The Flower Festival reached its crescendo as vibrant smokeworks lit up the night sky in bursts of red, gold, and blue. The soft echoes of cheers and laughter drifted through the air, blending with the melody of the bands playing on the grand platform. Lanterns swayed gently in the evening breeze, casting a warm glow over the gathered crowd.
At the center of it all, Duke Fredrick Valenhart stood, his towering frame commanding attention as he stepped forward onto the raised dance platform. The shimmering silver embroidery on his fur-lined cloak glinted under the lanterns, emphasizing his Northern heritage. His piercing gray eyes swept over the crowd before settling on Flora Featherfield Valoria, her golden blonde hair catching the light as she stood at the platform's edge.
Fredrick extended a hand toward her, his movements deliberate yet tender. "Flora," he called, his deep voice carrying over the music.
The musicians, sensing the moment, softened their tune to a romantic waltz as Flora hesitated, emerald eyes wide with surprise. Fredrick's hand remained steady, his quiet strength drawing her onto the platform.
The crowd stilled as Fredrick turned to face her fully. From behind his back, he revealed a bouquet of crimson roses, their petals soft and dewy. "When I first met you in the imperial palace gardens," he began, his voice steady, "I was tending to roses, attempting to calm my nerves before yet another lesson in courtly etiquette. You were kind enough to tell me which blooms would thrive in the shade and which would not. But it wasn't the roses I remembered after that day—it was you."
A collective gasp rippled through the audience as Fredrick, Duke of the North, dropped to one knee, the roses extended toward Flora. "Flora, your strength, your grace, your unwavering kindness—they have made my life brighter than I ever imagined. Tonight, before the empire's finest, I ask you… Will you marry me?"
Flora's hands flew to her mouth as her eyes shimmered with unshed tears. "Yes," she whispered, her voice trembling. "Yes, Fredrick. A thousand times, yes."
The crowd erupted into cheers as Fredrick rose, pulling Flora into an embrace that radiated warmth and sincerity. Rose petals rained down from above, blending with the smokeworks still lighting up the night sky.
From the sidelines, Micheal von Shelb crossed his arms, his platinum blonde hair gleaming under the lantern light. His expression was a mix of exasperation and disbelief. "Attention-seeker," he muttered under his breath. "Did he really need the roses and the stage?"
Beside him, Magda's crimson eyes shone with wonder as she watched the scene unfold. "It's beautiful," she murmured, her voice soft and full of admiration.
"Beautiful?" Micheal repeated, raising a brow. "It's a performance. He's practically writing their names into a fairy tale."
Magda tilted her head, her gaze never leaving the couple. "Fairy tales have their place," she said with a faint smile. "But I like what we have now."
Her words caught Micheal off guard, and his expression softened. "So do I," he said quietly, his irritation giving way to a warmth he couldn't quite hide.
As the applause settled, Fredrick and Flora made their way toward Magda and Micheal. Flora's golden hair shimmered as she moved, her emerald eyes alight with joy. "Magda!" she called, taking her hands in her own. "I'm so happy for you… and for me! But truly, seeing you here like this—healthy, radiant—it means a lot to me."
Magda smiled, her crimson eyes meeting Flora's with genuine affection. "And I'm happy for you, Flora. If you need help with the wedding preparations, just let me know."
Fredrick, now standing beside Flora, dipped his head slightly. "Thank you, Magda," he said, his deep voice sincere. "But the wedding will take place in my territory. Flora insists on leaving the arrangements to my family's staff."
Magda nodded, her smile unwavering. "Of course. But don't hesitate to reach out if there's anything I can do."
As they turned to leave, Fredrick paused, his gray eyes studying Magda for a moment. "You know," he said quietly, "you remind me more and more of my aunt Celeste. Her strength and grace live on in you."
Magda blinked, caught off guard, before nodding graciously. "That's kind of you to say. Thank you, Fredrick."
Fredrick offered her a respectful bow before guiding Flora back into the lively crowd, their laughter mingling with the music and cheers as the festival carried on.
Micheal watched them leave, his expression thoughtful. "Empress Celeste comparisons already," he muttered. "That's a lot to live up to."
Magda turned to him, her expression calm but reflective. "She was someone to admire, wasn't she?"
Micheal's blue eyes softened as he met her gaze. "Maybe. But you're Magda, and that's more than enough."
Magda's cheeks flushed faintly, her lips curving into a small smile. As another burst of smokeworks illuminated the sky, Micheal found himself smiling too. In the chaos of the festival, a rare moment of peace settled between them, carrying the promise of more to come.
