[Calista’s P.O.V.]

  Calista had spent years training noble daughters to glide across ballrooms, to bow and curtsy with effortless grace, to smile with just enough warmth to feign sincerity.

  She had led countless students through these very steps—waltzes that whispered of romance, tangos that burned with intensity, and ballets that spun poetry into motion.

  But never had she taught a student quite like Nerina Morwen.

  "Left foot forward, my lady" Calista instructed, her voice even as she led the girl through the final transition of the waltz.

  Nerina followed, movements precise yet strangely indifferent.

  It was as if she wasn't learning to dance, but rather perfecting the art of stepping through an invisible battlefield.

  They moved seamlessly into a tango, the sharp turns and fluid motions forcing Nerina to engage more fully.

  She responded with ease, her body flowing through the motions with an almost unsettling naturality.

  Calista observed her carefully.

  The young lady wasn't merely following steps—she was studying them, absorbing them like a predator learning the habits of its prey.

  "You're a quick learner," Calista admitted, watching as Nerina effortlessly pivoted into the next movement.

  "But I must ask… Why the sudden interest in the art of dance?"

  Nerina scoffed, her lips twisting into a smirk.

  "Because etiquette lessons are stiff," she drawled, voice dripping with mockery.

  "All those smiles, all that careful posturing—playing plastic for the masses. No thank you."

  Calista barely had time to process the response before Nerina took full advantage of the rhythm, teasingly testing her lead.

  The waltz became playful, each step a deliberate act of push and pull, as if Nerina was teasing her.

  She leaned in, her body brushing just slightly too close before pulling away at the last second, forcing Calista to adjust.

  A challenge.

  Nerina chuckled softly, a sound dripping with amusement as she pivoted effortlessly under Calista’s guidance, twirling with an elegance that betrayed her usual laziness.

  Her footwork was light but precise, her movements fluid as if she had been dancing all her life.

  Calista frowned slightly.

  The young lady was enjoying this.

  And not just the act of dancing—Nerina was playing with her, seeing how far she could test her instructor’s composure before she faltered.

  Then, just as smoothly as she had teased, Nerina slowed her movements —bringing them both to a graceful halt.

  Calista was about to respond when Nerina's expression shifted.

  The teasing air vanished—

  This time, she was taking the lead.

  Calista barely had time to register the shift before the tempo of the dance became suffocating.

  Nerina’s grip tightened—not painfully, but firm enough that it was clear she was no longer the student.

  Her movements were no longer playful but demanding, pressing forward with a force that left no room for hesitation.

  For the first time, Calista felt as though she were the one being dragged across the floor.

  Nerina's steps were relentless, her presence almost predatory.

  The space between them disappeared in an instant, and suddenly, she was much too close.

  Uncomfortably close.

  Calista instinctively tried to slow her steps, attempting to create a natural break in the rhythm—something subtle, something Nerina would adjust to without confrontation.

  But the young lady did not adjust.

  Instead, she matched her pace with eerie precision —seamlessly dragging Calista closer even as she deliberately fell a beat behind.

  It was as if Nerina had anticipated the hesitation before it even happened.

  Calista stiffened, her breath hitching as she felt the undeniable control in Nerina’s movements.

  The girl wasn’t just dancing anymore—she was commanding. The usual push-and-pull of a partnered waltz had disappeared.

  Nerina did not follow. She dictated.

  Her hold tightened ever so slightly, firm yet unyielding —a predator’s grip upon prey it had no intention of releasing.

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  And for the first time since stepping into the dance, Calista felt as if she was no longer instructing a noble lady but standing in the grasp of something far more dangerous.

  Calista inhaled sharply as Nerina’s lips hovered near her ear, a whisper of breath ghosting against her skin.

  But Nerina said nothing.

  Instead, she simply smirked.

  Then, just as quickly as she had invaded calista's space, nerina pulled away.

  Forcing Calista into another spin—fast, dizzying—before catching her in an iron grip once more.

  The rhythm of the dance had changed entirely.

  This was no longer a noble’s waltz or a practiced routine.

  It was a game of control.

  Nerina was no longer a playful noble lady indulging in a dance lesson.

  She was a predator testing the limits of her prey before driving them into a corner.

  A marionette playing with their puppet, and calista was dancing under the palm of her hands.

  In all her years of teaching, only now did Calista feel a sliver of unease in the arms of a student.

  The smirk on Nerina’s lips deepened as she slowed the final step, allowing the silence to stretch.

  Calista exhaled, steadying herself.

  This girl was

  And she knew it.

  "Delphinium flowers pride themselves on being at the top"

  Nerina murmured suddenly, her tone chilling.

  "But what if—a lotus managed to outshine their petals?"

  Calista felt a chill creep down her spine.

  "Born in mud and raised in murky swamps… no one expects such a wondrous beauty to blossom, correct?"

  A slow smirk curled on Nerina's lips.

  "Well, they're wrong."

  Gone was the lazy, mischievous girl who had once loathed every noble lesson.

  In her place stood something far more dangerous.

  Something cold. Calculated.

  A serpent coiled beneath a veil of silk, venom dripping from its fangs.

  Calista said nothing for a long moment, simply holding Nerina’s gaze in both fear and awe.

  Delphiniums.

  A symbol of the royal family.

  The crown prince and his sister—

  A fool draped in his inherited crown, and an equally selfish wretch to match.

  Understanding settled in Calista’s chest like a heavy stone.

  Yes. She had always known of Nerina’s disdain for the vanity of nobility, but this… this was something far deeper.

  A festering wound, deeprooted resentment honed unto a deadly edge.

  And yet…

  Calista glanced down at the young girl’s hands, still poised for the next step.

  There was something else there, too.

  The Morwens were not like other nobles. They had not risen to power through mere political maneuvering.

  At their core, they were warriors—knights who had once lived and died for the people, not the throne.

  Their bloodline had never been one of idle luxury, but of sacrifice.

  The sires of House Morwen had burned their graves unto history with the blood of those who preyed upon the weak.

  They had stood as both shadow and light, judge and executioner willing to dirty their hands.

  —a sword that cut down the wicked and fought to protect those who lacked strength.

  A shield for the abused, wings to the opressed.

  And this girl—this blade forged in vengeance—would be no exception.

  Would she become the venom that strangles corruption at its root?

  Or perhaps rise to be the light that carved a path for hope?

  It was still unclear.

  But one thing was certain.

  Nerina Morwen would never be a mere decoration for marriage.

  She, who had grown in the murky swamps of this world’s darkness, would either bloom with the purest petals…

  —Or be stained in the deepest crimson blotch.