There were those who crept into the ballroom unnoticed, slipping in under the radar like shadows in the night. They were nobles who had received invitations but lacked the nerve to match the reputation of Count Leon, or those who had no prior connections to the Countess. These hapless souls made their way to the periphery of the party, where they stood in silence and watched as the festivities unfolded before them. They were the wallflowers of the evening, resigned to their fate and hoping to go unnoticed. In time, they would build their networks, forge their alliances, and grow their circles.
Amid von Leon, the second son of Count Leon, surveyed the room with a fresh perspective, looking out upon a vista he had long taken for granted. It was common knowledge that secret things occurred within the discreet mansions of the nobles, shielded from the prying eyes of the masses. Amid cast an indifferent glance toward the fourth woman to enter the room, lacking any intention of pursuing her for a mere one-night stand — an unusual state of mind for him.
Then, in a moment of realization, he caught sight of her — the woman he had heard so much about. The one with the shimmering silver hair and the porcelain skin, whose beauty was said to be as fragile as a glass figurine. He had heard the rumors from none other than Count Arlen, who had spared no effort in extolling the virtues of his own daughter to Count Leon.
Amid was no stranger to the likes of Count Arlen, who prowled about like bats seeking entry into the upper echelons of society. Yet, this time, he had to admit that the Count was playing the role of the humble supplicant quite convincingly.
As the woman drew closer, her beauty shone all the more brightly, illuminated by the warm, yellow light of the ballroom. Her silver hair sparkled and shimmered, casting a brilliant sheen that dazzled the eyes.
The woman glided into the room, wrapped in a thick shawl that hung over her white dress like a veil. Her gloves hugged her delicate wrists, and a ribbon of such pure whiteness adorned them that it could be mistaken for blue. She was like a snowflake, fragile yet captivating. Amid couldn’t help but marvel at her beauty as bright purple irises sparkled beneath her long eyelashes, trained on the man at her side.
Den of Acid? Amid wondered. The man wasn’t worth much attention anyway. He was lucky to be with a woman of such rare talent, even if he knew nothing. That was the only appraisal Amid had of him. His focus returned to the woman before him.
“Ilyin… Ilyin de Arlen,” he murmured. Perhaps her name changed after marriage, but it didn’t matter. There weren’t many names he had to pay attention to in the Duchy of Leon. And besides, his father said that all that mattered was for him to gain the power of precognition.
It didn’t matter what dishonor she brought upon herself, whether it was adultery or any other misunderstanding, or even if they had to get rid of that annoying Den. There were many ways.
So, Amid observed her beauty like he savored wine, taking his time. He narrowed his eyes as he thought of his younger brother, Peco, whom his father planned to marry her off to. “Isn’t it such a waste to give that beauty to that guy?” he mused, twirling his wine glass again. Regardless of who ended up with her, as long as she had the power of prophecy, that was all that mattered.
“Welcome,” he said, greeting her with the practiced demeanor of a host. He didn’t even spare a glance at the man next to her.
***
Amid’s voice was smooth as silk when he spoke. “Thank you for accepting the invitation, beautiful lady,” he said, his dark eyes fixed upon her.
She couldn’t help but feel a twinge of discomfort at the title. After all, she was already a married woman. It took her a moment to respond, but she managed to offer a gracious smile. “Ah, thank you for inviting me,” she said. Ilyin held onto Aden’s hand tightly for reassurance.
As the son of Duke Leon, Amid’s reputation preceded him. Even Ilyin, who had only a passing familiarity with high society, knew of the man’s notorious exploits. But she wasn’t one to judge a person based solely on hearsay.
It was difficult to trust noble rumors, even though there were whispers that he did not have a good relationship with his father. Still, she couldn’t help but wonder what his true motives were for approaching her so quickly after they had entered the reception hall. Perhaps Lord Leon had told his son about Ilyin’s precognitive abilities, or maybe he had other reasons for wanting to get closer to her.
“Could we meet on the terrace later?” Amid proposed with a broad smile. It was a great honor for a guest to be invited by a member of the hosting family, and Amid seemed confident that Ilyin would not refuse his offer.
As Amid was lost in thought, his gaze fell upon her, and something inside him shifted. Up close, she was even more stunning than before. Her pure charm was too valuable to be left to the mercy of the chilly breeze on the terrace.
He couldn’t help but smile, his lips curling upwards. “Would you care to join me for a conversation?” he asked, his tone direct and unapologetic.
