The music in the hall softened, a gentle melody weaving through the ambient hum of conversation. My gaze lingered on Elara, who had turned her head down in response to my words. A faint smile tugged at my lips. This moment reminded me of the guarded hearts of Seraphina and Rachel and how I'd reached them—through something simple, yet profound: genuine care.
It's an odd thing about emotions, especially with women. They have an uncanny ability to detect the sincerity—or lack thereof—in someone's actions. Compliments given with ulterior motives, words crafted to manipulate, they notice. They always notice. And often, they reject such disingenuous attempts, as they should. But for me, that was never the case.
I didn't approach Elara with a scheme to seduce her or to use her for political leverage. It wasn't even primarily about preventing the civil war that loomed like a shadow over her future. No, it was something far more visceral than that.
I didn't want her to suffer.
I wanted her to be happy.
That was it. The heart of my actions. Perhaps it was selfish in its own way—my need to act, to intervene—but even the naive and unassuming Elara could sense my intentions. Genuine care has a resonance that no amount of pretense can replicate.
I knelt in front of her.
"Will you honor me with this dance?" I asked, keeping my voice steady yet warm.
Her violet eyes widened, her surprise both endearing and earnest. She looked around like a child unsure of where to turn, her gaze flicking toward the three girls. Seraphina, Rachel, and Cecilia each offered subtle nods, their tacit approval as clear as a spoken word.
Elara's cheeks flushed faintly as she returned her gaze to me. Then, sheepishly, she nodded.
I smiled and rose, taking her hand in mine. Her touch was hesitant but not unwilling, and as we moved toward the dance floor, I felt the weight of countless eyes on us. It didn't matter. Not tonight. Tonight was hers, and I would make sure it was a memory untouched by the turmoil the future might hold.
On the way to the floor, my eyes caught a figure in the crowd—Jack Blazespout. He stood with his arms crossed, his piercing gaze locked onto me. His expression was inscrutable, his presence magnetic in the way all villains seem to command attention without effort.
'Peak Ascendant-rank,' I thought, letting my senses probe his presence subtly. It was a match to mine in rank, but power isn't always measured in such simple terms. What I didn't know yet was the depth of his strength. If he hadn't undergone an awakening—a transformation of the mind like I had—then even his two powerful Gifts wouldn't be enough to match me.
Jack held my gaze for a long moment, the tension between us like a coiled spring. Then, without a word, he turned away, his interest seemingly lost.
'I'll need to kill him someday,' I thought, the inevitability of it settling like a stone in my chest. Jack wasn't just dangerous; he was the orchestrator of countless tragedies, the main villain of this world. His death wasn't just necessary—it was inevitable.
I pushed the thought aside as we reached the dance floor. The first official dance for all the guests was about to begin, and Elara, wide-eyed and radiant, looked to me for guidance.
I offered her a reassuring smile and a slight bow. "Shall we?"
She placed her hand on my shoulder, her other still in mine, and I led her into the first step of the waltz. The music swelled, and the room seemed to hold its breath, the world narrowing to just the two of us as we moved in perfect rhythm. Elara's initial nervousness gave way to something softer, more serene. She wasn't used to the spotlight, but she adapted quickly, her movements fluid and graceful.
For a moment, I allowed myself to forget the weight of what was to come—the plans, the battles, the sacrifices. For now, there was only this: the music, the dance, and the fleeting happiness of the girl before me.
But even as the dance continued, a part of me remained vigilant. Jack's presence lingered at the edge of my awareness like a shadow, a reminder that this fleeting peace was precisely that—fleeting. For tonight, I could protect Elara's joy. Tomorrow, I would ensure it endured.
__________________________________________________________________________________
Rachel's sapphire eyes followed Arthur as he guided Elara across the ballroom floor, their movements fluid and elegant. She hated how perfect they looked together, a part of her irrationally whispering that this wasn't a mission but something more. She clenched her jaw, biting back the flicker of jealousy that threatened to surface.
It wasn't as though she didn't understand the plan. In fact, Arthur had laid it out for her with his characteristic precision.
