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The Malfoy Manor ballroom was a spectacle of refinement, glittering chandeliers casting golden light over the assembled aristocracy. Every movement was polished, every word carefully curated, every smile holding just the right degree of civility. It was a battlefield of subtlety, and Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy stood at its very centerโprimed, poised, and privately at war.
The wager had been set in the privacy of their chambers, just before the first guests arrived.
"You are incapable of going an entire evening without making some insufferable, condescending remark," Narcissa had mused, sliding her earrings into place with an amused quirk of her lips. "It is practically second nature to you."
Lucius, lounging against the doorway, had given her a look of mock offense. "And you, dearest, cannot last an hour without rolling your eyes at some unfortunate soul who offends your sensibilities."
She had smiled sweetly. "Shall we test that theory?"
A challenge had been issued. The stakes: whoever failed first would owe the other a forfeit of their choosing.
Which was how they now found themselves seated at the grand dining table, surrounded by high society, maintaining the air of perfect respectabilityโall while watching each other with the ruthless calculation of opposing generals.
The First Hour
Lucius Malfoy was a master of restraint. A lifetime of politics and aristocratic maneuvering had taught him the art of self-control, of measured words and veiled insults so delicately woven that half his victims never noticed the knife until they were already bleeding. But thisโthisโwas proving to be a challenge of an entirely different nature.
He took a slow sip of wine, watching as Lord Montclair droned on about his investments in French vineyards. The man had the conversational skill of a particularly uninspired rock.
Luciusโ fingers twitched against his goblet. The remark was right there.
And then, across the table, he saw itโNarcissa, straight-backed and elegant, subtly lowering her glass as Montclair waxed poetic about soil quality, her expression an exquisite mask of patience. But he saw it.
The almost imperceptible twitch at the corner of her mouth.
A moment later, her eyes flicked skyward.
Victory.
Lucius set his goblet down with a quiet, satisfied clink.
"Ah," he murmured, voice low enough that only she would hear. "That was hardly an hour. A pity."
Narcissa took a measured breath, lifting her chin as though wholly unaffected. "You must be mistaken, darling."
"Am I?" He leaned slightly toward her, voice all silken amusement. "Because I could have sworn you justโ"
But before he could deliver the killing blow, their hostess, Lady Rosier, turned to him with a radiant smile. "Lord Malfoy, what are your thoughts on dear Lockwoodโs latest theories on estate management?"
Lucius inhaled slowly. He had many thoughts. Most of them involved questioning whether Lockwood possessed a single functioning brain cell.
Narcissa tilted her head, expression positively serene as she met his gaze.
Oh, this was war.
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It was a slow, excruciating ordeal.
Twice, Lucius nearly falteredโonce when Lord Fawley declared, with absolute confidence, that the best way to manage unruly tenants was through a stern lecture rather than legal measures (imbecile), and again when Lady Selwyn waxed poetic about the charm of rustic cottages (delusion).
He held firm, gripping his wine glass with enough force to fracture lesser crystal.
Narcissa, meanwhile, suffered through Lady Greengrass recounting her daughterโs latest musical talents. The woman had the peculiar skill of speaking endlessly while saying absolutely nothing of consequence.
But still, Narcissa kept her expression schooled into a look of passive interest, though Lucius did not miss the subtle way her fingers pressed against her temples.
At last, as the evening stretched on, the conversation took a particularly agonizing turn.
"And of course," Lord Travers announced grandly, swirling his brandy, "the real issue with modern society is the decline of propriety. Why, just last week, I saw a gentleman in town without gloves. Can you imagine?"
Lucius opened his mouth.
Then closed it.
Then opened it againโonly to snap it shut when Narcissaโs hand brushed against his beneath the table.
The warning in that single touch.
The absolute delight in her smirk.
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It was Lady Rosier who delivered the final, devastating blow.
"I simply adore Gilderoy Lockhartโs writing," she sighed. "Such wit, such insight. I hear he may be knighted soon, imagine that!"
Silence.
Absolute silence.
Lucius turned, ever so slowly, to face her. He met Narcissaโs gaze across the table.
And thenโhe laughed.
Soft at first, then richer, smoother, unfurling into something utterly uncontrollable. He lifted a gloved hand, pressing two fingers against his lips as if to contain it. He failed.
Narcissa exhaled sharply, biting down on her lower lip, but he saw the way her shoulders shook.
A moment later, she lifted her glass in a gesture of victory.
Lucius Malfoy had lost.
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Later that evening, when the last guest had departed and the grand doors had closed, Narcissa leaned against the drawing-room mantel, arms crossed, watching Lucius with unmistakable amusement.
"So," she murmured. "Shall we discuss your forfeit?"
Lucius, standing before the fire, loosened his cravat with slow, deliberate grace. "Do your worst."
She took her time considering, tapping a single finger against her chin. "Oh, I could request something terribly humiliating," she mused. "Something deeply inconvenient. But I thinkโฆ no."
Lucius arched a pale brow. "No?"
She stepped forward, trailing a hand lightly down his chest before settling it over his heart. "I think," she said softly, "I should like to claim something far simpler."
He exhaled, eyes darkening as her fingers pressed just slightly. "And that would be?"
Her lips brushed against his jaw, a whisper of warmth against his skin. "Dance with me," she murmured. "Here. Now."
Lucius stilled. He had never been one for meaningless gestures, for frivolity. And yetโ
He lifted her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss against her knuckles, before guiding her into an effortless, fluid step.
And in the quiet of Malfoy Manor, long after the laughter of their guests had faded, Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy swayed together in the dim candlelight, neither speaking of victories or wagers.
Only of each other.
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