“Elaine.”

I keep walking, the voice behind me barely registering.

“Elaine, stop.”

Celestia grabs my wrist, forcing me to turn. Now that we’re out of the dining hall, she made no effort concealing the tears, rivulets flowing freely across her flushed cheeks. My gaze softens as I realize that, despite her brilliance, my sister is just human. Her eyes, however, remain as fiery as ever. “Why would you do that?”

“What was I supposed to do then? Let you marry someone you don’t love?” It was awkward, this sudden display of emotion between us. Still, I take both of her hands. “Any sister would do the same. Just as you’re doing now.”

Celestia pulls away from my touch, her hands bunching the fabric of her red skirt into fists at her sides. “It’s my responsibility. It is improper, for my younger sister to wed before me—”

“Then marry Orion before me, if you must.” I shake my head and turn my back to her before she can argue again. My mind is made up; I've already signed the letter Mother sent to the capital. I glance over my shoulder at my sister one last time. “You must understand, I... I don’t have what you and Orion share. What you have is rare.”

I resume walking, and when Celestia doesn’t follow, I stop for a brief moment. “I may be doing this for you, but that is not all. The Elysium needs you. You are needed here.”

The moment I reach my room, Verona, my helper, hurries over to assist me out of my attire. Normally, I would let her, but tonight I held out my hand. She nods, understanding without question, and leads me to my vanity. She reaches for a hairpin and twists my hair into a low bun.

“What do you know about House Kingsley?” I ask, meeting her eyes in the mirror.

She puts a pin between her teeth, her hands busy at the back of my head. “Shall I prepare a report about your betrothed?”

I gave her a look. “Just tell me what you know.”

“Kingsley,” she murmurs, searching her memory. “They own the largest, most prestigious art gallery and auction house in Sideral: Galerie du Temps, in St. Fortuna. The main family consists of five. Edward, the old Kingsley, resides at his only son's estate. He has three grandsons: Albert, Alistair, and Aleksei.”

“Alistair.” I repeat, recalling the name Mother mentioned at the banquet. “Alistair Kingsley.”

“Ah, the middle child. Lucky for you, he is not so ancient. I believe he’s around 23 or 24 years old.” She finishes my hair.

Verona is my favorite helper. She arrived at our estate when I was eleven, and I've grown deeply fond of her. I decided to teach her how to read after catching her peeking at the gazette, and my efforts bore fruit. Verona is intelligent; she can archive a million pieces of information in her mind. Information that often proves useful. “If my knowledge is correct, he arrived at the Galerie this morning.”

I glance at the clock. 20:00. I have time. “How far is St. Fortuna?”

“I can take you there in eleven minutes by horseback.”

I let my gaze linger into space, debating against what I’m about to do. I let myself win anyway. I turn to Verona. “Fetch me my hood.”

The trail to the art house is paved, a smooth road offering no hindrance. When we arrive, I notice a dozen roads all converge at Galerie du Temps, a wise scheme considering the building itself is a sight to behold.

Glass walls reveal glimpses of the opulent interior, sending a clear, if arrogant, message: the treasures within sight, but will never be unattainable for most. For why ever will a structure containing the world’s most expensive treasures be housed within something as fragile as glass? Men simply knew better than to rob the Kingsleys.

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“Stay here.” I instruct Verona. I tighten the ribbon of hood and step into the sea of elites.

I’ve never been to Galerie du Temps before. Only the elite of society are permitted to enter, and even fewer to bid. It seems that I needed no verification before entering. One good look at the crest on my cloak and the guards step aside. I remove it once inside to steer clear of unwanted attention.

The Galerie’s interior is even more magnificent than I imagined. Every corner in sight is adorned with Luis Serrano’s and Averie Santal’s latest collection of oil paintings, all warmly lit with a spotlight overhead, not one out of place. I’ve heard about their story before, the nuptials of two artists. It was quite a scandal, but a love match nonetheless– Luis meeting Averie at an opera and it was love at first sight. They were caught intertwined in the smoking room, and the next day, it made headlines all over the newspaper.

However, a small, unassuming section catches my eye. A solitary white wall displays three small canvases: a daisy field, a pond of lilies, and a wisteria tree draped in purple blooms. The strokes are less refined than Serrano’s or Santal’s, but the picture as a whole served a charm of its own. I checked below the title plaques and found no mention of the artist’s name.

“With all of the Galerie’s grandeur, I thought this little section would go about unnoticed.” A gentleman appears beside me, a glass of champagne in both hands. I beam at his taste– it could only be The Elysium’s finest rosé, judging from the specks of gold sparkling off the hue of pink wine. He offers me one and I accept.

“Perhaps it is precisely because of that,” I say, taking a sip. Crisp, floral– with the subtle note of cherries and hibiscus. It was indeed ours. “That made this section stand out. Will these be up for bidding?”

He laughs and the murmurs in the room paused as he does. It was as if the whole room was observing this man. He quiets and I take a closer look at him. The first thing I notice are his eyelashes, a dark shade of brown that matches the color as his locks. His hair grew slightly improperly long, ending just above his ears. People would often tell me I’m tall. Last month, on a good day, I reached Seren’s height of 173 centimeters. Tonight, I’m wearing heels, yet I still had to tip my chin up to meet the gentleman’s eyes.

Caramel. He has brown eyes the color of sweet, melted caramel, and they were staring right back at me. I quickly shifted my cloak over my face, but it was too late. The look he gave me had no hints of sweetness, at all.

“I sincerely doubt you had traveled all the way from the comfort of your House,” he says, taking a sip of wine, “to bid on an anonymous artist’s work, Lady Carter.”

I inwardly curse. I had no plans of letting my identity be discovered tonight. My cloak serves me no use anymore, so I let it fall over my shoulders. I turn, and this time, he takes a long, good sweep at my face. I tip my head. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mister Alistair Kingsley.”

He leans in, lips hovering over my right ear scandalously close. “May I ask what you're really here for?”

His eyes drift to a stray lock of hair beside my face. He lifts his hand to fix it, but I catch his wrist before he can even touch me. I meet the intensity of his gaze and I return the gesture. “I’m simply curious about my husband-to-be. Made sure he isn’t an old crone.”

“You must be Celestia, then.” He laughs. “I was told she would be a little more timid.”

“You are mistaken. Twice, actually,” I reply, dropping his wrist. “I am not Celestia–I am Elaine. And believe me, my older sister is far more daring than I am.”

“Ah, Elaine, the youngest and most beautiful of the Carters. Her face, so striking, it’s as if the gods had sculpted her features.” He recites, as if he’s the articles about me. He shakes his head. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible. I need someone with knowledge about business–”

“And who told you that I do not possess that?” I cut him off. “To be fair, my Lord, you are not exactly in a position to bargain, especially not when you are only second– oh, excuse me, third in command.”

When he doesn’t say anything, I take it as a sign to continue. “Elaine Carter. Remember that name and dig whatever dirt you find around me– I assure you, you won’t find any. But do know this: we will soon be wed. A union between the heirs of The Elysium and Galerie du Temps. Declining me would be equivalent to an insult towards House Carter, which I trust you are aware will not be in your favor.”

We were drawing the attention of other patrons. I had to stop. I take a step back, only to be met by the sound of his laughs.

“Then, I guess we’ll make quite a peculiar pair.” He fails to hide his amusement. He bows. “I do hope you found what you needed.”

I hold his gaze, determined not to let him rattle me. “I believe I have.”

He turns his back to me, briefly glancing at me over his shoulders. “I will see you tomorrow, Lady Elaine Carter.”