the Villainess they took for granted

Marian remained beside Clara for a while after the last dance ended.

She had danced with a number of gentlemen that evening.

Some had been pleasant.

Some had been charming.

A few had been surprisingly interesting.

But apparently, Julian was still the best choice.

Her thoughts returned to him.

Not obsessively.

Simply considering.

He was handsome, well-bred, kind, and familiar.

More importantly, he was not the Emperor.

Marian knew exactly what being the Emperor’s wife would mean.

She had spent years being prepared for it.

The ceremonies.

The formal audiences.

The endless dinners and appearances.

The constant scrutiny.

She would never simply enter a room again.

She would arrive as the Empress.

Every word would be weighed.

Every gesture noticed.

Every mistake remembered.

And then there was the matter of an heir.

She would be expected to produce one.

What if she couldn’t?

The pressure alone would be unbearable.

There would be physicians and whispered conversations, sympathetic looks that became less sympathetic with time, and eventually the possibility that the Emperor might be expected to take another wife.

Marian had never particularly liked contemplating that part of the future.

Nor had she ever been fond of the thought of sharing Adrian with an entire court—with ladies who would inevitably seek his attention, with political expectations, with a life in which even the most private parts of a marriage could become matters of public interest.

Julian offered something very different.

A respectable marriage.

A comfortable household.

A title without the crushing weight of the Imperial crown.

A man she already knew.

A family she already understood.

It made sense.

It was practical.

Perhaps Clara really had been right.

Julian was a very good choice.

Marian let herself breathe.

Perhaps this was what she needed.

Not a grand destiny.

Not a life that belonged to the Empire.

Simply a good man and a quiet enough future.

She was almost beginning to feel comfortable with the thought when something in the ballroom changed.

It was subtle at first.

A shift in the movement of people.

A few conversations lowering by a fraction.

Someone stepping aside.

Then another.

Marian didn’t immediately understand why.

She glanced toward the center of the ballroom.

And saw him.

Adrian.

He was walking toward her.

For a moment, Marian simply stared.

The ballroom did not actually become silent.

She knew that.

Music was still playing somewhere behind her.

People were still talking.

Shoes still moved across the polished floor.

Glasses still chimed softly.

And yet, to Marian, everything seemed to recede.

Adrian was coming toward her.

He wasn’t hurried.

He didn’t need to be.

He walked with the effortless certainty that had always belonged to him, his posture straight, his expression composed, every movement carrying the quiet authority of a man accustomed to an entire room making way for him.

The Emperor.

Marian had seen him across the ballroom all evening.

She had watched him dance with Ophelia.

She had watched him speak with officials.

She had watched him sit apart from the dancers.

But seeing him approach her was different.

Much too different.

Her fingers tightened around her fan.

Her heart gave one hard beat.

Then another.

Why was he coming toward her?

She tried to think.

Nothing came.

He had not approached her earlier.

He had chosen Ophelia.

He had let the evening continue.

He had watched her dance with other gentlemen.

He had watched her dance with Julian.

And now he was walking toward her.

Marian’s breath caught.

Had he noticed?

The thought arrived before she could stop it.

Had he noticed the gentlemen who had approached her?

Had he noticed Julian?

Had he—

She immediately tried to dismiss the thought.

No.

That was foolish.

There could be any number of reasons.

Perhaps he wanted to speak with her.

Perhaps the timing was simply appropriate.

Perhaps he had chosen this particular dance because the intermission was approaching.

Perhaps—

She stopped herself.

There was no point guessing.

Adrian was already too close.

She could see him clearly now.

The dark formal uniform.

The gold worked into the fabric.

His familiar features, somehow sharper beneath the ballroom light.

But it wasn’t his appearance that struck her.

It was the authority he carried now.

The quiet assurance of a man who no longer stood in expectation of the crown.

Adrian was Emperor now.

And somehow, standing there before her, he seemed every inch of it.

Adrian stopped before her.

Marian looked up.

He looked at her for a moment.

There was nothing she could read in his expression.

Of course there wasn’t.

He was Emperor.

He had spent his entire life learning how to reveal nothing that he did not wish others to see.

Then he extended his hand.

”Lady Marian.”

His voice was calm.

Controlled.

And terribly familiar.

”May I have this dance?”

Marian stared at him.

The words were simple.

Almost ordinary.

Yet her mind seemed incapable of treating them that way.

She looked down at his hand.

A gloved hand.

Steady.

Waiting.

Then back at his face.

And suddenly, every sensible argument she had just made for Julian seemed very far away.

Not false.

Not foolish.

They were perfectly reasonable.

Julian was still an excellent choice.

Perhaps he was even the better choice for the life Marian wanted.

But Adrian had never been a reasonable choice for her.

He had been something else entirely.

Once, she had loved him.

Then she had loved Cassian and chosen him.

Both things had been true.

One did not erase the other.

She had loved Cassian.

She had chosen Cassian.

She had never regretted that.

But Cassian was gone now.

There was no engagement she needed to protect.

No promise she was breaking by standing here.

Only Adrian.

The man she had once loved.

The man who had asked her to dance.

Marian’s heart began beating faster.

She could hear it.

Or perhaps she only imagined she could.

Her fingers felt suddenly warm.

She became acutely aware of Clara standing beside her.

Of the people watching.

Of the music.

Of the hand Adrian was still holding out to her.

She didn’t know why he had come.

She didn’t know what he wanted.

She didn’t know whether this dance meant anything beyond the dance itself.

And perhaps she was foolish for wondering.

But she couldn’t stop herself from wondering.

Had he changed his mind?

Had he been watching her?

Had Julian’s presence mattered?

Or was this simply the Emperor deciding that he wanted the dance?

Marian didn’t know.

She only knew that Adrian was standing before her.

And despite every sensible thought she had gathered only moments ago, despite every practical reason she had found to consider Julian instead—

her heart had begun beating much too quickly.

Slowly, Marian placed her hand in his.

”Yes.”