A Throne for the Forgotten

Chapter 13

The marble floor gleamed under the chandelier light. Every step echoed like a challenge.

The ballroom was dressed in excess—crystal fixtures, gold trim, velvet-gloved servers—but no one looked at any of that.

They were all looking at her.

Celeste stood at the center of it all. Surrounded by ministers, donors, diplomats. Everyone whispered, but no one interrupted.

She wore silver. Not the crimson of vengeance. Not the black of mourning. Just cold, glistening silver that caught the light and didn’t let it go. Her hair was pinned back. Her expression calm. Her smile rare—and more powerful than a speech.

She didn’t need to command the room.

She was the room.

Lucan arrived late.

His cuffs were wrinkled. His tie loose. He scanned the crowd quickly, as if hoping she hadn’t seen him yet—but knowing she probably had.

He didn’t look like the man who once stood beside her. And he knew it.

A few guests glanced his way, then quickly turned back. No one approached. He didn’t belong here anymore, not really.

Celeste didn’t acknowledge him right away.

She sipped champagne. Answered a question from a councilwoman. Shifted her weight gracefully in her heels. It wasn’t until she crossed the ballroom and brushed past him that he dared speak.

“Just one dance,” Lucan said quietly.

It wasn’t a plea. It was something heavier—familiar, complicated.

Celeste paused.

She should have said no. Everyone watching expected it.

But her voice came out soft. “Yes.”

The music slowed, like it had heard them.

Lucan reached for her hand. She let him take it—back straight, jaw tight. Their steps matched without effort. They moved together, not like lovers, not like strangers, but like people carrying too much history.

“You look like everything I ever wanted,” Lucan said.

Celeste didn’t miss a beat. “Too bad you wanted something else.”

The words hung between them. Still, they kept dancing. His hand brushed the small of her back. Her breath hitched—barely—but enough.

She hated that.

He didn’t gloat. He didn’t smile. His face was quiet, like he felt the sting too.

The music guided them closer. Her hand on his shoulder. His in hers. Each step measured, but not mechanical. She wasn’t numb.

Just guarded.

Around them, conversations faded. People watched, but no one dared interrupt. This wasn’t just a dance. It was something more.

A reckoning.

A memory with motion.

“I never stopped missing you,” Lucan said.

Celeste’s fingers tightened. “You stopped choosing me. That’s the same thing.”

“I was scared.”

“You were selfish.”

“I thought you’d wait.”

“I did,” she said flatly. “Then I stopped.”

They turned beneath the spotlight. For a moment, it felt like they were alone.

“I’m not proud of who I was,” Lucan said. “I barely recognize him now.”

She looked up at him, steady. “I do. I remember every version of you. Especially the ones who stayed silent.”

Her hand remained in his. Her heart didn’t.

He glanced at her lips, then at their feet. “Do you think we could’ve made it, if things had gone differently?”

“No,” she said quickly. “You still would’ve been you. And I still would’ve had to shrink to be loved.”

Lucan’s breath caught. “You were never small.”

“Not to you,” she said. “Just invisible.”

The final chorus played. One more turn.

He was holding her, but it didn’t feel like comfort.

It felt like a goodbye that had dragged on too long.

“You didn’t come here to dance,” she said. “You came to remember.”

Lucan’s voice broke. “I came to feel something real.”

“You don’t feel real things until they’re gone.”

“I feel everything now.”

“Too late.”

His hand lingered at her back. Her skin burned—not from warmth, but from recognition. The kind that hurt.

“I’ve changed,” he said.

“No,” she replied. “You’ve grieved. That’s not the same thing.”

“I would do everything differently if I had the chance.”

“But you didn’t.”

“I know.”

“I’m not the same girl,” she said. “I stopped being her the night you asked me to stand behind you.”

The music faded. Their steps slowed.

His hand didn’t leave hers.

Not yet.

“Celeste,” he said, barely above a whisper, “if there’s any part of you that still remembers us—”

“There is,” she interrupted. “And that part finally chose me.”

He inhaled sharply. She pulled her hand away.

The moment shattered. Polite applause rippled around the room. The music transitioned. The spell was over.

She turned to leave.

But before she walked away, Lucan leaned in. His voice brushed her ear.

“I’d trade it all… if you looked at me the way you used to.”