-----
The Flower Festival was winding toward its late-night revelry when the unexpected announcement boomed across the fairgrounds. The jovial voice of the festival announcer rang out, amplified by a mana-powered sound crystal: "And the winner of this year's Cutest Couple Award goes to…"
A drumroll began, and the crowd leaned in, their excitement palpable.
"…Sir Ethan von Shelb and Dame Vivian Whitestone!"
For a moment, there was utter silence. Then, as the realization sank in, the fairgrounds erupted into applause and cheers.
At the edge of the raised platform, Ethan and Vivian froze. Ethan's sharp blue eyes blinked once, his stoic mask slipping into visible confusion. Vivian's emerald green eyes widened in horror, her auburn hair catching the lantern light as she spun toward the announcer.
"What?" she hissed, her voice low and dangerous.
The announcer, either oblivious or entirely unbothered by the death glare directed his way, continued. "Let's give them a big hand, folks! Sir Ethan and Dame Vivian have shown us all what true partnership looks like!"
Vivian turned to Ethan, her expression a mix of indignation and disbelief. "What in the name of every saint did we do to deserve this?"
Ethan, unflappable as always, shrugged. "We danced."
"Danced?" Vivian repeated, her voice rising. "I didn't realize synchronized survival could be mistaken for romance!"
Before either could protest further, a group of festival attendants approached, carrying a comically oversized trophy adorned with hearts and ribbons. They placed it into Ethan's hands with a flourish, then stepped back to let the crowd's adoration wash over them.
The applause grew louder, and more than a few nobles exchanged speculative glances.
"Do you think this pairing signals a shift in politics?" one whispered behind a fluttering fan.
"Perhaps a military alliance," another mused, her voice carrying a conspiratorial tone. "Or maybe they've simply… finally realized?"
Across the fairgrounds, a merchant muttered to his companion, "Or maybe they woke up on the wrong side of the bed."
As they retreated from the spotlight, Vivian groaned, dragging a hand down her face. "This is mortifying."
Ethan carried the enormous trophy with ease, his expression as stoic as ever. "It's just an award."
"An award?" Vivian said, her voice incredulous. "For being the cutest couple? I'm a knight, not a mascot!"
Ethan glanced down at her, his lips twitching ever so slightly. "You're taking this very personally."
Vivian shot him a glare that could have felled a lesser man. "Don't you dare laugh, Ethan von Shelb."
"I wouldn't dream of it," he replied, though the faintest glint of humor danced in his eyes.
As the noise of the festival surrounded them, Vivian suddenly smirked, her earlier indignation fading into mischief. "You must be heartbroken, though. Flora's getting married. I'm sure that's been hard for you to accept."
Ethan tilted his head, his blue eyes narrowing slightly. "Flora? Why would I be heartbroken?"
Vivian shrugged, enjoying the rare chance to needle him. "Oh, you know. Childhood sweetheart, unattainable princess—you must have had a little crush."
Ethan let out a soft huff, his version of a laugh. "Flora has always been like a little sister to me."
Vivian raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "Oh?"
"When I was younger," Ethan began, his tone unusually reflective, "I used to complain about how strict my father was with me. Then, one day, he showed me Flora. A girl completely ignored by the Emperor, left to fend for herself in a palace full of intrigue. After that… I couldn't feel sorry for myself anymore."
Vivian blinked, surprised by the uncharacteristic tenderness in his voice. "That's… uncharacteristically kind of you."
Ethan's gaze turned back to her, his sharp features softening slightly. "Flora is strong in her own way. But I think women like you are better."
Vivian's smirk faltered, her emerald eyes widening. "What?"
"Soft women can't stand by me," Ethan continued, his tone matter-of-fact. "You would."
Vivian opened her mouth to reply, but no words came. Her face flushed a deep pink, and for once, the sharp-tongued knight was at a loss.
Ethan, seemingly unfazed, shifted the trophy in his arms and glanced toward the fairgrounds. "We should go. I hear the shooting games are open."
Vivian finally found her voice, though it wavered slightly. "Wait—what did you just say?"
Ethan didn't answer. Instead, he walked ahead, his long strides carrying him toward the games. "Hurry up, Dame Whitestone," he called over his shoulder. "Unless you're too flustered to aim straight."
Vivian, still rooted to the spot, clenched her fists, her cheeks burning. "Ethan von Shelb, I swear…" she muttered before storming after him.
As the crowd watched their retreating figures, whispers of admiration, speculation, and outright disbelief rippled through the nobles. "The cutest couple," someone murmured with a chuckle. "They might not agree, but they certainly look the part."
