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Dark Moon Third Arc (Fallen Heart) - 380. Right Amount of Worry
🕑 Added 2025-03-13 15:27:19 +0000 UTCThird Arc (Fallen Heart) - 380. Right Amount of Worry
He approached her casually, his steps smooth and unhurried.
Rose noticed him before he even reached her. She turned slightly, her expression unreadable as he stepped up beside her.
“You disappeared,” she said, her voice light but pointed.
Angel smirked. “Did I?”
Rose arched a brow. “You did.”
The noblewoman beside her glanced between them before offering a polite smile. “Your Majesty,” she greeted Angel before excusing herself, leaving them alone.
Rose didn’t waste a second. She tilted her head slightly, lowering her voice just enough that only he could hear. “What happened?”
Angel chuckled softly. “You make it sound like I was off causing trouble.”
Rose crossed her arms, her gaze sharp. “Were you?”
Angel smirked, but didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he reached for a passing tray, plucking a glass of wine from it before turning his full attention back to her. “You worry too much.”
Rose narrowed her eyes. “I worry about exactly the right amount.”
Angel took a sip, letting the rich taste settle on his tongue before responding. “If there was something to be concerned about, you’d be the first to know.”
Rose studied him for a moment before exhaling, clearly not satisfied but also knowing he wouldn’t tell her anything here. Not in the middle of the ballroom. Not when eyes were always watching.
Instead, she let her expression soften slightly, tilting her head. “Did you at least enjoy yourself while you were… wherever you were?”
Angel chuckled, swirling the wine in his glass. “Oh, immensely.”
Rose scoffed, shaking her head. “I don’t know if I should be concerned or entertained.”
“Both,” he said smoothly, flashing her an easy grin.
She rolled her eyes but didn’t push further. Instead, she changed the subject. “You missed the end of the last dance.”
Angel raised a brow. “Did I? A shame.”
“You’re lucky no one expected us to participate,” Rose murmured, taking a sip of her own drink. “Otherwise, you’d have a very irritated wife right now.”
Angel smirked. “Ah, but you already are.”
Rose shot him a look, though there was a glimmer of amusement in her eyes. “That depends on how long you plan to keep whatever you were doing a secret.”
Angel exhaled, tilting his head slightly as he observed her. She was sharp as always, but there was something else in her gaze—something expectant.
He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice just enough. “You’ll know soon enough. Be patient.”
Rose’s lips parted slightly, but before she could say anything, a voice interrupted them.
“Your Majesty,” a nobleman greeted, approaching them with a polite bow. “It’s an honor to see you both enjoying the evening.”
Angel straightened, slipping back into his formal demeanor without missing a beat. “The honor is mine.”
Rose followed suit, offering a diplomatic smile. “I hope the party has been to your liking.”
The noble nodded enthusiastically. “More than. It’s been quite the spectacle. A night to remember, truly.”
Angel chuckled. “That’s what I like to hear.”
More nobles began to drift toward them, eager to exchange pleasantries, to secure favor, to linger in their presence just long enough to be noticed. It was always like this—politics disguised as conversation, power woven into every interaction.
Rose handled it effortlessly, smiling, nodding, responding with just the right amount of warmth and distance. Angel played his role just as well, listening, engaging, offering enough charm to satisfy but never too much to encourage unnecessary closeness.
And yet, beneath it all, his mind never stopped working.
The night would continue, the party would go on. Laughter and music still filled the grand hall, the glow of chandeliers casting a golden light over the polished floors as nobles danced, drank, and indulged in gossip. It was an evening of celebration, of spectacle, of carefully crafted appearances.
And yet, despite everything that had transpired behind closed doors, despite the unease lingering in the back of Angel’s mind, nothing else happened.
No more assassins. No more spies. Just the usual ebb and flow of noble politics, the kind of maneuvering he had long grown used to.
Unexpected. But not unwelcome.
The party ended like that. More peaceful than Angel expected, but it was a fragile kind of peace—one that felt more like a pause before the next move rather than true stillness.
