The Lady You Want to Kill 6. Debutante’s Last Night is Stained with Blood (6/39)

6. Debutante’s Last Night is Stained with Blood

The morning of the debutante ball arrived. Awakened by Laura’s insistent hands, Beatrice was groggily dragged through the elaborate preparations. The maids, aware of her dislike for long bathing rituals, coaxed her with soothing words as they cleaned her and applied packs to her skin repeatedly.

After rinsing her body with floral water and massaging fragrant oils into her skin, they meticulously dried her jet-black hair with soft towels. Despite the flurry of activity around her, Beatrice remained drowsy, her mind clouded as if still caught in a dream.

Her pale complexion, untouched by the sun, made her appear almost ethereal. By the time her hair was dry, the maids began shaping her nails and preparing her for makeup. Seated before a mirror, her hair fell smoothly past her shoulders as one maid carefully sectioned it while others rushed about with cosmetics in hand.

The first step was a powder that matched her pale skin, creating a seamless canvas. A soft blush of pink was applied to her cheeks to lend her a faint, healthy glow. Her naturally defined brows and eyes required only minimal enhancement, and her lashes were curled before being painted with a mixture of gold and pearl dust. The effect was subtle, but under the light, her eyes shimmered like starlight.

Her lips, painted in a soft, understated hue, completed the makeup. With her face prepared, it was time for her hair. The maids worked with heated rods to create gentle waves in her otherwise straight locks, while others fanned her to keep her from sweating. The open window let in a cool breeze, but Beatrice couldn’t help feeling stifled by the hours-long process.

When her hair was done, her nails were tinted with a subtle floral color and coated with a thin layer of lacquer mixed with gold dust. Even the smallest details were attended to, though the scar along her neck gave the maids pause. Following instructions likely passed down by the Duchess, they opted to blend the area with makeup rather than conceal it entirely.

Finally, it was time for the dress. The maids handled the garment with utmost care, bringing in the gown made of luminous pearl-like fabric. Its embroidered lace draped gracefully over her exposed shoulders, giving her an air of sophistication without overt opulence. The translucent sleeves extended just below her elbows, while the gown’s body was crafted from glossy white satin, accented with delicate pearls and white gems that caught the light with every movement.

A sheer veil layered over the skirt added a dreamy, mist-like quality to the ensemble.

“Milady, you look stunning today,” Laura said with awe-filled eyes as she beheld Beatrice.

At Laura’s words, Beatrice turned her gaze to the mirror. Was this really her? She blinked, unaccustomed to seeing herself so adorned.

The maids brought in silver-embellished shoes, which they carefully slipped onto her feet. While high heels were customary for such occasions, Beatrice’s already tall stature called for lower heels to maintain proportion.

They finished the look with pearl earrings, a matching necklace, and a delicate silver-threaded diamond circlet that draped elegantly down her hair. The maids even scattered powdered gems and silver dust over her gown and hair, making her appear as if she glowed from within.

She stared at her reflection—an ethereal figure adorned with subtle yet dazzling accents. The maids had transformed her into a living jewel, every movement promising to leave a trail of sparkling remnants.

The hours of preparation felt like days. By the time the maids declared her ready, evening was approaching. Exhaustion pressed on her as she adjusted to the elaborate hairstyle and layers of finery.

“A message from the Marquis, milady,” Laura announced. “He has arrived.”

“Time to go,” Beatrice said, exhaling a quiet sigh of relief as she stood. Following Laura out of her room, she felt a pang of sympathy for the maids who had put so much effort into her appearance only for her to feel burdened by it.

When she reached the hall, the Duchess and Felix were already engaged in conversation with the Marquis. Calrex, likely fetching Florianne, was absent. Beatrice paused at the top of the staircase, observing the scene below.

It all felt so foreign—the radiant smile on the Duchess’s face as she noticed her, and the stunned expressions of the two men.

Agatha was breathless at the sight of her stepdaughter descending the stairs. Even in her simplest attire, Beatrice had always been beautiful, but now she seemed angelic. The Duchess’s heart swelled with pride as Beatrice lowered her gaze, feigning modesty.