-----
Beneath the glowing lanterns of the Flower Festival, a small group of schemers reveled in their victory. Among them stood Adrian von Shelb, his sharp blue eyes reflecting equal parts irritation and disbelief. His long golden-blonde hair, tied back neatly, gave him the air of someone always ready to charm—though his current mood leaned closer to sulking. The comically oversized Cutest Couple trophy sat at his feet, its gaudy heart-shaped design mocking him in the warm breeze.
"I expected fireworks," Adrian muttered, running a hand through his perfectly styled hair. "I expected outrage, refusal, maybe even Ethan throwing the trophy into the crowd like a javelin. But what do I get? Nothing. He just carried it around like it was a bag of potatoes."
Julian Pegnitz, Ethan's long-time friend and fellow troublemaker, smirked as he leaned against the refreshment stand. "A bag of potatoes? That's harsh."
Adrian shot him a glare. "And then—then—he didn't even keep it! He passed it to a squire like it was just another Tuesday and went to the shooting stalls with Vivian. They walked away with plush dolls. Plush dolls, Julian. This is not the drama I signed up for."
Julian's smirk widened. "And here I thought you were proud of your stoic brother."
"I was," Adrian grumbled, his arms crossed. "Until tonight. Who even is that man on the dance floor? He waltzed like he was auditioning for a royal gala. Ethan—the same Ethan who once tripped over a rug in the estate's foyer!"
Greta, Dame Vivian's fiery red-haired wingwoman, snickered loudly. "Oh, Adrian. You're one to talk. Didn't you step on my foot three times during our dance?"
Adrian bristled. "That was… an anomaly."
"An anomaly?" Greta shot back, crossing her arms. "Your brother—who you've spent years mocking for being stiff as a board—danced like he owned the ballroom. Meanwhile, you nearly sent me limping back to my seat."
Amelia, another of Vivian's wingwomen, chimed in, her hazel eyes glinting with amusement. "Face it, Adrian. Ethan outdanced you. And so did Micheal."
Adrian stiffened, his irritation mounting. "Micheal? Don't even get me started on him! When did he learn to twirl someone without looking like a clockwork automaton?"
"Apparently during practice," Julian said with a grin. "You might want to give it a try next time."
Adrian huffed, his frustration bubbling over. "Fine. I'll admit it—they were good. Too good. It's unsettling, honestly. I spent years mocking them for their utter lack of rhythm, and now they're out there waltzing like they've been possessed by the spirits of ballroom maestros. What's next? Ethan writing poetry?"
The group dissolved into laughter, and Greta leaned in with a smirk. "Let's not forget, you didn't just lose to Ethan's dancing. You also lost to our plan."
Adrian frowned, suspicious. "Your plan?"
Amelia nodded, her grin widening. "We rigged the vote. Spread the word, whispered in a few ears—it was all us."
"You manipulated the votes?" Adrian asked, his disbelief turning theatrical. "For this?"
"Of course," Greta said, smirking. "It wasn't hard. They're oblivious and stubborn but look perfect together. Everyone agreed."
Adrian threw his hands in the air. "I've been outmaneuvered. By wingwomen. My brothers outdanced me, and you outschemed me. The indignity of it all."
The group's laughter doubled as Adrian bent to pick up the absurdly large trophy, holding it like a cursed artifact. "Fine. Enjoy your victory. But next time, leave the plotting to the professionals."
"Oh, Adrian," Greta teased, "you're just upset because Ethan carried that trophy with more grace than you danced."
Adrian groaned dramatically, the picture of a defeated man. "That trophy mocks me. My brothers mock me. And yet here I am, carrying it because no one else will."
Julian clapped him on the shoulder, grinning. "Cheer up, Adrian. At least you're consistent."
Adrian glanced toward the shooting stalls, where Ethan handed Vivian another plush doll, the fox this time. The knight gave him a rare smile, and Ethan's lips twitched as if he might smile back.
"Consistent?" Adrian muttered. "My brothers are plush-doll-winning ballroom kings, and I'm consistent. Wonderful."
As the group dissolved into laughter again, Adrian sighed and hoisted the trophy higher. "Enjoy this moment," he said, his tone mock-serious. "Because the next festival? I'm rigging every vote."
With that, they wandered back into the fairgrounds, their laughter mingling with the sounds of music and cheers. Adrian, despite his grumbling, couldn't entirely hide the smirk tugging at his lips. After all, chaos—even when it backfired—was still his favorite pastime.