How does one prevent an engagement? Simple. You ensure one party is no longer eligible.
Valerian Slatemark, for all his charms and reputation as a serial flirt, was still bound by filial loyalty. If his family arranged a marriage with someone as illustrious as Elara Astoria, he wouldn't oppose it. And Elara? A true angel, beloved by all. She was the most eligible bachelorette in the empire, a perfect match for Valerian in every way—on paper.
But Arthur wasn't dealing with paper. He was dealing with fate, or rather, he was rewriting it.
The only feasible solution was for Arthur himself to intervene and form a "relationship" with Elara. A temporary engagement—a façade, really—that would derail any possibility of Valerian and Elara ever being tied together. Leopold Astoria, Elara's father, wasn't the type to force his daughter into an unwanted marriage. If Elara was engaged to someone else, the matter would be resolved before it even began.
It wasn't real. Arthur didn't have feelings for Elara, nor did he plan to play with her emotions. His goal was her happiness, and nothing more. The contract engagement would exist only in name, a shield to protect her from the future she didn't yet see coming. And in time, when Elara found someone she truly loved, the arrangement would end, amicably and quietly.
But none of that eased the simmering envy that burned in Rachel's chest.
She wasn't naïve; she had grown used to sharing Arthur's affection with Cecilia and Seraphina. Over the years, the three of them had formed an unspoken bond, their shared love for him binding them together. Rachel always took solace in one thing: she was the first. The first fiancée. The first wife in their future. It was a position no one could take from her.
And yet, watching Arthur dance with Elara, Rachel felt that familiar security waver. It wasn't just that Arthur was dancing with someone else—it was who he was dancing with.
Elara.
A girl who shone so brightly it was almost blinding. Angelic, vibrant, and entirely untainted by the harshness of the world. She carried an innocence that Rachel had long lost, an optimism that Rachel couldn't help but admire and resent in equal measure.
She's like me… if that episode with Mother never happened.
The thought struck Rachel like a physical blow. She quickly pushed it away, but it lingered, gnawing at the edges of her mind. Elara was, in many ways, a mirror of what Rachel might have been—a version of herself unscarred by her past.
And that, perhaps, was what stung the most.
Rachel's fingers clenched the folds of her gown as she watched the two spin across the floor. Arthur's expression was gentle, warm—the same look he reserved for her, Cecilia, and Seraphina. But seeing it directed at Elara made Rachel's chest tighten. She knew it wasn't real. She knew. Yet, it didn't make it any easier to bear.
Beside her, Cecilia leaned in, her playful smile tinged with a trace of mischief. "Jealous?"
Rachel scoffed, refusing to meet her gaze. "Of course not. It's a plan, not a romance."
Cecilia's smirk widened. "You're terrible at lying, you know."
Rachel shot her a sharp look, but Cecilia only laughed softly, brushing a strand of her blonde hair behind her ear. "Relax, Rachel. He's doing this for a reason. And you're still the first fiancée, remember? Nothing changes that."
Rachel exhaled, her shoulders relaxing slightly. "I know. It's just… she's so—"
"Perfect?" Cecilia offered, raising an eyebrow. "I see it too. But perfect doesn't mean anything to him. You, me, Seraphina—we're more than perfect. We're real."
The words brought a faint smile to Rachel's lips. She looked at Cecilia, grateful for her blunt honesty, and then back to Arthur. He was leading Elara through another turn, his movements fluid and practiced, as though he'd done this a thousand times. Elara's face was a picture of surprise and delight, her laughter like the soft chime of a bell.
And Rachel felt a pang of guilt for her earlier thoughts.
Arthur wasn't doing this for himself. He was doing it for Elara, for the empire, for all of them. This was just another battle, another step in his tireless effort to protect the people he cared about.
Rachel took a deep breath and straightened her posture, her sapphire eyes regaining their usual calm resolve. She was the first fiancée, the future first wife. She trusted Arthur, even when her heart faltered. And she would stand by him, no matter what.
Because that was what love meant.