Chapter 24
Baron Weger slipped away almost instantly.
Rickman clicked his tongue as he watched the man’s back disappear.
Yes, Weger was competent, but he clearly lacked refinement.
Rickman decided he would give him a “friendly” reminder next time they met.
With that thought, he turned to look for someone else to speak with—
And then the crowd shifted.
Like the sea parting in a miracle, every guest in the ballroom turned toward the entrance and stepped aside.
Even Rickman, caught off guard by the sudden movement, instinctively began to move out of the way.
Then his eyes widened.
Walking through the parted crowd were a man and a woman — confident, radiant, and impossible to ignore.
“…Agnès?”
It was Agnès.
But not the Agnès he remembered.
She had always been beautiful — serene and graceful in a way that calmed everyone around her. But now, she looked different.
Her golden eyes no longer stared timidly at the ground.
They were lifted, bright and fearless, reflecting the chandeliers’ light until they seemed to glow on their own.
Her gown, though modest and simple — decorated only with a few delicate gemstones — covered her from neck to toe and somehow made her appear even more angelic.
The soft silver of her hair shimmered like crystal beneath the lights.
For the first time, Rickman realized that the lavish, gaudy dresses he had once forced on her had only dulled her beauty.
He had buried her brilliance beneath his vanity.
“Duke of Basteron! You finally honor this old woman’s party with your presence!”
At the familiar voice, Rickman turned and recognized the Marchioness of Norris — the party’s host.
And only then did he notice the man standing beside Agnès.
Dylan Harkwitz.
The Duke of Basteron.
A man both revered and feared — rumored to drink human blood, called a monster by some, yet also the Emperor’s own brother, once even considered for the throne.
He was elegance and danger embodied in one person.
His black formal suit was embroidered with silver thread, and an ornate silver brooch gleamed at his collar — a perfect match for Agnès’s white dress.
Rickman had seen him a few times before. Back then, the duke had seemed cold and unsettling — his pale face expressionless, his blue eyes strangely tinged with red.
But now, under the warm lights, Dylan looked nothing like the man of those rumors.
Tall, poised, and graceful, every step he took commanded attention. His chiseled features radiated quiet strength and vitality.
When he smiled politely at the Marchioness, every woman nearby blushed behind her fan.
“Oh, my! Don’t smile at me like that, Your Grace,” the Marchioness laughed. “This old lady might fall in love!”
“That would be unfortunate,” Dylan replied lightly, “since I already have someone.”
With an easy, natural motion, he slipped an arm around Agnès’s waist and drew her closer.
It looked both intimate and courteous — a lover’s touch disguised as a polite introduction.
The Marchioness’s eyes twinkled mischievously.
“So this is her, then?” she said, her tone teasing.
She turned to the noblewoman beside her, speaking loudly enough for everyone to hear.
“I heard His Grace was so smitten with a lady that he begged the Emperor to arrange the marriage immediately! His Majesty complained to me for days about it!”
“Please don’t tease me, Marchioness,” Dylan said with an embarrassed chuckle.
“I was quite upset when I heard the engagement was already settled without inviting this old woman to witness it!” she said playfully. “But now that I’ve met the young lady, I understand. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen someone this lovely.”
“You’re absolutely right,” Dylan replied smoothly, accepting the teasing without losing his composure.
The laughter that followed warmed the entire ballroom.
Agnès, standing gracefully at his side, smiled shyly and leaned just slightly toward him.
The two looked so perfect together that the entire hall seemed to glow brighter.
Rickman, however, stood frozen, his face stiff with shock.
Engaged?
He hadn’t heard a single word about that.
No — it couldn’t be true.
Agnès wouldn’t do something like that.
He remembered clearly: when he’d handed her the marriage registration form, she had looked a bit offended, yes, but then she had accepted it.
He knew he’d been harsh with her before, but she wasn’t foolish — he’d expected her pride to last longer. Instead, she had taken the paper without hesitation.
Her golden eyes had been calm, like always — serene, submissive.
So how— how had this happened?
Rickman scanned the ballroom.
Everyone around him seemed just as shocked — whispering, darting glances back and forth, unsure what to believe.
Then the Marchioness’s voice rang out again.
“Your Grace, you must invite me to the wedding! If you don’t, I’ll be terribly offended.”
The word wedding silenced the room instantly.
Among the empire’s nobility, a royal wedding was no ordinary event.
A member of the imperial family held two ceremonies:
one open to the public — a massive celebration anyone could attend —
and another private one, reserved only for the most powerful and distinguished families in the empire.
Every noble in that hall dreamed of one day being invited to that second ceremony.
“Have you already decided on the guest list, Your Grace?” the Marchioness asked with eager curiosity — voicing what everyone else was dying to know.
“Not yet,” Dylan said with a soft smile. “But of course, you’ll be among the first invited. Isn’t that right, Agnès?”
He took Agnès’s hand and held it gently.
In that moment, she — not Dylan — became the center of the entire ballroom.
The engagement everyone was whispering about had actually taken place just a week earlier.
It had been held in secret, and for a royal engagement, it was surprisingly small — only six people had attended.
But those six were none other than the Emperor, the Princess, the Duke himself, the Crown Prince, and the High Priest — a gathering so prestigious that no one would dare call it “small.”
Agnès, who was known in society as a perfectly modest and well-mannered lady, could hardly stay calm during such an event.
When she entered the ceremonial room, her heart pounded so hard she thought she might faint.
What finally eased her nerves was an unexpected person — Princess Serene Harkwitz.
Serene was the late Emperor’s daughter. She had never married and had even refused a noble title, preferring to remain simply “the Princess.”
Like her brothers, she had glossy black hair, but her pale cheeks were always touched with a natural pink flush, making her look sweet and approachable.
Unlike her imposing father and composed brothers, Serene wasn’t the dignified type.
Though every one of her gestures was perfectly proper, her bright, cheerful nature showed through in everything she did.
“My goodness,” she said with mock indignation, “my brother and sister-in-law-to-be are far too heartless! How could they make the engagement so tiny?”
Agnès smiled politely. “The wedding is coming soon, so I don’t mind at all. It’s already an honor that such distinguished members of the imperial family are attending.”
Serene giggled behind her hand.
“Oh, my! How did Dylan ever find someone so similar to himself? You could take my place as princess!”
“That’s far too kind—” Agnès began, flustered.
But Serene laughed even harder and looped her arm through Agnès’s.
“It’s fine, it’s fine. I’ve rejected every suitor the court has ever sent my way, so the least I can do is thank the lovely future sister-in-law who’s finally taking my brother off my hands.”
She playfully lifted the hem of her dress with one hand while keeping the other still looped through Agnès’s arm — a half-curtsy and a joke all at once.
Everyone in the empire knew about Serene’s infamous reputation — the princess who refused to marry.
She was not only stunningly beautiful but also brilliant, well-educated, and talented in the arts.
Every day, suitors from noble and royal houses lined up to ask for her hand.
To make things fair, she had created a bizarre system — the lottery of suitors.
Each day, one man — no matter his rank or wealth — could draw a lot.
Whoever won got to spend a brief moment speaking with her — from a distance, across the room, her voice barely audible, but still a treasured privilege.
And every day, the line of hopeful men stretched longer.
“Your Highness is unmatched in both beauty and intellect,” Agnès said sincerely. “It’s only natural that it’s hard to find a husband worthy of you.”
“Oh, please,” Serene said, grinning. “My brother and sister both say it’s because I’m too childish to marry.”
She laughed again — bright, teasing, and full of warmth — and for the first time since her exile from the Overhan house, Agnès truly smiled without fear.
