"May I have this dance, My Lady?"
She had always imagined his voice to be soft when reading his lines in the novel, but hearing it now, it was melodic. Like a song. The kind of voice she could listen to all day.
He extended his gloved hand, and she took it slowly, trying to hide her daze.
The music began again, and they moved to its rhythm. There was never a scene in the novel where Varyn danced with a Daphne. Maybe the plot had changed… or maybe not.
He smelled faintly of roses and another fruity scent she couldn't quite place.
"You seem nervous," he said suddenly, his voice effortlessly breaking through the rhythm of the music in her ears.
Daphne swallowed hard, forcing herself to move gracefully in sync with him as the violinists played in the background. Deep down, she silently thanked God for those high school prom lessons. Without them, she'd have been a complete disaster in front of her favorite character.
"Uhm, I'm just—I—" What could she even say?
"Do I make you uncomfortable?"
"No!" she blurted quickly. "Not at all. I just—it just feels surreal."
And it did. Meeting her favorite character. Touching him. Feeling the smoothness of his palm as he guided her across the floor, his hand gentle on her waist.
"If it's about what I saw at the library last weekend," he said suddenly, "I promise I won't tell anyone."
Daphne frowned, momentarily thrown off. Before she could respond, the music stopped abruptly.
A figure emerged on the second-floor balcony overlooking the hall.
He wore a jacket over a tailored suit, his posture commanding attention. He looked to be in his mid-sixties. Lifting a fork, he tapped it against his champagne flute, the sharp clinking drawing every eye in the room toward him.
He had a fierce look—one that sent a shiver down Daphne's spine. She had no idea who he was, but she silently hoped she'd never have to cross paths with him again during her stay in this dreamland.
"It is my greatest pleasure to host this friendly ball in honor of my thirteenth year as the King of Gravenne, the Fifth Empyrean City," the man announced.
Thirteenth year. That's a long time, Daphne thought, until the realization struck her like a brick to the chest.
He had just said he was the Fifth Empyrean King.
And Liora had introduced her as the daughter of the Fifth Empyrean King.
Her father?!
A small gasp escaped her lips, her mouth falling open in shock.
He looked terrifying. Maybe it was the slicked-back golden hair, or the hard lines of his face. She shifted uneasily as her supposed father continued his speech.
A hand rested gently on the small of her back.
She looked up to find Varyn's worried eyes fixed on her. "Are you okay?"
She nodded quickly. "Uhm… yes. Absolutely."
"I want to thank the people of Gravenne," her father continued, "for not only believing in me but also for being patient with me through thirteen years of my reign. I became King…"
His voice began to fade into the background again as Daphne's thoughts spiraled.
Thirteenth year… thirteenth year…
The thirteenth year—that's when Grant Castiglione kills him.
Yes. It was in the book. She remembered now—the female lead, Yiwa Locke, mentioned that Grant Castiglione killed the Fifth Empyrean King during the thirteenth year of his reign.
So… what part of the story was she in? That conversation happened in Volume One…
Daphne shut her eyes, tuning out her father's lengthy speech as she tried to remember. She had read the book countless times but mostly just her favorite scenes.
She dug deeper, forcing the memory to surface.
Then it came to her.
Volume One, Episode Two.
Which meant she was currently in Episode One.
So… did that mean her father was about to be—
Her thoughts were cut short as her father's speech was abruptly interrupted by the screams of guests.
And in the next instant, blood splattered across her dress.
It all happened at once.
Daphne froze, her mind blank. Slowly, she lifted her gaze—her lips trembling—just in time to see her father's headless body topple forward from the balcony, crashing at her feet.
Terrified screams erupted around her as chaos filled the ballroom.
The champagne flute slipped from her fingers, shattering against the floor.
Her eyes shot back to the balcony where a familiar figure stood, holding a bloodied sword.
That blond hair—she could never mistake it. But his real-life presence was even more terrifying than any of his webtoon sketches. His golden eyes glowed brighter. His jawline was sharper. His tall, muscular build radiated danger. His aura was suffocating, his gaze ice-cold.
Grant Castiglione.
Of course. It just had to be him.
He smirked, his face splattered with blood, holding her father's severed head in one hand.
"I apologize for the interruption," his raspy voice began. "I struck a deal with someone, and my part of the deal was to bring him this head."
Everyone watched in horrified silence as he held it up proudly.
Then, with casual grace, he turned, snatched a champagne flute from the trembling hands of a nearby guest, and downed it in one go.
"Enjoy the rest of the party," he said flatly.
And then, he walked away.