‘Why does he keep staring at me?’ she wondered. In this life, Francis wouldn’t know her. She expected him to look away quickly, yet he didn’t. Instead, his gaze remained fixed on her, as though he were grappling with something unfamiliar.
To Beatrice, however, the youthful version of Francis standing before her seemed far removed from the man she remembered from her past life. The Francis she had known had already risen to the top of the holy knights—a feat that was still three years away for the man currently standing in the hall.
Though his demeanor appeared less sly compared to Carneron’s, the absence of hostility in his gaze was strange.
At that moment, Carneron gently tugged on Beatrice’s arm.
“…?”
Beatrice glanced up at him, puzzled. He met her eyes briefly but said nothing, redirecting his gaze forward.
‘What was that about?’ she thought, furrowing her brows. Even as she continued to look at him, Carneron feigned ignorance. His inexplicable actions were becoming a pattern in this life.
Still, she had to admit that Vicellope’s beauty was stunning. It was no wonder she inspired so many sleepless nights among young noblemen.
How many men had been entangled with her again? Though she would eventually marry the Crown Prince, her string of admirers included several renowned names. Among them, Francis, Felix, and Carneron stood out most vividly in Beatrice’s memory.
“Speaking of the princess, when will she arrive?” Felix, exuding an air of impatience, seemed eager for the event to end.
“The start of the event is near. She should arrive soon,” answered Carneron, her partner for the evening.
“And that Sir Francis Vellenoge—he’s been gaining quite a reputation lately. His looks probably help,” Felix added, casting a brief glance toward Francis.
Beatrice pondered the relationships between Vicellope and her admirers. She speculated on when exactly they might have fallen for her charms.
Francis, for instance, seemed already captivated, given his presence as her partner tonight. Felix appeared indifferent for now, standing casually beside Agatha. Carneron, meanwhile, remained enigmatic.
Beatrice turned her gaze back to Carneron, who this time met her eyes. His dark blue eyes seemed to silently ask, ‘What now?’
“That young lady is very beautiful,” she commented casually.
“…?”
Carneron, momentarily puzzled by the context of her statement, eventually replied, “She is.”
His response lacked any particular interest in Vicellope, confirming Beatrice’s suspicion that he wasn’t yet smitten with her in this life. Content with her observation, she turned her gaze forward, ignoring Carneron’s questioning glance, much as he had ignored hers earlier.
At that moment, the grand doors swung open again. This time, there was no question about who was entering. The doorman’s voice boomed louder than ever, reverently announcing the arrival of the imperial family.
The Empress, escorted by the Crown Prince, made her entrance, followed by the Imperial Consort, accompanied by her brother, the Marquess of Verdandi. Lastly, the Princess Angelica, escorted by Archduke Ambrosio, entered.
The Archduke, known for rarely leaving his ducal territory, appeared as stiff and displeased as ever, likely attending only under imperial command. Most other suitable candidates for the princess’s partner were already paired, leaving little choice but to assign the Archduke.
The imperial family gracefully ascended to their seats at the head of the hall. The Empress, seated at the center, swept her gaze over the gathering before addressing the nobles.
As expected, the crowd shifted closer to hear her words. Beatrice stood where she was, sensing the subtle gazes of others around her. Francis and Vicellope had taken their places nearby, adding an extra layer of interest for those stealing glances.
‘Tonight, many hearts will surely be left aching because of them,’ Beatrice mused, her thoughts drifting as she turned her attention toward the Empress.
“This debutante party is sure to be a momentous occasion,” declared the Empress. “Not only is it the debut of my daughter, Princess Angelica, but it is also the debut of many of your cherished daughters. May tonight be a night to forge meaningful connections, so do your best.”
Her words carried a subtle yet unmistakable implication: she hoped the Crown Prince might also find a suitable match tonight. At first glance, the statement seemed like mere formal politeness, but rumors of the Empress’s frustrations over the Crown Prince’s refusal to marry had long circulated among the nobility.
The Crown Prince was undeniably a perfect man—jet-black hair, striking crimson eyes, exceptional intellect, charisma, and physical prowess. However, as Florianne whispered to Beatrice:
“The Crown Prince seems to be in high spirits tonight.”
