Chapter 60
The Ballroom
The place before her eyes couldn’t even be compared to the Royal Hall where the orientation had been held or the Diamant family’s garden. The grandeur of a ballroom carved out of the royal palace itself was overwhelming.
The path through the polished palace garden looked so smooth that one could probably walk on it barefoot without a single scratch. Every step she took drew countless gazes.
“Even with a mask, it’s no use.”
Well, that was inevitable. In the entire capital—no, in the entire kingdom—there was no one else with such striking red hair but Silia.
So Carla had deliberately gone all out, dressing her in a way that made it obvious who she was. The hem of her red gown flared like flames, trimmed with gold. Her necklace and hair ornaments were all gold as well. Roy had been the one to insist on such opulence, while Juline and Margaret helped her prepare.
If only I could’ve brought those two along.
Silia sighed quietly, and the maid standing beside her, Flior, leaned close to whisper.
“Truthfully, milady, even if you had declined, it would’ve been fine.”
“What nonsense. How could I refuse an invitation from the royal family themselves? A fallen noble like me? And if I refused, what would that mean for House Diamant?”
Her sharp retort made Flior smile faintly in relief.
“Still, I’m happy to see you’ve recovered so much.”
Even if she hadn’t recovered, she would’ve had to pretend she had. Turning down royal favor so blatantly was difficult even for Silia.
And besides—
“Once, I did this for Maria, too.”
That Cecil Diamant—the cold, untouchable head of the Diamant family—had personally fastened Silia’s hair ornaments for her. That Cecil Diamant. Carefully, even tenderly, as if making up for what he’d never done for Silia’s mother.
It had been the most uncomfortable and difficult moment of all. Still, she’d endured it, and that endurance had earned her points—points she’d need for tonight’s task.
Flior murmured softly.
“You still ought to be resting…”
“I told you, it wasn’t even a serious wound. Look—my arm’s fine, see?”
Wearing a dress that left her shoulders bare, Silia raised her arm. Flior’s ears flushed red.
“M-Milady… not here…”
“I know, I know. Too many eyes watching, right?”
With that, Silia turned her gaze toward the grand palace with the red roof.
“So that’s the Garnet Palace.”
“Yes. It’s used for royal banquets and balls.”
“Garnet—fitting name. They picked that color perfectly.”
As she whispered, she stepped inside—and a more dazzling sight unfolded.
The stares poured down on her from all directions. Nobles who hadn’t even attended the orientation were here tonight. Among them, she spotted Cecil Diamant, wearing a green mask. And another—
That pompous bastard actually came.
A man tightly wrapped in layers of formalwear, his face hidden beneath a mask.
Duke Ilaka Heinz.
Of course you’re here.
When Crondel had said that even the most reclusive nobles would attend, she’d known this was the perfect chance.
Whatever Ilrod had said, Silia had already decided—she was going to find this man. Not just because he’d dared to repay kindness with arrogance and insult, but because… something about what he’d said that day still bothered her.
“It’s already too late to stop the Heart of the Earth.”
That wasn’t something one could say for sure. The Heart hadn’t even appeared yet. For him to declare failure so confidently… it meant he knew something.
Was he just trying to get me to back off?
No. His tone had carried certainty. And that certainty gnawed at her.
I’ll get it out of him tonight.
And if she could fix that rotten arrogance of his in the process, all the better. Maybe he’d finally take some responsibility for once—because, honestly, the thought of handling it all herself was exhausting.
Just then, the king—who’d been seated on the throne atop the dais—rose to his feet.
Silia parted through the crowd toward the center of the hall. Flior hesitated, then released her arm and stepped back. Silia nodded slightly toward her before turning her eyes once more toward the Duke—and then to the king.
She straightened her shoulders, keeping her posture relaxed but dignified. Not too rigid like a soldier, not too casual to seem disrespectful. She’d practiced this stance for hours under Carla’s relentless instruction.
“Welcome.”
Standing beside the crown princess, the current king—once known for his towering stature—slowly approached. Silia cast a quick glance at the expressionless princess.
Still impossible to read.
Maybe she resented Silia for canceling their prior agreement, but her face betrayed nothing.
