It was the usual Saturday night at the Pixis’ mansion and, as per usual, Hanji’s continual nagging forcefully dragged you along. While voluptuous dresses rotated in kaleidoscopic motions of colours, you sat placidly in your seat in the most secluded corner of the room you could find, trying to hide from the light cast by the massive and lustrous chandeliers hanging from the beige high wood ceiling. The light colour merged with a light blue adorning the walls covered in broad paintings caged in a dark brown elaborate frame. A polished wood floor shone under your white satin shoes peeking from under the cerulean of your simple dress. Your fan was few shades lighter than your dress and the fast movement of your wrist didn’t only say ‘I am an independent woman’, but was also an indicator of your level of annoyance and impatience.

   Although you had escaped the evening until now with only a couple of dances, one with Lord Pixis and the second with Erwin, both making it their mission to fill your dance card with their names every week and not allow you to remain just a pretty wall flower like you preferred. You knew at least one more dance was about to come. Dot Pixis never allowed any woman taking part in his balls leave without having danced at least three times and, as the songs slowly dragged towards the end, you knew some gentleman would make his appearance soon, pushed towards you by the host of the night. Quite known already for your tendency to turn down invites to dance, many dropped the idea of asking you, though youngsters still had some courage. This however prompted your host to recommend you as a dancing partner to one of his guests, each time a different one, and they could not refuse him and you would have to show your respect by accepting. Even if the man was always careful as to not make you notice his recommendation, you knew exactly this was the case. It was the etiquette after all and the world would have to come to an end before anyone broke the rules of a ball.

   The motion of your left hand stopped abruptly as the music quieted down for a bit to allow the orchestra to prepare for the next song. Your gaze hardened more and more with every passing second, fan in your left positioned in front of your face hoping the man approaching you would get a hint and leave you alone. Of course, you didn’t have such luck, as he strode in his black dress suit, a white vest disclosing over an ample shirt-front, fine and delicately plaited, topped with a simple white cravat. Either Lord Ackerman was rudder than you already thought or he didn’t know the art of the fan communication.

   Why him?

   You couldn’t help but wonder. You were aware of his presence at the ball from the very first moment you set foot out of your carriage, seeing how he and the Smiths arrived at the same time. Not that you bothered to cast a glance his way or answer to his greeting. You later learned that Lord Pixis and Lord Ackerman knew each other from military service and now that Lord Ackerman had retired too, Pixis invited him to the ball. Since he had retired, Lord Pixis had made a habit of organizing a ball every week. Many wondered from where all that money came from, but not only he was a general in the royal army, his family was connected to the royalty for many generations, all loyal to the queen and serving in the army. It was obvious their titles and money was no little thing. You knew the same went for the Ackerman family, while the Smiths were a relatively new appearance in the noble society, as your family was. All these factors were probably what prompted Pixis to choose this awful man as your dance partner, much to your irritation.

   “My Lady.” His voice was as flat and cold as you remembered it, not that you could imagine him looking pleased, as he should have, to dance with you.

   Imp.

   “Lord Ackerman.” You regarded him with the same impassivity.

   “Will you favour me with your hand for the next dance.” It sounded like he wasn’t even asking, just baring the fact that you didn’t actually have a choice.

   You pursued your lips in a thin line behind the lace of your fan, only responding with a curt forced nod, which – much to your irritation – caused a small smirk on his lips. Oh, how you wanted to smack him across the face with your fan and swipe that confidence off.

   “Very well then.” He took a step forward; enough to reach for the dance card attached to your dress and write his name down for the next song.

   You remained still as he bent slightly to grasp the card, his head coming right in front of your face. Once he was done, he kept his stance and looked up to you, locking your eyes, as the fan was the only thing separating your noses. “Are your toes feeling alright for a dance, Lord Ackerman?” You taunted him.

   His lips curled on one side. “Of course.” He rose in a straight position and turned on his heels, leaving without a glance back.

   You followed his figure until it disappeared in the crowd and waited for the trumpets to signal the beginning of the next dance. As the blare cut through the room, you rose from your seat and strode towards the dancefloor where, without fail, you found the Lord approaching leisurely. Two lines were formed, one of ladies and one of fine gentlemen, facing each other and waiting for the first note. As the violin sang, both lines took a bow before their partners before gloved left hands met and the pairs took an alternate half step ahead and then one back. Rights then met and the same ritual was repeated, concluding with the women twirling on themselves before the gentlemen rested their hand on the waist of their lady and started to guide them through the waltz. Pairs began to turn and slide across the polished wood as the music carried on, small conversations passing by in hushed voices.

   “I thought you would take this chance to step on my toes again, Lady ____.” The Lord said as he made you take another turn, meeting your right and eyes unperturbed.

   “I’m not such a petty person, my Lord, as to use a dance as an excuse to step on your toes.” You replied evenly.

   “Though you were rude enough to leave without even saying goodbye.”

   “I thought that was a ‘goodbye’ clear enough. A ‘never see you again’ one.”

   “Yet we meet again.”

   “Indeed. It seems I’m haunted by misfortune.”

   “Although,” he took a look around. “Many seem to think otherwise.”

