Plague Of Shadows

The grand ballroom shimmered with opulence—golden chandeliers hung like constellations above, casting a warm glow over the extravagantly dressed nobles who waltzed across the marble floor as if the world beyond these walls did not exist. The orchestra played a lively tune, the hum of laughter and clinking glasses rising with the music.

Yet, beneath the forced smiles and whispered conversations, there was an undeniable tension in the air.

Annalise could feel it—every glance thrown her way, every barely concealed sneer. The nobles made no effort to hide their disdain, the whispers slithering like venomous snakes through the crowd.

"How amusing. A low-born duchess and a monster—how fitting."

"It's almost poetic, isn't it? The outcasts finding solace in each other?"

"A pity. Perhaps if he had been born normal, his father wouldn't have abandoned him."

The last one made her grip her champagne glass so tightly she thought it might shatter.

Her gaze flickered to Ethan, who stood beside her with his usual indifference, his silver eyes half-lidded in boredom. His expression was unreadable, yet she knew he had heard every word.

How could they be so cruel?

How could they stand here, draped in their silks and jewels, gossiping over champagne while the people in the lower district of Draugenshire were vanishing? The plague she had seen in her vision was creeping closer, consuming the helpless, yet these people continued to indulge in excess.

It made her sick.

And yet, what angered her most was the way they looked at Ethan—like he was an abomination.

For the first time, she understood. Understood why he had become this way. Why he kept his distance. Why he wore his smirks like armor.

A fierce, unshakable resolve took root in her heart.

"I will love him."

Even if their marriage had started as a means to an end, even if her vision had dictated her choice, her heart had made its own decision. It was no longer about fate. She wanted to love Ethan—not because of a prophecy, but because he deserved it.

Even if he never loved her back, she would love him enough for both of them.

A voice pulled her from her thoughts.

"Ah, Your Grace, what a pleasure."

A young man stepped into their view, flanked by an entourage of similarly overdressed sycophants. His navy-blue coat was adorned with golden embroidery, his dark hair slicked back with too much oil, and his lips curled into a smirk that held no warmth.

"I am Duke Lennox Greythorne," he announced with false politeness, bowing slightly before straightening. "My father has recently stepped down, and I have taken his place."

Annalise felt an immediate dislike for him.

His words were polite, but his tone was not. There was something calculated in the way he spoke, the way his sharp eyes flickered toward Ethan with veiled amusement.

"Duke Ethan," Lennox continued, "It is... quite the surprise to see you here. Though, I suppose the Emperor does allow charity cases into his events."

The surrounding nobles chuckled.

Ethan smiled—a slow, lazy curve of his lips that sent a shiver down her spine.

"A charity case?" Ethan mused, tilting his head. "Forgive me, but isn't your house drowning in debt? I seem to recall sending a rather large sum to Greythorne Manor last month. A donation, of course. Shall I remind you of the amount?"

Lennox's face twitched.

Annalise almost smirked.

Ethan's words were silk wrapped around steel—a casual remark laced with undeniable power.

The young duke forced a laugh, but his pride was clearly wounded.

And then, he took it too far.

"Yes, yes, you do have a generous heart, don't you?" Lennox sneered. "Though, I suppose when you've been abandoned by your own blood, you must cling to whatever scraps of dignity you have left. Tell me, was it difficult, watching your father walk away, knowing even he couldn't stomach the sight of you?"

The room fell deathly silent.

The insult landed like a knife between the ribs.

Ethan's smirk remained, but Annalise saw it—the flicker of pain in his eyes. It was brief, almost imperceptible, but she saw it.

And then, she felt it—something hot, something blazing inside her.

Her blood roared, her vision tinted red.

How dare he.

Before she could even think, she moved.

A sharp crack echoed through the air.

Gasps rippled through the crowd.

Lennox stumbled back, clutching his cheek, his eyes wide with disbelief.

"You—You dare?!" he sputtered, voice shaking with rage.

The whispers grew louder.

"Did she just—?"

"A maid struck a duke?!"

"She is a duchess—"

"By name only! A filthy commoner pretending to be one of us!"

Annalise ignored them.

Her chest rose and fell heavily, her fingers tingling from the force of the slap.

"How dare you," she seethed, her voice trembling with fury. "How dare you utter such filth from your mouth?"

Lennox, still recovering from the shock, opened his mouth to retaliate, but she did not give him the chance.

"Duke or not, you should at the very least know that Ethan is the reason your house still stands. Yet you have the audacity to insult him? You should be on your knees thanking him, not mocking him."

Her gaze snapped to the surrounding nobles.

"And the rest of you," she spat. "Are you all blind? Do you not hear the whispers from the lower districts? People are vanishing—entire villages are suffering, and you stand here, stuffing your faces and laughing while the world burns around you!"

Silence.

Not a single noble dared to speak.

Then—

"How dare a filthy maid lay a hand on me!"

Lennox's enraged voice shattered the quiet as he lunged forward, raising his hand to strike her.

But he never got the chance.

A suffocating pressure filled the ballroom.

The air grew heavy, thick with something unnatural. A chilling aura rolled off Ethan in waves, freezing the very air between them.

The young duke hesitated.

Ethan stepped forward.

"You dare try to hit my wife?"

His voice was soft. Too soft.

And yet, it carried more weight than the grandest of speeches.

The room felt smaller, colder.

"Do you not fear death?" Ethan continued, tilting his head. "I suppose none of you wish to leave this ballroom alive."

Before Lennox could react, Ethan moved.

In a single, effortless motion, his hand shot out, fingers wrapping around the young duke's throat.

Lennox choked, his legs kicking as he was lifted off the ground.

Ethan's grip tightened.

The nobles watched in stunned horror.

Seconds stretched into eternity.

Lennox's struggles weakened. His eyes rolled back.

Only then did Ethan let go.

The duke collapsed to the floor, unconscious.

Ethan turned, his golden gaze sweeping over the petrified crowd.

"Let this be a lesson to every one of you."

A deathly silence followed.

Then, without another word, Ethan took Annalise's hand, his grip warm and steady, and led her away.

She followed without hesitation.

And as they left the ballroom behind, she realized something.

For the first time, Ethan hadn't pushed her away.