Third Arc (Fallen Heart) - 217. Trap IV
Among the crowd, Angel and Rose graciously accepted the crystal flutes of bubbling champagne offered to them by an attentive servant. The effervescent liquid sparkled in the flickering candlelight, casting an ethereal glow upon their faces. As they took a moment to savor the delicate aroma and the tantalizing promise of the champagne, they cast their eyes across the vibrant hall, taking in the scene before them.
The nobles of Asteria, dressed in their resplendent garments adorned with intricate embroidery and shimmering gemstones, approached Angel and Rose with an air of reverence. Each noble bowed deeply, their eyes glinting with admiration and respect.
"Good evening, Your Majesty," they greeted in unison, their voices a harmonious chorus. "We would like to raise our glasses in a toast to your triumphant victory over the realms of Zephyrus and Draconis."
With a shared smile, Angel and Rose lifted their champagne glasses in unison, the effervescence within mirroring the effervescence of their spirits. The clinking of crystal against crystal reverberated through the hall, a sound that echoed their shared joy and pride.
"To victory and a brighter future," Rose proclaimed, her voice carrying a hint of gravitas and the promise of hope.
They ended it with a light sip of their champagne.
After they were dispersed, a hushed silence fell upon the hall as Prince Artheur of Draconis made his way towards Angel and Rose, his countenance a mixture of formal respect and lingering melancholy. With a graceful bow, he paid homage to their royal status, his gaze fixated upon Rose, his voice carrying a touch of bittersweetness.
"Your Majesty," Artheur began, his voice tinged with a touch of sorrow. "I would like to extend my heartfelt congratulations on your recent marriage," he said, his words laced with a bittersweet sincerity.
Rose acknowledged his words with a gentle nod, her gaze meeting Artheur's for a fleeting moment. She sensed the weight of his unspoken emotions, the silent ache that resided within him. Though they had forged a connection in the past, circumstances had driven them apart, leaving a void that lingered in their hearts.
Artheur's concern for Rose's well-being surfaced in his next words, his voice filled with genuine worry. "I heard of the rebels' attack upon you last week. How are you faring now?" he inquired, his gaze still fixed upon her.
Rose responded with a measured tone, her words carefully chosen to maintain a sense of formality. "I am grateful for your concern, Prince Artheur. I have recovered well from the ordeal," she assured him, her voice betraying a hint of underlying strength.
A tense silence settled upon the grand hall as Angel's words hung in the air. The atmosphere crackled with palpable tension, an electric charge that seemed to bind the three individuals together in a web of unresolved emotions.
"Prince Artheur, it appears you find great pleasure in worrying about another man's wife," Angel retorted, his voice edged with a steely chill. He felt a surge of possessiveness, a protective instinct that flared within him, fiercely guarding his claim over Rose.
Artheur's gaze hardened as it shifted from Rose to Angel, his eyes burning with defiance. A sardonic smile played upon his lips, laced with a hint of bitterness. He met Angel's cold stare head-on, unyielding in his resolve.
Artheur's response was quick, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Oh, indeed, Your Majesty," he retorted, his words laced with a bitter edge. "Of course, I'm worried about her, especially because you're her husband." The weight of his unspoken words hung heavy in the air, carrying the undertone of regret and longing.
The room seemed to hold its breath as the two men locked eyes, a silent battle of wills playing out before the assembled nobles. It was a clash of pride, a duel between two souls bound by a shared affection for the same woman.
Rose, caught in the middle of this escalating tension, felt a mix of unease and apprehension.
The strains of a waltz filled the air, their enchanting melody weaving through the grand hall. Sensing the mounting tension between Angel and Artheur, Rose sought to diffuse the palpable atmosphere, to redirect their focus toward a moment of respite and joy.
With a gentle tug on Angel's hand, she extended an invitation, her eyes pleading for his cooperation. "Angel, how about we dance?" she suggested, her voice soft and filled with a quiet determination. She hoped that the graceful movement of the dance floor would serve as a temporary reprieve, allowing them to navigate the emotional labyrinth that threatened to consume them.
"Prince Artheur, please excuse us," Rose addressed him with a hint of apology in her voice, her eyes conveying a mixture of gratitude and understanding.
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