"Ding! New quest alert: Make the prince laugh!"
The system's cheerful tone in Eleanor's mind felt like a cruel joke. She glanced across the glittering ballroom, her emerald eyes fixed on Prince Adrian. He stood at the center of a crowd, his expression as cold and impassive as ever. His dark hair and sharp features only added to his intimidating presence, and not even the warmth of the grand chandeliers seemed to soften his icy demeanor.
Eleanor sipped her wine, her grip tightening around the glass. How was she supposed to make that man laugh? She barely knew him, and from what she'd seen, he didn't even smile, let alone chuckle. Yet, the System had given her a task, and failure wasn't an option—not if she wanted to keep this second chance at life.
Taking a deep breath, Eleanor smoothed her gown and steeled herself. I can do this. He's just a man, not some mythical beast.
She crossed the ballroom, weaving through clusters of nobles who barely spared her a glance. As she neared Prince Adrian, the low hum of conversation around him grew louder. Her heart pounded in her chest, but she forced herself to stay calm.
When she finally reached him, she dipped into a graceful curtsy. "Your Highness."
Prince Adrian turned his piercing blue eyes toward her, his expression unreadable. "Lady Eleanor Hawthorne," he said, inclining his head slightly. "It's good to see you well after your accident. I trust you've recovered fully?"
Eleanor froze for a moment, startled that he even knew who she was. She hadn't expected him to acknowledge her, let alone express concern. His knowledge of her gave her a flicker of hope.
"Thank you for your kindness, Your Highness," she replied, her voice steady despite her nerves. "I'm fortunate to have recovered quickly. I must admit, I didn't realize you were aware of my… predicament."
Prince Adrian's gaze didn't waver. "It's hard to ignore when the entire court speaks of it. Your survival was nothing short of miraculous."
Her hope faltered. So that's it. Just gossip. She pushed the disappointment aside and mustered a small smile. "Indeed, it seems the gods have plans for me yet."
Adrian nodded but didn't respond further. The conversation hit a wall, and Eleanor scrambled to keep it alive.
"Your Highness," she began again, "it's quite the spectacle tonight, don't you think? I imagine it must be exhausting to attend so many events like these."
Adrian raised a brow, but his tone remained polite. "It's part of the role, Lady Eleanor."
She tried a different approach, making lighthearted remarks about the overly ornate decorations, then attempting a mild joke about the grand chandelier above them being strong enough to hold the weight of all the court's pretenses. Her delivery, while spirited, fell flat. Adrian's expression didn't change, his gaze shifting briefly to the nobles behind her.
"I apologize," he said after a moment. "I must attend to other guests. Please excuse me."
And just like that, he was gone, moving gracefully across the room to greet a cluster of ministers. Eleanor stood there, her cheeks burning with humiliation. This is impossible, she thought, clenching her fists at her sides.
Before she could retreat to a corner and wallow in defeat, a familiar voice sliced through her thoughts.
"Well, that was quite the display."
Eleanor turned to see Lady Seraphine Aldridge, her former mistress and now rival, approaching with a smug smile. Seraphine's gown shimmered like the ocean under moonlight, and her every movement dripped with confidence.
Eleanor forced a polite smile. "Lady Seraphine."
"I couldn't help but notice your… conversation with His Highness," Seraphine said, her tone dripping with false concern. "It's admirable how you tried so hard. It must be difficult to get through to someone so… reserved."
"It was a simple greeting," Eleanor replied smoothly, refusing to rise to the bait. "Nothing more."
"Of course," Seraphine said, her smile widening. "Well, don't let me keep you. The evening is still young, after all." With that, she turned and glided away, heading straight for the prince.
Eleanor's composure cracked as she watched Seraphine approach Adrian. The prince, who had been so cold and distant moments ago, actually gave Seraphine a small smile as they spoke. Eleanor's frustration boiled over.
What does she have that I don't? she thought bitterly. Why is it so easy for her?
She turned away, her eyes scanning the room for an escape. That's when she noticed the fountain in the garden just outside the ballroom. An idea struck her—reckless, perhaps even ridiculous, but it was better than standing there feeling sorry for herself.
The cool night air hit her skin as she stepped into the garden. The fountain stood at the center, a grand structure with a marble statue of a nobleman pouring water from a jug. The sound of water cascading into the basin was soothing, and for a moment, Eleanor felt a flicker of peace.
Then she remembered her task.
Desperate to draw Adrian's attention, she raised her voice just enough to carry back into the ballroom. "What an absurd statue!" she said, feigning indignation. "Who even designed this thing? It's as if they ran out of ideas and thought, 'Ah, yes, let's make a man spill water!'"
A few heads turned toward her from the ballroom. She caught a glimpse of Adrian's dark figure at the edge of the garden. Encouraged, she continued.
"I mean, look at his face!" she said, pointing dramatically at the statue. "Doesn't it look like he's regretting every decision that led him here? Poor man."
She chuckled at her own words, stepping closer to the fountain and giving the statue a playful shove. It wobbled slightly, and she laughed again, louder this time. "Oops! Careful, sir, you might—"
Her foot slipped on the wet edge of the fountain, and before she knew it, she was falling backward into the water. The cold splash stole her breath, and she surfaced sputtering, her gown clinging to her as laughter erupted from the few nobles watching.
But not from Adrian.
Eleanor's eyes darted to him, her cheeks burning with embarrassment as she saw him turn away and reenter the ballroom without so much as a glance back.
The System's voice chimed in her head, its tone indifferent and final. "Quest failed."
Eleanor groaned, slapping the water in frustration. It wasn't just the failure—it was the humiliation. Climbing out of the fountain, she squeezed water from her gown and straightened as best she could. Greta appeared at her side with a towel, her expression torn between concern and an attempt to stifle a smile.
"Thank you, Greta," Eleanor said through gritted teeth.
As she wrapped the towel around herself, she caught sight of Seraphine in the distance, her shoulders shaking with laughter as she whispered to her companions.
Eleanor forced herself to hold her head high as she made her way back inside. This was only the beginning, she reminded herself. There would be more chances, and more quests.
But as she reentered the ballroom, her wet gown drawing amused stares, one thought lingered in her mind.
Why is this so much harder than I thought?