“He’s looking this way.”
The real issue lay in his impossibly high standards. The Crown Prince’s narcissistic belief that only someone as perfect as he was deserved to stand beside him ensured that he remained unwed. Who among the nobility would dare tell the Crown Prince to lower his expectations? Not the Empress, who adored her son to no end.
While he flirted with many renowned beauties, he never entertained marriage discussions. It wasn’t that he was stingy; those who became his lovers were rewarded with many gifts. However, most noblewomen moved on after short-lived dalliances, accepting that the Crown Prince saw them as unfit for the role of Empress.
Hearing Florianne’s words, Beatrice briefly glanced toward Vicellope, who stood beside her.
‘So tonight’s the night he falls for her,’ Beatrice mused. With her radiant beauty, even Florianne might concede that Vicellope was mesmerizing enough to captivate the Crown Prince at first sight.
After the Empress’s address, the Imperial Consort offered a brief blessing for the debutantes, particularly her daughter. The Crown Prince and Princess Angelica remained silent, respectfully listening to their mothers speak. Only after the speeches ended did the imperial family begin mingling with the nobles, signaling the official start of the party.
The Empress, the Imperial Consort, the Crown Prince, and Princess Angelica formed the largest cluster of attendees as nobles vied for introductions. Meanwhile, another notable cluster began forming around the Ember family.
“It’s been quite some time since we last met,” a noble greeted.
“Greetings to the Grand Duchess.”
“It’s rare to see Duke Ember and Lord Felix at such gatherings.”
“Marquess Carneron, I trust you’ve been well?”
“Lady Florianne, you shine brilliantly tonight.”
Agatha’s casual comments drew more and more people toward their group. After all, two of the most powerful ducal houses present were bound to attract attention.
Beatrice, noticing the growing crowd, unconsciously furrowed her brows. Sensing her discomfort, Carneron subtly pulled her closer to his side, as though shielding her from the chaos.
“…?”
Beatrice tilted her head up in confusion, only to see Carneron’s profile staring straight ahead, seemingly oblivious to her questioning gaze. ‘What’s gotten into him today?’ she wondered, puzzled.
Then, someone carefully broached a question.
“Grand Duchess, the lovely young lady beside you is…?”
One of Agatha’s followers, a Baroness, subtly gestured toward Beatrice. Agatha smiled warmly, gently pulling Beatrice closer.
“Ah, I must apologize for the delay in introductions. This is my youngest daughter, Beatrice. She’s been unwell, so her debut was delayed by a year, but I am pleased to present her now.”
“Oh, I see. How wonderful to meet you, Lady Beatrice. I am Chiara Hilario, wife of Baron Hilario.”
“Pleasure to meet you, Baroness Hilario,” Beatrice replied.
The introductions continued as other nobles stepped forward to greet Beatrice. She did her best to mimic Agatha’s subtle smile, graciously accepting their greetings.
The crowd exchanged glances, silently observing the interaction. Though Beatrice mirrored Agatha’s mannerisms, it was clear they shared no blood relation, making it impossible to offer the typical compliment about how the daughter resembled her mother. Agatha quickly noticed the dilemma.
“My daughter does resemble me in many ways,” she said with a knowing smile.
Her statement broke the tension, and the atmosphere grew noticeably lighter. Inadvertently, Beatrice found herself part of a gathering nearly as large as the one surrounding the imperial family. As she glanced toward Vicellope, she noticed the other woman had attracted a sizable group of admirers herself.
For someone from an unremarkable household, capturing the attention of high society with beauty and charm was an impressive skill.
Once the introductions had settled, Agatha lightly touched Beatrice’s arm.
“We should pay our respects to the Empress and the Imperial Consort.”
“Oh, we’ll visit later at our own pace,” Florianne chimed in, linking arms with Calrex. Beatrice’s sharp eyes caught the slight stiffness in Calrex’s posture.
“Of course. You two should enjoy yourselves,” Agatha replied with a smile.
“Mother, may I go home now?” Felix interjected.