Though Ilyin was new to high society, she was no fool. She returned Aden’s escortive gaze with a cool one of her own, fixing her attention on Amid. She gently lifted her hand, running it across the back of Aden’s palm in a calming gesture.
“The Arlen Winery will be present tonight as well. They seem to have taken a keen interest in the ladies of the party,” Amid continued, even though he knew full well that Ilyin was married.
Despite her understanding of the situation, Ilyin couldn’t help feeling uneasy at the mention of the Arlen Winery. “While I would love to spend time with you, Lord Amid, I am wary of stepping on any toes. There are many esteemed guests vying for your attention,” she replied tactfully, giving him an out.
Despite Ilyin’s polite refusal, Amid wasn’t willing to give up so easily. “Where else would a woman as precious as a Lady be?” he asked, his hand reaching out to take hers. But before their fingers could touch, Aegis intervened.
“Excuse me for a moment,” the knight said, positioning himself between the two without breaking any of the rigid social protocols that governed their interactions. To most, it would have seemed like a seamless and respectful maneuver, but to Amid, it was a clear indication of Aegis’s lack of respect.
Though he couldn’t outright chastise the knight for his impudence, Amid made a mental note of his discomfort. “You’re a knight with deep loyalty. Which family did you devote your sword to?” he asked pointedly, his eyes raking over Aegis’s form. From the man’s rigid posture and unyielding gaze, Amid deduced that he wasn’t just any run-of-the-mill swordsman. He must have a master, and that master was likely Den.
Amid inwardly cursed his luck. It was frustrating that Aegis had blocked his path, but it was even more aggravating to know that he was more than just a skilled warrior who had trained for a year or two.
Lower-class followers were a reflection of their superiors’ standing, Amid knew. They were drawn to wealth, power, and influence like moths to a flame. He wet his lips with his tongue before asking the knight standing before him, “Are you a swordsman of Acid?”
Knighthood was a rare honor reserved only for nobles who had been granted the duty of sword and protection by the emperor. Those who wielded swords at the highest levels were simply known as swordsmen.
For Aegis to have risen to the rank of knight was a great honor, but it also meant that he was beholden to his lord. Amid wondered if he might be able to sway Aegis to his own cause. “Have you ever considered becoming a sword for Leon instead of Acid?” he asked, his voice laced with subtle enticement.
There were those who crept into the ballroom unnoticed, slipping in under the radar like shadows in the night. They were nobles who had received invitations but lacked the nerve to match the reputation of Count Leon, or those who had no prior connections to the Countess. These hapless souls made their way to the periphery of the party, where they stood in silence and watched as the festivities unfolded before them. They were the wallflowers of the evening, resigned to their fate and hoping to go unnoticed. In time, they would build their networks, forge their alliances, and grow their circles.
Amid von Leon, the second son of Count Leon, surveyed the room with a fresh perspective, looking out upon a vista he had long taken for granted. It was common knowledge that secret things occurred within the discreet mansions of the nobles, shielded from the prying eyes of the masses. Amid cast an indifferent glance toward the fourth woman to enter the room, lacking any intention of pursuing her for a mere one-night stand — an unusual state of mind for him.
Then, in a moment of realization, he caught sight of her — the woman he had heard so much about. The one with the shimmering silver hair and the porcelain skin, whose beauty was said to be as fragile as a glass figurine. He had heard the rumors from none other than Count Arlen, who had spared no effort in extolling the virtues of his own daughter to Count Leon.
Amid was no stranger to the likes of Count Arlen, who prowled about like bats seeking entry into the upper echelons of society. Yet, this time, he had to admit that the Count was playing the role of the humble supplicant quite convincingly.
As the woman drew closer, her beauty shone all the more brightly, illuminated by the warm, yellow light of the ballroom. Her silver hair sparkled and shimmered, casting a brilliant sheen that dazzled the eyes.
The woman glided into the room, wrapped in a thick shawl that hung over her white dress like a veil. Her gloves hugged her delicate wrists, and a ribbon of such pure whiteness adorned them that it could be mistaken for blue. She was like a snowflake, fragile yet captivating. Amid couldn’t help but marvel at her beauty as bright purple irises sparkled beneath her long eyelashes, trained on the man at her side.
Den of Acid? Amid wondered. The man wasn’t worth much attention anyway. He was lucky to be with a woman of such rare talent, even if he knew nothing. That was the only appraisal Amid had of him. His focus returned to the woman before him.
“Ilyin… Ilyin de Arlen,” he murmured. Perhaps her name changed after marriage, but it didn’t matter. There weren’t many names he had to pay attention to in the Duchy of Leon. And besides, his father said that all that mattered was for him to gain the power of precognition.