   Surely enough the two of you seemed to be the centre of attention as you danced. You noticed some gazes of curiosity and even some of… envy.

   “Yes, such luck.” You said in distaste. “Looks like there are plenty of ladies keeping an eye on you.”

   “Indeed. After all, I’m still a bachelor.”

   You raised a brow at him, somehow amused and surprised by his tone and statement. “Are you bragging?”

   A frown formed on his face. “About how I’m tired of all this already?”

   “Then shouldn’t you hurry and get married already, my Lord? I see plenty of women here who wouldn’t mind you as a husband.”

   “Yet the feeling isn’t mutual.”

   “Take for example…” You made a short pause as he tuned you to lock you in his hold with your back against his chest. “Miss Ral there.” You moved your eyes towards the ginger haired girl dancing with a man who looked much older than she looked, but knew for a fact he should be around her age. “A refined young Lady waiting for a prince to sweep her off her feet.” He turned you around and raised a questioning brow at you.

   “I don’t think I fit the category.”

   “Petite, fair, big shining eyes, delicate complexion… Besides, they say red haired people should marry those with jet-black hair.” He dipped you slightly to the side. “Not to mention the fact that she is of such a kind and nice character.” Another dip to the side. “A perfect match for your rude persona. Don’t you think so, my Lord?” You asked smugly.

   The Lord cast another glance at the young Lady in question, before his eyes locked with yours. “A charming girl indeed. Still, a girl fifteen years too young.”

   “For that matter I am seven years younger.” He turned you around again and you felt him shift a little against your back.

   “Still, a woman.” His voice dropped an octave in your ear, making you involuntary flinch and shot your head to the side finding his nose a feather away from yours. A look so brief in his eyes you couldn’t read the emotion in them before he turned you around to face him, an even expression meeting your frown. He resumed the dance leisurely as his face remained a blank sheet, as if nothing of what happened before ever took place. As the song dragged towards the end, you refused to meet his gaze again, focusing on the white of his cravat and the brooch pinned in its middle. An oval stone engraved with two crossing wings, a symbol you recognized instantly; the same brooch Erwin had; the same your father had – the symbol of their battalion. Your lips parted slightly as you realized this man served in the same division as your noble father. The gears in your head beginning to turn rapidly.

   Does this man know my father? Did they ever meet?

   Of course, an accurate answer would only be delivered if you asked the Lord, but you were not about to talk about such a respectable person as your father with such an unmannered individual. If you were to do the math – you knew Lord Ackerman served all the required twelve years and your father died ten years ago, so chances where they met. That thought though made your stomach nauseous, not because the two could have met, but because the day when the news was delivered to you returned to your mind. The day you lost all that was left of your family was also the day when Erwin came at your door to personally tell you what happened. That day he had his right arm missing, a loos in the same battle your father, his dear friend, died. Now a fake right arm, crafted in hardwood and metal, took the place of the original. His right hand was always gloved and rigid, but it was better than having none at all, as he could still use it for small matters.

   Erwin was the one to look after you after that day, to take care of your education, to welcome you in his house and to introduce you in society when you turned eighteen. The same Erwin that introduced you to the man you were currently dancing with.

   When the room became silent, all pairs stopped and partners took a bow before each other, as the orchestra prepared for the last two songs. As you were about to turn around and leave, you were stopped by a hand reaching for yours. You knew who it was, but you weren’t expecting him to stop you. Gunmetal eyes stared in your aloof gaze and his free hand touched the brooch he was wearing.

   “Your father was truly an admirable man.” Were his words, before he gave you his back and disappeared in the crowd. You remained frozen in your place, mouth slightly agape and hands slowly balling into fists. Really, this man infuriated the very core of your soul. His behaviour, his words, his gestures, the way he carried himself with such confidence and arrogance, looking down on everyone and imposing his persona rudely on those around him, wearing an aura of command and dominance so leisurely as if it was his second name. Everything about this short man was irritating. Even when you were at the same eyelevel, he still looked down on you. This same person dared to speak about your father as if he truly knew him. How dared he! Inadmissible.

   Two more songs and a dance with a brave young man didn’t manage to calm your shaken nerves down, especially as you noticed Lord Ackerman follow your movements like a hawk. He didn’t ask anyone else for a dance after you, opting for some small talk with Pixis and some other men for the penultimate song and for a watch on you for the last one.

   Yes, you really wanted to smack him across his handsome face with your fan. Whatever reason he had to stare at you like that, he should have done it in a more subtle way. If he so openly looked at you continuously then, for sure, rumours of you two being involved somehow were bound to start–

   The realization hit you as you sat on your bed, ready for sleep.

   He did it on purpose!

   After dancing with you, staring at you so intensely clearly said he was interested in you and he wanted everyone to know to… claim you as his! Seeing the type of person he was, not many would dare to court you knowing Lord Ackerman had his eyes on you. On the other hand, if this situation were to carry on for too long, rumours would surely ruin your reputation.

   That grumpy imp! He really meant it. That threat.

   Even if it wasn’t as drastic, the result would be the same. Although, if he really thought his plan would work, he was up for a harsh awaking.