“No.”
Without even looking, it was obvious the speaker was Felix. Unbothered, Agatha and Beatrice made their way toward the imperial family’s gathering. Carneron remained behind with Calrex, perhaps waiting for a more opportune moment to offer his greetings.
As Agatha led the way, the crowd instinctively parted. No one dared block the path of the Grand Duchess, second only to the imperial family in status. As they approached, the Empress and Imperial Consort turned their attention to them.
“Your Majesty,” Agatha greeted with a curtsy.
“Agatha, I didn’t expect you to attend the debutante party,” the Empress said.
“How could I miss the day my daughter makes her debut?” Agatha replied warmly.
The Empress, observing the unfolding tension with keen interest, tilted her head slightly and spoke with a gentle laugh.
“Oh my, so Lady Beatrice’s partner is the Marquess himself?”
Her words, laced with amusement, carried no particular malice but rather a subtle test of the dynamics playing out before her. The nobles nearby, who had been eavesdropping, exchanged curious glances. The scene had become a delightful spectacle.
Beatrice, unfazed by the rising tension, responded calmly, her voice as even and composed as ever.
“Yes, Your Majesty. The Marquess was kind enough to grant me the honor.”
Her words, simple yet firm, caused a faint smile to flicker across Carneron’s lips. As he offered a polite bow to the Empress, his usual cool demeanor remained intact.
“It is my privilege to escort Lady Beatrice tonight.”
The Crown Prince’s forced smile faltered for a brief moment before he quickly recovered. His crimson eyes flickered toward Carneron, and for a moment, the air between them felt charged. Yet the Marquess’s calm, composed expression remained unyielding.
“Well, then,” said the Crown Prince, his tone still polite but a hint colder, “I wish you both an enjoyable dance.”
The subtle edge in his words was hard to miss, but Carneron remained unaffected. Beatrice, ever the picture of indifference, simply nodded with a faint smile that could mean anything—or nothing.
As Carneron led her away toward the dance floor, the lingering tension among the onlookers began to dissipate, replaced by whispers of intrigue.
“Did you see the Crown Prince’s reaction? He didn’t take that well.”
“But what could he do? The Marquess is not someone to trifle with.”
“Lady Beatrice seems to have caught quite a bit of attention tonight.”
Beatrice glanced up at Carneron as they moved gracefully across the floor.
“You have an odd way of stepping into situations uninvited,” she remarked, her tone neutral but carrying a hint of amusement.
Carneron smirked slightly, his voice low enough for her ears alone.
“Someone had to stop him before his ego filled the entire ballroom.”
Beatrice let out a soft, almost imperceptible chuckle, her lips curving faintly.
“I suppose I should thank you, then,” she replied.
“You should,” he replied smoothly, his dark blue eyes briefly meeting her gold ones. “But I doubt you will.”
Their exchange, brief and subtle, held an ease that made their partnership on the dance floor seem seamless. As they moved in time with the music, all eyes were on them—not just because of Beatrice’s radiant debut, but because of the understated but undeniable connection between the two.
For now, the Crown Prince could only watch from afar, his expression unreadable but his crimson eyes following their every movement.
As the elegant melody of the first dance resonated through the hall, Beatrice found herself guided by Carneron toward the center of the dance floor. The faint buzz of whispers followed them, a mixture of curiosity and astonishment at the unusual pairing.
Carneron’s grip on her hand was firm but not oppressive, a delicate balance befitting his reputation. As they turned to face each other, his deep navy eyes met her indifferent golden gaze.
“I don’t recall you being this confrontational in our letters,” Beatrice remarked in a voice low enough for only him to hear.
Carneron’s lips quirked slightly, a hint of amusement dancing in his otherwise composed demeanor.
“Sometimes, situations call for a little… improvisation,” he replied smoothly, taking her other hand as the dance began.
Around them, the other couples moved in graceful synchronization, but Beatrice couldn’t help noticing the stares. Carneron’s reputation for calculated aloofness had made his presence here unexpected, and paired with her—a debutante shrouded in mystery—their every step drew attention.