It didn’t matter what dishonor she brought upon herself, whether it was adultery or any other misunderstanding, or even if they had to get rid of that annoying Den. There were many ways.
So, Amid observed her beauty like he savored wine, taking his time. He narrowed his eyes as he thought of his younger brother, Peco, whom his father planned to marry her off to. “Isn’t it such a waste to give that beauty to that guy?” he mused, twirling his wine glass again. Regardless of who ended up with her, as long as she had the power of prophecy, that was all that mattered.
“Welcome,” he said, greeting her with the practiced demeanor of a host. He didn’t even spare a glance at the man next to her.
***
Amid’s voice was smooth as silk when he spoke. “Thank you for accepting the invitation, beautiful lady,” he said, his dark eyes fixed upon her.
She couldn’t help but feel a twinge of discomfort at the title. After all, she was already a married woman. It took her a moment to respond, but she managed to offer a gracious smile. “Ah, thank you for inviting me,” she said. Ilyin held onto Aden’s hand tightly for reassurance.
As the son of Duke Leon, Amid’s reputation preceded him. Even Ilyin, who had only a passing familiarity with high society, knew of the man’s notorious exploits. But she wasn’t one to judge a person based solely on hearsay.
It was difficult to trust noble rumors, even though there were whispers that he did not have a good relationship with his father. Still, she couldn’t help but wonder what his true motives were for approaching her so quickly after they had entered the reception hall. Perhaps Lord Leon had told his son about Ilyin’s precognitive abilities, or maybe he had other reasons for wanting to get closer to her.
“Could we meet on the terrace later?” Amid proposed with a broad smile. It was a great honor for a guest to be invited by a member of the hosting family, and Amid seemed confident that Ilyin would not refuse his offer.
As Amid was lost in thought, his gaze fell upon her, and something inside him shifted. Up close, she was even more stunning than before. Her pure charm was too valuable to be left to the mercy of the chilly breeze on the terrace.
He couldn’t help but smile, his lips curling upwards. “Would you care to join me for a conversation?” he asked, his tone direct and unapologetic.
Though Ilyin was new to high society, she was no fool. She returned Aden’s escortive gaze with a cool one of her own, fixing her attention on Amid. She gently lifted her hand, running it across the back of Aden’s palm in a calming gesture.
“The Arlen Winery will be present tonight as well. They seem to have taken a keen interest in the ladies of the party,” Amid continued, even though he knew full well that Ilyin was married.
Despite her understanding of the situation, Ilyin couldn’t help feeling uneasy at the mention of the Arlen Winery. “While I would love to spend time with you, Lord Amid, I am wary of stepping on any toes. There are many esteemed guests vying for your attention,” she replied tactfully, giving him an out.
Despite Ilyin’s polite refusal, Amid wasn’t willing to give up so easily. “Where else would a woman as precious as a Lady be?” he asked, his hand reaching out to take hers. But before their fingers could touch, Aegis intervened.
“Excuse me for a moment,” the knight said, positioning himself between the two without breaking any of the rigid social protocols that governed their interactions. To most, it would have seemed like a seamless and respectful maneuver, but to Amid, it was a clear indication of Aegis’s lack of respect.
Though he couldn’t outright chastise the knight for his impudence, Amid made a mental note of his discomfort. “You’re a knight with deep loyalty. Which family did you devote your sword to?” he asked pointedly, his eyes raking over Aegis’s form. From the man’s rigid posture and unyielding gaze, Amid deduced that he wasn’t just any run-of-the-mill swordsman. He must have a master, and that master was likely Den.
Amid inwardly cursed his luck. It was frustrating that Aegis had blocked his path, but it was even more aggravating to know that he was more than just a skilled warrior who had trained for a year or two.
Lower-class followers were a reflection of their superiors’ standing, Amid knew. They were drawn to wealth, power, and influence like moths to a flame. He wet his lips with his tongue before asking the knight standing before him, “Are you a swordsman of Acid?”
Knighthood was a rare honor reserved only for nobles who had been granted the duty of sword and protection by the emperor. Those who wielded swords at the highest levels were simply known as swordsmen.
For Aegis to have risen to the rank of knight was a great honor, but it also meant that he was beholden to his lord. Amid wondered if he might be able to sway Aegis to his own cause. “Have you ever considered becoming a sword for Leon instead of Acid?” he asked, his voice laced with subtle enticement.