The Marquis, taken aback, was nudged discreetly by the Duchess. Recovering quickly, he stepped forward, his words laced with admiration.

“You look stunning tonight, milady.”

Beatrice regarded him calmly before responding, “And you, my lord, look quite stunning as well.”

Her reply drew a light laugh from the Duchess and a bemused chuckle from the Marquis, who found her straightforwardness disarming.

“Shall we?” the Marquis offered, extending his arm.

Taking it with grace, Beatrice allowed herself to be led out to the awaiting carriage, where the Marquis’s fine horses awaited. As they set off toward the ball, the Marquis glanced at her, a curious smile playing on his lips.

“Are you nervous?”

Beatrice turned from the window to meet his gaze. “Not particularly. Though I am rather hungry.”

The Marquis chuckled at her candor. “The ball should offer a fine selection of delicacies, then.”

She nodded, turning her attention back to the passing scenery. The conversation flowed easily, and the Marquis’s demeanor was far removed from the distant hostility she remembered from another life.

For now, the night stretched ahead, its possibilities as intricate and unknown as the delicate embroidery of her gown.

In a slightly lowered voice, as if sharing a secret, Carneron murmured, “It seemed like you were thinking about another man.”

Beatrice moved her tongue inside her mouth, brushing it against her dull canine tooth. Ah, so he noticed. Well, he’s always been a sharp beast of a man.

“I wasn’t thinking about another man,” she replied.

“Was I mistaken?”

Beatrice confidently denied his assumption. What she had been pondering wasn’t about another man—it was about him, or at least the version of him from her past lives. By that reasoning, she wasn’t wrong.

“Yes, it was a misunderstanding,” she confirmed.

“Then, what were you thinking about?”

“I was thinking about you,” she said.

For a moment, Carneron’s previously controlled expression wavered. He seemed both amused and bewildered, his lips curling upward slightly.

“Thinking about me while I’m right in front of you? That’s quite an odd thing to say,” he quipped.

“True,” Beatrice admitted. “Perhaps I should start thinking about other men instead.”

“No, that’s not what I meant.”

Carneron exhaled a sigh, though it carried a faint smile. This time, it didn’t seem forced, and Beatrice intuitively knew his irritation had subsided. Why he’d been upset about the mere possibility of her thinking about someone else was unclear, but she chalked it up to his inherently high pride and moved on.

A brief silence settled between them, neither of them finding it uncomfortable. Carneron seemed lost in thought, while Beatrice had no particular thoughts at all, her gaze idly fixed on the nearing imperial palace.

After a while, breaking the silence with a question that seemed to come out of nowhere, Carneron asked, “Why would you think about me while I’m right in front of you?”

Even as he spoke, he recognized how peculiar his phrasing was. However, he couldn’t find a better way to articulate it. Fortunately, Beatrice, who shared the strange context of this moment, understood him perfectly.

Before she could answer, the coachman called out that they had arrived. The imperial servants opened the carriage door, and Carneron had to step out without hearing her reply. He extended his hand to assist her down, and Beatrice took it, giving a slow and indifferent answer as she stepped out.

“You don’t suit your hair slicked back,” she said.

“Excuse me?”

“The half-pulled-back style suits you better, like before.”

A voice tinged with disbelief responded to her blunt assessment. Beatrice, however, offered her critique without hesitation. It was a thought she had carried from her past lives, something she had long wanted to say.

Carneron typically wore his hair slightly loose, with a few strands framing his forehead, but for formal events, he always slicked it back entirely. While his handsome features could pull off any style, Beatrice had always found the look unappealing.

At last, she had voiced her opinion.

The Marquis Carneron strode toward the ballroom alongside Beatrice, ignoring the curious stares of onlookers. Beatrice felt a small sense of satisfaction at finally accomplishing this trivial yet long-standing wish.

“…Noted,” Carneron replied, his tone tinged with faint incredulity.

“Good,” she responded simply.

Carneron struggled to conceal his growing bewilderment. Wasn’t she supposed to be shy and socially awkward? Something about her kept catching him off guard, like an unseen hand brushing against the back of his neck.