“I wasn’t aware my first dance would come with such scrutiny,” she muttered, her tone as neutral as ever.
Carneron chuckled softly. “It seems we’re a spectacle tonight. You wear it well.”
Beatrice tilted her head slightly, her golden eyes narrowing. “Is this your idea of encouragement, Marquess?”
“I thought it might help,” he replied smoothly, though his faint smile suggested he knew his words might do the opposite.
As the dance continued, Beatrice caught sight of the Crown Prince, his crimson eyes unwavering as they followed her every move. His expression, though composed, betrayed a flicker of irritation—a reaction that did not escape Carneron’s notice.
“Seems someone isn’t pleased with my improvisation,” Carneron remarked under his breath, his gaze briefly flicking toward the Crown Prince.
Beatrice followed his line of sight before returning her attention to her partner. “He’ll survive,” she said flatly, her lack of concern evident.
The dance drew to its conclusion, and Carneron released her with a bow, his movements impeccably polished. Beatrice curtsied in return, her expression as unreadable as ever.
As they parted, she felt the weight of another gaze—this time the Crown Prince himself, approaching with a smile that, while charming, carried a determined edge.
“Lady Beatrice, may I have the honor of the next dance?” he asked, extending his hand with regal confidence.
Beatrice hesitated only briefly before placing her hand in his. “It would be my pleasure, Your Highness.”
Behind her, Carneron watched as she was led away, his expression unreadable. The whispers around the room swirled like an undercurrent, as the game of subtle power and alliances played out on the dance floor.
The Crown Prince’s grip was assured, his crimson eyes locking onto hers as they began the next dance.
“You seem remarkably composed for someone making their debut,” he observed, his tone both conversational and probing.
Beatrice met his gaze without flinching. “It seems composure is a necessary skill for this setting.”
The Crown Prince chuckled, though the sound was almost contemplative. “Indeed. And yet, I find you… refreshing.”
Beatrice offered a faint, polite smile. “You’re too kind, Your Highness.”
As the music swelled, she allowed herself a fleeting thought: If the Crown Prince truly intended to take an interest in her, it could make her objectives both easier and infinitely more complicated.
* * *
The debutante ball was undoubtedly abuzz with speculation and intrigue, and all eyes were drawn to two women: the Imperial Princess Angelica Rosantium and the enigmatic Beatrice Ember.
Angelica’s delicate pink hair, inherited from her mother, Empress Bellona, cascaded down her back in waves, complemented by her soft crimson eyes. The princess, cherished by the Emperor himself, was a vision of grace, and young noblemen couldn’t help but be captivated by her. Suitors lined up for a chance to dance with her, their dreams filled with hopes of romance and grandeur.
But while Angelica basked in the limelight, Beatrice Ember, a figure shrouded in mystery, captivated a different kind of attention.
Her jet-black hair, a rare and striking feature among the nobility, flowed like silk against the pale glow of her moonlit gown. Her golden eyes, sharp and distant, gave her an aura of aloofness that contrasted starkly with the eager excitement of the other debutantes. She seemed unaffected, uninterested, even as the distinguished Carneron Marques stood as her partner.
As the music began, Beatrice moved with effortless grace, her movements precise and fluid, guided by Carneron’s practiced hand. Her dress shimmered like a constellation against the ballroom’s polished floors, and her black hair and radiant gown seemed to embody the night sky brought to life. Whispers rose like waves among the onlookers.
“Is that truly the daughter of the Ember family?” some asked, their voices filled with disbelief.
Others, particularly the men who had considered requesting her second dance, quickly retreated upon noticing the Crown Prince’s unwavering gaze fixed on her. Competing with Prince Herod was a battle no one was willing to engage in.
Meanwhile, in another part of the room, Frances Bellenoze, a rising star among the Holy Knights, danced with Vischellope Sietlin. The silver-haired baron’s daughter, with her amethyst eyes and ethereal beauty, was a stark contrast to Beatrice. While Beatrice’s allure lay in her quiet intensity, Vischellope exuded a delicate charm that made her seem almost otherworldly.
As the night unfolded, the whispers among the nobles grew louder.
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