A Reign of Roses

Unspoken Absence

The next ball was held at the grand estate of the Duke of Montclair, a lavish affair with glittering chandeliers and the sound of strings playing softly in the background. It was another night of swirling gowns, perfectly tailored suits, and endless chatter about matters of politics and society. The air was thick with expectation, and as usual, Anastasia had been dutifully ushered from one conversation to another, her smile as practiced as the compliments she offered in return.

She had learned long ago that the balls were little more than a dance of appearances. The men were there for one reason—to find a suitable wife, to court the most accomplished, most well-bred lady. She knew she was expected to perform her part, to smile and laugh, to entertain, all while pretending that she didn't feel the weight of the expectations pressing on her chest.

But tonight was different.

Her eyes wandered across the ballroom, searching for a familiar face. She had, despite herself, found herself anticipating his presence, curious if he would appear again—Lukas Rosenberg. But as the evening unfolded, he remained absent. She couldn't help but wonder where he was. Had he been called away? Was he still in town? Perhaps he wasn't invited?

Not that she knew him, but it was unlike a man of his status to miss a social gathering, especially one as significant as this. But there was no sign of him. She felt a flicker of something—a fleeting disappointment, perhaps? Or was it simply curiosity? She couldn't quite place the feeling, but she couldn't deny that the thought of his absence lingered in her mind.

She shook her head, annoyed at herself. Why should it matter? Lukas Rosenberg was a soldier, a man from an enemy nation. He was nothing more than a fleeting encounter in her life, a chapter she had already closed, and yet here she was, wondering where he had gone. The thought was absurd. She should be focusing on the suitors who were eager to engage her in conversation, not on a man she barely knew.

Her thoughts were interrupted when a voice broke through the noise of the room.

"Lady Anastasia de Lemoine," a man said, bowing slightly before her, "may I have the honor of this dance?"

Anastasia looked up, her eyes meeting the man's—tall, with dark hair and a neatly trimmed beard, his sharp eyes gleaming with purpose. She barely recognized him, but she had learned to expect the occasional new face at such gatherings. He was no one of consequence, certainly not someone she had any interest in, but it was her duty, after all.

"Of course," she replied, her voice smooth and polite, masking the indifference she felt. She placed her hand in his, the music swelling around them as they took their place in the swirling dance.

As they moved across the floor, Anastasia couldn't help but feel the weight of the room around her. The faces of suitors, their eyes following her every step, their conversations punctuated with shallow compliments. It was the same dance she had done countless times before, and yet tonight, she couldn't shake the feeling of something missing.

She found her thoughts drifting back to Lukas. Where was he? Would he ever return to this life of politics and social events, or had she seen the last of him? The thought gnawed at her, making her even more aware of how out of place she felt in this world that was so carefully crafted around her.

But since when had she cared? After all, he was just another man, wasn't he? They were all the same—polite, charming, and eager to secure a position. Yet something about him felt different. There had been an intensity in his gaze, something she hadn't expected from someone so clearly out of her world. It was as if he had seen through the mask she wore every day, and that... that unsettled her.

But for now, she was trapped in the dance, the music playing on as she forced herself to smile, to pretend, as she always did.