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Alex straightened, forcing himself to pull his scattered thoughts into some semblance of order.

This was Mr. Lyndon. The man who held the future of Lyndon Fleets and Transportation —and by extension, Transylvania’s fragile trade independence—in his hands.

The man who could unravel everything with a simple handshake denied.

Alex’s mind screamed at him to focus as he returned the man’s gesture, feeling its measured grip.

“Mr. Lyndon,” he said, his voice even despite the chaos beneath it. “The pleasure is mine, and I hope this will be the first of many such conversations.”

“I certainly hope so,” Mr. Lyndon replied with a knowing smile. “Though I do feel this evening may prove significant for more than just business, wouldn’t you say?”

The pointed yet casual remark tightened the knot in Alex’s stomach.

Careful, he told himself. His pulse pounded as he tried—and failed—to keep his gaze from wandering over Mr. Lyndon’s shoulder.

The dance floor was a shifting blur now, the couples twirling too quickly to distinguish one from another.

His chest hollowed with frustration when he didn’t see her.

I need to find Sera.

“Your Royal Highness, I trust you understand the importance of our families’ connection,” Mr. Lyndon continued, his tone polite but edged with unmistakable expectation.

Alex nodded absently, his lips pressing together as he fought to meet Mr. Lyndon’s gaze fully.

The older man’s expression was friendly but shrewd, his eyes calculating.

Alex knew this conversation was critical, that von List’s corruption of the mines and a potential collapse of trade hung precariously in the balance.

Yet even as he acknowledged it, even as he prepared to respond, his mind was already slipping back to her. To Sera.

She had looked over at him. Seen him. He was sure of it. But where had she gone? And why had she been here at all?

“Your Royal Highness?” Mr. Lyndon’s voice came again.

Alex blinked, his focus snapping to the man in front of him. “Yes, of course,” he said quickly, though he wasn’t entirely certain what he was agreeing to.

Beside him, Stan suppressed what Alex was sure was a groan of frustration. Mr. Lyndon tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly, as though measuring the younger man before him.

Alex’s throat tightened. This was one of those many situations in which even a royal title didn’t help.

“I certainly hope,” Mr. Lyndon repeated after a beat, his voice measured but deliberate, “that our alliance becomes more than just a family connection.”

Alex swallowed hard, his fists curling momentarily at his sides before he forced them to relax. The words hung heavily in the air, the implication clear. His gaze darted back to the floor, searching desperately for some sign of her.

Of Sera.

“Perhaps you’re unwell, Your Highness,” Mr. Lyndon said. “I was hoping to announce the engagement tonight, but shall we revisit this tomorrow—when you’re recovered?”

“No,” Alex replied, steady but firm. His gut churned, every word costing him. “There can be no misunderstanding. I cannot marry your daughter. It would be wrong—for both her and for me.”

Stan shifted beside him uneasily, a muscle feathering in his jaw. He looked ready to intervene, to stem the approaching storm, but Alex raised a hand, signaling he could handle it. Even if it was tearing him apart inside.

“Wrong?” Mr. Lyndon’s voice rose an octave, his calm veneer beginning to crack.

“Do you think I’d put forward a match unworthy of you?

My daughter is a treasure, Prince Alexander!

A treasure! What could possibly compel you to act so recklessly, to humiliate her, to humiliate me ?

” A shade of red darkened the man’s cheeks.

Behind him, the room carried on as if oblivious—music swelling, guests laughing and sipping punch—but Alex could feel every set of eyes that had begun to glance their way. The scrutiny scraped against his skin, but he didn’t flinch.

“My heart,” Alex said simply, his words measured yet heavy, “belongs to someone else.”

The admission left his lips, and with it came a quiet clarity. He’d known this; it had been true long before tonight. But saying it aloud—here, in this moment to this man—made it irrevocable.

Mr. Lyndon blinked, stunned into silence, and then leaned forward slightly, his expression almost venomous now.

“Your heart? What exactly do you expect me to tell Seraphina? What am I to tell the people counting on this alliance? Do you intend to gamble your entire country’s trade future on this… whim?”

Alex forced himself to breathe through the fury beneath the words, to remain unwavering. He swallowed against the annoyance of that question. “There’s nothing whimsical about it. I promise you. Just as I promise this decision wasn’t taken lightly.”

“Oh, it seems light enough to me.”

“Alex,” Stan cut in, his voice taut, pulled in sharp contrast to the music lilting in the background. “We can’t—”

“What time is it?” Alex interrupted suddenly, his gaze snapping to Stan in a way that made his brother hesitate mid-sentence.

“What does that—” Stan started before exhaling harshly. “I don’t know, almost midnight? But that’s not—”

“That’s all I need to know.” Alex turned back to Mr. Lyndon, his shoulders set but his voice softening slightly.

“I beg your forgiveness for this, Mr. Lyndon, but I need to leave. This moment doesn’t allow for explanations, but you deserve them, and I’ll offer them as soon as they can be given.

Please. Trust that my every action tonight is guided by honor. That hasn’t changed.”

“Honor?” Mr. Lyndon’s voice was sharp with disbelief, but Alex didn’t wait for more.

He moved, maneuvering swiftly through the throng of silk and laughter, past curious eyes and murmurs shadowing his wake.

Sera.

His mind fixed on her exquisite profile, on the way she’d moved across the floor with such quiet elegance.

Could she have gone to Vauxhall after all?

Every second felt like a grain of sand slipping through his fingers, and the sheer weight of possibility pressed against his chest. If he didn’t act now, if he didn’t reach her…

Breaking into the crisp night air felt like plunging headfirst into fire. He scanned the row of waiting carriages frantically, his breath visible in the cold, but his was nowhere to be found. Swearing under his breath, he started down the street, gravel crunching beneath his hurried steps.

The sound of hooves clashing against stone drew his attention, and he flagged down a hack as it came into view. “To Vauxhall,” he ordered, his voice tight, catching slightly on the words.

The driver—a surly man with drooping shoulders—gave him a hard glance. “At this hour? Past midnight soon, it is. My rates double after midnight. What’ll you pay?”

“Whatever you ask.” Alex stepped forward, nearly shoving himself into the rickety carriage. “Just don’t waste another moment.”

With a sharp pull of the reins, the coach set off, wheels rattling as they left behind Lady Ashford’s glittering estate.

Alex sat stiffly on the edge of the seat, his hand gripping his knee so tightly it ached.

The streetlights flashed by in an uneven rhythm, the damp air seeping cold through the thin material of his jacket, but he barely felt it.

Every fiber of his being was ablaze, a searing torrent coursing through his veins, fanned by an unyielding resolve.

Ten minutes. That’s all the time he had to save an entire future—to find her and make her listen, to fix a life in flames that seemed irreparable.

Sera. It was always Sera. His mind refused to consider the alternative—because if he didn’t, if he failed tonight, there may be no rebuilding what they’d begun.

The hack jerked forward suddenly, rattling him in his seat, but he welcomed the discomfort. Each jolt pushed him further into the realization of what he had to do. When they reached Vauxhall, there’d be no time for second-guessing.

He had made his choice long ago; now, he would live by it or lose everything he truly valued.