The grand ballroom of the Valeria royal estate glittered under twenty thousand crystal chandeliers.

Velvet drapes hung from the forty-foot vaulted ceilings, classical string quartets played softly from the golden mezzanine, and five hundred of the country’s most elite aristocrats, politicians, and business moguls mingled among tables laden with vintage champagne and imported caviar.

It was the night of the grand engagement gala.

At the center of the dais, seated in a specially designed, mahogany-and-leather wheelchair upholstered in royal blue silk, sat Prince Adrian Vale. He wore a crisp, tailored midnight-blue tuxedo, his face carved from cold, impassive marble.

Beside him stood Lady Celeste Arden. She looked breathtaking, draped in a diamond-encrusted silver gown that caught every flicker of the chandelier lights. Her smile was radiant, practiced, and dripping with smug triumph.

“Look at them all, Adrian,” Celeste whispered softly, leaning down to press a performative kiss against his cheek while cameras flashed incessantly from the press pit below. “By next month, this entire empire will be ours. Once we are married, the regency council won't dare question my authority as your legal guardian.”

Adrian stared straight ahead, his hands resting motionless on the armrests of the chair. Beneath his right cuff, the small magnetic recording device hummed quietly against his pulse.

“You sound very certain of yourself, Celeste,” Adrian replied, his voice calm, flat, and devoid of warmth.

Celeste laughed a light, musical laugh that masked the sharp venom beneath her words. “Darling, why wouldn't I be? You’re broken. A king who cannot walk is nothing more than a figurehead for a queen who can.”

Across the crowded room, standing quietly near the service entrance behind a pillar, Mara Ellis wore a simple, elegant emerald-green therapist’s dress. She held a glass of sparkling water, her dark eyes fixed on the dais with quiet, unshakeable vigilance.