Lucian picked up the glass from the passing tray, swirling the dark liquid and lifting it to his nose. He sniffed, but didn't taste.
The "seating" arrangement was not fixed. Unlike traditional grand dinners with rigid seating charts, this one was designed for movement.
The main area featured small standing tables where guests could come and go freely. For those seeking comfort, semi-private booths lined the hall's perimeter, both outside and inside.
The music, the scent, the taste, the atmosphere ─ everything was designed to be stimulating, and intoxicating.
The exotic dancers weaved between the tables and the standing guests, their movements hypnotic.
Even though Lucian didn't want to admit it, even though the idea of giving in, even for a second, disgusted him, he had to admit, it was a fascinating experience.
The music faded, and the dancers disappeared.
Silence fell.
The guests waited, holding their breaths.
And then, a male's voice.
"Welcome."
The guests turned their heads, searching.
"I am pleased to see you all here tonight," the man continued, taking off his hat, and bowing low, "And I hope you will enjoy yourselves," his words followed by a magic trick. A white dove appeared from his sleeve, fluttering away.
Everyone clapped, their smiles widening. No whispers, no strange looks, no subtle sneers ─ everyone was equally excited, and no one could hide it, gesturing to the person closest to them, nodding, and laughing.
· · ─────── · ⊱❈⊰· ─────── · ·
When the performances ended, the King and the Queen took their seats at the head table.
The King gestured, and a single chime followed, "Ladies and gentlemen, let's raise our glasses for a toast," he said, lifting his glass, "And have a good time!"
The guests raised their glasses, toasting, "Long live the King! Long live the Queen! Long live the Royal Family! Blessing to the Kingdom!"
The feast officially began. The music resumed, the atmosphere was lively and relaxed.
"What do you think?" a voice asked.
Lucian's gaze flickered to his right.
A tall figure, lean, yet muscular. Dressed in a crisp, royal uniform, with a sharp jaw and even sharper gray eyes. The mask did little to hide his identity. And the rare color of his hair, black as coal, was even more recognizable.
"Your Highness," Lucian bowed.
The Crown Prince has been building a Royal Army for the past few years, and Lucian has invested a fair amount in the project to lower the nobles's influence on the throne.
The Crown Prince didn't return the gesture. Instead, he let his gaze sweep the crowd, "Not what you expected?"
"On the contrary, Your Highness," Lucian replied smoothly, following the Crown Prince's gaze, "I find myself quite entertained."
There stood a shy girl, under the gaze of those around her. Her masquerade mask hid most of her face, but unable to conceal the beauty that made men trip over their own feet — unknowingly captivating — a bit dense, a bit awkward, but with an inner strength that would shine when needed the most.
"The little lamb has wandered a bit too far," the Crown Prince commented, his tone unusually soft.
The noble women curtsied, greeting the Crown Prince with warm, flattering words, their eyes glittering with the desire for his favor.
He barely acknowledged them, his focus solely on the girl, who had taken a few steps back when she felt his intense gaze, her eyes darted, looking for an escape.
"She's an odd one, isn't she?" Lucian wondered. It seemed like the Viscount's daughter was able to mend the Crown Prince's heart, after the trauma of witnessing his ex-fiance's infidelity first hand.
Just the thought of Celine treating another the way she treated him ─ Lucian couldn't stomach it, his insides twisting in pain.
The Crowns Prince walked ahead, his presence commanding attention, and many eyes were already glancing his way.
The girl didn't want to be seen with the Crown Prince, that much was clear, and to avoid further attention, she looked around and quickly ran awa–
Only to collide against Lucian's chest.
The collision was strong enough for her to stumble back. She would've fallen if Lucian hadn't caught her by the arms, steadying her.
"I'm sorry, I–" the girl's eyes widened, her mask falling. She took a step back, stumbling again, and this time, falling.
Letting go, Lucian watched her collapse on the ground. The girl's face turned pale. She didn't seem able to get up, hissing a quiet "ow".
The Crown Prince's eyes flashed. He was clearly irritated as he lifted her up by the arms. She tried to struggle free, but his grip was firm, and her feeble attempts only seemed to fuel his anger. Carrying her in a princess carry, he strode out of the ballroom.
In a world where schemes, plots, and intrigues were a common thing, she was a fresh breath of air. Not tainted by greed, not stained by corruption, one who didn't have the desire to gain anything from the Crown Prince, and that, was what made her an object of interest.
Lucian wanted to follow after them, but didn't, yet.
Throughout the whole event, he had felt a strong gaze lingering on him, and now, as he turned and met her eyes, he was finally able to confirm it.
Standing close to the entrance, Lady Celine Rochefort was looking straight at him.
The moment their eyes met, his expression changed. From a distant indifference, to a mocking, derisive smile. A trained reaction, honed to perfection, one that showed nothing of the scorching heat brewing inside him.
"Can't keep your eyes off me, My Lady?" he asked, pausing at his steps.
She ignored his words, and instead, passed him her handkerchief. "Here," she said, slowly fanning her face with a fan, hiding her bottom face, "You need to clean yourself up a bit. After touching the girl, you've gained an unpleasant stench. Do yourself a favor and wash it off."
Lucian's chest squeezed, his pulse spiking. He didn't take the handkerchief, and instead, gave a low, mocking laugh. "I'm afraid the stench you are smelling is done by you, My Lady. If I may, it's coming from the wound that refuses to dress, and instead, is still left open for the rot to spread."
She clutched the fan tighter. Her eyes were hard to read, and it made him wonder if she could still feel emotions at all.
He turned his back, then, changing his mind at the last second, he faced her again, and reached out to offer his handkerchief, whispering, "Perhaps I should be the one offering you this, my lady. For I believe you're the one who needs it more."
He didn't wait for a reply, placed the handkerchief on the table beside her, and walked away, leaving the ballroom.
She was no longer important enough for him to waste any time on, and made it clear with his actions.