Other guests began murmuring theories, some cruel, some curious, wondering what scandal connected the merchant's niece to the reclusive duke.
Alina ignored them, focusing instead on the fabric of her gown, remembering the careful hands that had stitched every seam.
Her mother had made this dress years ago, before everything fell apart, before the family lost its name and its peace.
She had never expected anyone to recognize the craftsmanship, let alone a duke known for avoiding society entirely.
As the night went on, she felt his gaze return again and again, patient but unrelenting, like a man circling a memory he refused to release.
Something told her this was only the beginning, and whatever secret hid behind his question would not stay buried much longer.
The ballroom lights flickered against crystal chandeliers, but Alina's thoughts stayed fixed on one unanswered question, echoing louder than the music around her.
Alina spent the rest of the evening avoiding the duke's side of the room, though she could feel his attention like a warm weight against her back. Her aunt Margaret kept a firm grip on her arm, steering her towards safer conversations with minor gentry who barely noticed her discomfort.
Yet every time Alina turned, she found Alaric watching from a distance, his expression unreadable but focused entirely on her.