But there was no time to dwell on it further—the grand doors to the palace ballroom loomed ahead. As their attendant announced their arrival, a resonant voice echoed through the hall.

“Marquis Carneron and Lady Beatrice Ember have arrived!”

Dozens of eyes turned toward them. Beatrice felt no particular reaction to the attention, observing the scene as if she were examining a jewelry box filled with human adornments.

Agatha and Felix, having departed later, would likely arrive shortly, and Florianne and Calrex were either yet to arrive or lost among the dazzling crowd. Even Florianne’s radiant golden hair seemed to blend into the glittering sea of jewels and ornaments.

Descending the long staircase beside Carneron, Beatrice caught snippets of whispered conversations. Though hushed, the murmurs blended into a hum of curiosity too loud to ignore.

She recognized fragments of gossip about herself—making her first appearance in society as the Ember family’s enigmatic daughter—and about Carneron, who had never before partnered with anyone at a debutante ball.

The overlapping voices felt overwhelming, like an unwanted noise in her ears. Unconsciously, she tightened her grip on Carneron’s hand. Feeling the pressure, he responded with an equal firmness, grounding her without a word.

As they reached their place in the hall, a wave of elegant socialites moved to approach them like graceful jackals scenting fresh prey. However, before anyone could speak, the entrance announcement rang out again.

“The Duchess Agatha Ember and Lord Felix Ember have arrived!”

The timing was impeccable, as if planned. Those who had been inching closer to Beatrice and Carneron turned their attention back to the grand staircase.

Descending gracefully were the warm, sand-haired Duchess and the golden-haired second son of the Ember family, their poised elegance commanding admiration.

Agatha and Felix moved effortlessly through the crowd to join Beatrice and Carneron. The gathering crowd quieted, observing the Duchess’s reaction. Agatha, keenly aware of how her demeanor would influence their perception of Beatrice, greeted her stepdaughter with a radiant smile.

“My dear, you look even more beautiful under the chandelier’s light,” she said warmly.

* * *

Beatrice and Felix briefly showed signs of discomfort on their faces, but they quickly masked their expressions. They both knew well enough that revealing their true feelings in such a setting was unacceptable.

As Beatrice prepared to respond to Agatha’s warm words, she noticed an intense gaze from her stepmother. For a moment, she failed to understand its meaning and simply stared back at her. Then, Felix, standing nearby, subtly mouthed a word: “Mother.”

Ah, that’s it. He must have been signaling that it wasn’t appropriate to address Agatha as “Duchess Dowager” in this formal setting. Following his hint, Beatrice smoothly referred to her as “Mother” while adding a compliment.

“You’re even more beautiful, Mother. I’d believe it if someone said you were debuting today.”

Agatha’s smile deepened, but Felix’s face twisted slightly. His expression seemed to say, ‘Really? Couldn’t you have made your flattery sound a bit less obvious?’

Agatha and Beatrice, however, ignored him completely, as if he wasn’t there. The two of them continued exchanging lighthearted pleasantries, their voices warm and cheerful.

Nearby, a low hum of whispers rippled through the noble crowd.

“Isn’t the Ember lady an illegitimate child?”

“Yes, she is. She’s barely been seen outside the estate until now.”

“I thought the Ember family would have cast her out long ago.”

“Look at the Duchess Dowager’s expression. She seems genuinely fond of her.”

“She’s been in the social world for years. You don’t think she’s skilled enough to fake a smile?”

“Still, if she truly disliked the girl, would she bother to support her so openly? Look how she made a point of approaching her as soon as they arrived.”

The murmurs gradually subsided, and Agatha seized the moment. Raising her chin slightly, she swept her gaze over the gathered nobles. Those who met her eyes quickly looked away, shuffling back into the crowd. With everyone’s arrival still incomplete, it was an awkward time to start mingling. Agatha clicked her tongue softly and returned her attention to Beatrice.

The effort she’d put into dressing Beatrice was worth it. Under the glow of the chandelier, her youngest daughter shone brighter than any other young lady in the hall. Even the debuting princess would find her composure shaken. With the sheer amount of money spent to ensure Beatrice’s grandeur, no one would dare think she was neglected within the family.

