Mirabelle, however, noticed none of it.

As Lucien guided her toward the center of the dance floor — which everyone had hurriedly cleared — her legs suddenly forgot how to function.

Another problem loomed over her:

She couldn’t dance.

Yes, the old Mirabelle had learned how, but dancing was very different from performing a curtsy. She doubted muscle memory would save her here.

In the end, she had no choice but to admit her problem.

Leaning slightly closer to the fox beast, she whispered:

"I think I’m so nervous that I forgot the dance steps."

A charming smile bloomed across Lucien’s face.

With a single pull of his arm, he spun Mirabelle around until she landed against his chest.

Breathlessly, she looked up at him.

"I’m flattered I make you this nervous," he murmured smoothly. "But don’t worry... all you need to do is follow me."

The music began.

Then the fox male took the first step.

Mirabelle’s worries had been unnecessary.

Lucien truly was an excellent dance partner, and her body remembered exactly what to do.

So she had admitted her nervousness for absolutely nothing...

And without realizing it, she had already given the male more than she intended.

Lucien was more than fascinated by the lynx female.

Her golden eyes had captured him instantly, but what intrigued him even more was her audacity to appear at an official event with bare shoulders — and, as he noticed the moment his hand settled against her, an exposed back as well.

The skin beneath his fingers seemed to burn.

And he, who had never touched a female this way before, had to restrain himself carefully to keep from making them stumble during the dance.

His mother had spoken to him about her.

Still, he had never expected his attention to drift toward her naturally... and remain there so completely.

She radiated an ethereal beauty that made her seem almost unreal.

To him, she appeared more royal than many of the royal descendants he had met throughout his life.

It almost felt as though this entire event stood beneath her.

And yet the blush dusting her cheeks betrayed something entirely different.

She wasn’t cold.

Nor calculating.

Beneath everything she projected outwardly, he sensed an inexperienced female trying desperately to maintain composure.

That realization awakened a protective instinct inside him — one he had previously felt only toward his sister.

With every step and every turn, she seemed to press more firmly against his body, and he felt all of it.

The moment Lucien’s hand settled against her exposed back, several beastmen visibly tensed.

Somewhere across the ballroom, shadows writhed violently for a second before being forced back down again.

It took every ounce of discipline Lucien possessed — along with decades of cultivation training — to stop his thoughts from wandering into fantasies he absolutely could not indulge under the watchful eyes of hundreds of beastmen.

All of whom could now clearly see the female’s exposed back beneath Lucien’s hand and the delicate fabric of the shawl.

Conversations throughout the ballroom gradually quieted.

More and more eyes followed the dancing pair.

Dominant males straightened unconsciously, while weaker ones avoided looking at Lucien altogether.

At the same time, another male’s scent still clung to her.

Lucien already knew it had to belong to one of the males from Zasar.

And that male was strong.

Very strong.

Possibly close to Lucien’s own level.

But even that hadn’t stopped him from asking her for this dance.

Because he refused — absolutely refused — to simply hand over Berghain’s female nobles to the males of Zasar.

He, along with many other young noble males, understood perfectly well what the foreign queen intended with this arrangement.

His gaze wandered slowly across Mirabelle’s face.

The sharp curve of her brows.

The thickness of her lashes.

The soft redness of her lips.

And the faint bluish glow that had already caused beastmen to gossip more than noble females.

When he finally spoke, his voice carried a rougher undertone than before.

"Even if you believe your expression hides what you truly think about this event..."

A low laugh rumbled softly from his chest.

"...trust me. It doesn’t."

That earned her a genuine laugh — a warm, ringing sound that settled somewhere deep inside her chest and nearly coaxed a purr from her throat.

For some reason, the sound loosened something inside her chest.

"You know," Lucien continued smoothly, guiding her through another turn, "most females spend these events trying to appear as desirable as possible."

"And I’m assuming I’m failing horribly?"

"Actually," he said, his eyes gliding slowly over her glowing shoulders before returning to her face, "I think you may be causing permanent psychological damage to half the males in this ballroom."

Mirabelle choked out a startled laugh.

"Oh no. Tragic."

"Especially the darker-haired panther glaring at me from across the room."

She almost stumbled.

Lucien caught her easily.

"There it is again," he murmured.

"What?"

"That expression."

His eyes gleamed mischievously.

"The one that says you’d rather throw yourself out a window than spend another second here."

Mirabelle stared at him.

Then, against all odds, she laughed again.

And annoyingly enough...

talking to him actually made this easier.

The ballroom no longer felt quite as suffocating.

The stares faded into the background.

For the first time since entering the hall, she found herself relaxing little by little inside Lucien’s arms.