“Wasn’t His Majesty still ill?”
“He seems fine tonight.”
Whispers rippled through the guests. The king’s frail, low voice carried through the hall.
“This ball is held in honor of those who distinguished themselves during the demon attack and the great fire in the capital. It is a celebration for all who strove to restore peace.”
He raised his glass slowly, first to the high nobles, then to the crown princess, and finally toward Silia.
“To the kingdom’s prosperity, and the happiness of our people. Enjoy yourselves.”
At his closing words, the orchestra struck up a graceful melody, and the hall filled with murmurs and laughter.
Almost instantly, a crowd of young noblemen swarmed Silia.
“My lady, may I have the honor of the first dance?”
“My lady, I am the young marquis of—”
“Please, grant me the first dance.”
First dance? Too late—Crondel had already claimed that honor. Silia frowned faintly under her mask.
Then—
“Wait.”
Was that… Alec Phillips?
Even with a mask, she could tell. He even had the nerve to grin.
“We’ve met before, haven’t we, my lady? Allow me the honor of one dance.”
“Met before?”
“An acquaintance is an acquaintance, isn’t it?”
“Sir, there’s an order to these things—”
The other nobles began grumbling. Silia glanced toward Flior, who stood at a polite distance.
Yeah. This is probably the best way out.
At least if she danced with her own patron, no one would dare object.
“Sir Flior.”
She called clearly. Flior looked momentarily flustered, but stepped forward. The others retreated reluctantly.
“I’m not a very good dancer,” he murmured.
“So what? You can’t possibly be worse than someone who learned two days ago.”
He was worse.
His movements were stiff under his coat, his steps uncertain, his hands hesitant. When he was supposed to take her waist, he froze; when he had to guide her into a turn, he moved like a broken automaton.
“You did… fine,” she said gently.
“Yes, milady.”
“Really.”
“…Yes.”
Despite his awkwardness, his shy demeanor actually seemed to charm some of the young ladies watching.
“How can someone be that pure…”
“He’s nothing like those Casanova types. A true gem.”
Even Silia could hear their whispers. She smiled wryly.
“Don’t worry. Dancing with your sponsor won’t hurt your chances of marriage.”
“That’s not something I’m worried about.”
Under his mask, his lips curved faintly.
“The task you requested—it’s done.”
“I saw. Thank you. Tell the Count my thanks as well.”
At that exact moment—when every gaze in the ballroom was fixed on them—Cecil Diamant, seated among the high nobles, casually handed something to a servant pouring his champagne.
The servant bowed and passed it to Duke Heinz.
I watched him tuck it into his coat pocket while we danced.
The message itself was nothing special—just a note requesting a private conversation. That was all she needed for now.
It was the first step toward something she’d been waiting for a long time. But rather than satisfaction, her mind was already racing ahead, planning her next move.
“That was worth it.”
“Glad to be of help.”
As Silia and Flior stepped apart, the swarm of young men closed in again.
“My lady, the next dance—”
“Here, please—”
Just as she considered asking Flior for another round—
“Hm?”
The air in the corner of the ballroom shifted.
From the far end, a tall, broad-shouldered man approached. His face was hidden behind an intricately crafted golden mask, and his hair—silver-white—fell to his waist. His white attire was simple, even plain for such an event, yet his mere presence drew every eye.
“Good evening, my lady.”
His voice was smooth and melodious. The surrounding women began to whisper excitedly. Silia didn’t answer, only watched him closely.
“Have we met before?”
He smiled faintly and extended his hand.
“Let’s say we have.”
“And what’s that supposed to mean?”
Matching his tone, Silia placed her hand over his. He pulled her gently into a turn, settling into a dance.
“If we’ve met, we have. If not, then we haven’t.”
“So we’re speaking in riddles now?”
“Not quite.”
As they turned to the rhythm of the orchestra, their faces drew close. The man leaned in, his breath brushing her ear.
“I thought you already knew, and called for me.”
“Called for you?”
“Yes. And…”
Through the mask, his deep golden eyes gleamed—sharp, almost reptilian.
“Have we not met before… in a past life?”