Meanwhile, Carneron and Felix stood stiffly to the side, like decorative statues. They alternated between staring at the floor, the ceiling, and distant walls, half-listening to the exchange between the two women.

Their display of affection continued until the doorman’s voice rang out once more.

“Calrex Ember, Duke of Ember, and Florianne Buildrander, Lady of Buildrander, have arrived!”

So they hadn’t arrived yet. The entrance of Calrex and Florianne drew every eye. Their gleaming silver and golden hair was so radiant that it was difficult to discern their faces. Beatrice squinted slightly from the brightness as she watched them approach.

In the end, Florianne had asked Calrex to be her partner. While it was customary for men to extend the invitation, Florianne had initially told Beatrice she would think about it. After a day of deliberation, she had sent Calrex a letter, and he had, of course, accepted.

Though the two weren’t yet in love, Calrex had harbored an unacknowledged fondness for her for quite some time. Beatrice thought it would be better if they simply married sooner rather than later—she had no desire to witness the prolonged messiness of their romance.

While lost in such thoughts, the pair approached Beatrice’s group. Florianne, dressed to perfection for the occasion, looked stunning. Her radiant smile was infectious, and Beatrice mirrored it with a broad smile of her own.

Florianne’s smile, however, seemed to cause Calrex to flinch slightly. ‘What’s his problem now?’ Beatrice thought but decided to ignore it, just as she had done with Felix earlier.

“Lady Buildrander, you look absolutely stunning today,” Beatrice said.

It was the third time that evening she’d complimented someone’s beauty. Florianne returned the compliment with equal warmth, saying, “And you, Lady Ember, look truly breathtaking.” Agatha beamed at the scene, clearly pleased by the interaction. It was a picturesque moment, like a scene from a fairytale crafted for children.

“So many people are here tonight,” Beatrice remarked.

“It’s the princess’s debut,” Florianne replied naturally. “Everyone knows how much love His Majesty has for her. I imagine many came simply to make an appearance.”

Agatha added, “I believe the Crown Prince will also be attending.”

“Yes, likely as Her Majesty the Empress’s partner,” Florianne said.

The current emperor had one empress and one consort. The Crown Prince was the empress’s son, while the debuting princess was the consort’s daughter.

While the princess technically had succession rights, it was unlikely she would ascend the throne unless she was exceptionally outstanding. Moreover, the princess herself had little interest in ruling, and her relationship with the Crown Prince was amicable. Even the empress and the consort maintained a cordial relationship.

Unofficially, the emperor was rumored to have several other lovers, which likely meant numerous illegitimate children. However, none of them were publicly acknowledged, and even if they were, the firmly established succession line made it impossible for them to claim any significant position.

As the hours passed, more nobles arrived, and the atmosphere grew lively and fluid. After all the members of the Ember family had settled in, no major commotions arose. However, Beatrice, while maintaining conversations with her family, occasionally glanced toward the door.

‘It should be about time,’ she thought. Just as the thought crossed her mind, the doorman’s voice rang out, followed by a subtle stir in the crowd. A girl with radiant silver hair and violet eyes entered, accompanied by a man with golden-red hair. The names announced by the doorman matched Beatrice’s expectations.

“Sir Francis Vellenoge and Lady Vicellope Sietlin, daughter of Baron Sietlin, have arrived!”

The duo captured everyone’s attention—the only ones able to share the spotlight with the princess at tonight’s event. Lady Vicellope, often described as the most beautiful woman alive, and the woman rumored to one day marry the Crown Prince.

Descending the staircase with her long lashes lowered, she looked ethereal, her light-colored dress blending harmoniously with her angelic appearance. Her partner, Sir Francis Vellenoge, a highly revered holy knight supported by the temple, complemented the scene, making them a picture of perfection.

Beatrice watched them intently, until her gaze met Francis’s.

His stoic eyes and firmly set lips matched the ascetic image she remembered, though his azure eyes now carried a glint of emotion she couldn’t discern.

 

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