Chapter : 59
“Don’t worry and just go with peace of mind, alright?”
“…Alright. If anything happens, send someone immediately.”
“I feel like I’ve told you a million times. Now go!”
Roxana, hesitant to take a step, was finally pushed out of Frey’s room.
When she opened the next door, she saw Curtis, who had changed his clothes in the meantime. Roxana’s gaze lingered for a moment on his profile. His hair swept back, his collar stiff and perfectly pressed, and a uniform so neat that not a speck of dust seemed able to settle on it—the man exuded a disciplined, almost austere aura, very unlike his usual slightly relaxed and free-spirited demeanor. His straight nose and sharp eyes emphasized a dangerously alluring charm.
“Roxana?”
Curtis, fastening his cufflinks, looked up at the sound of her voice.
Their eyes met, and for a moment, he too closed his mouth.
“….”
His gray eyes, hiding desire, swept over the dress she had gifted him before. The misty blue gown, revealing her collarbones and the faint curve of her chest, the narrow waist, and the cascading red tulle that flowed like a flame—her lips were as red as her hair.
In front of him, the woman radiated a mixture of saintly innocence and witch-like seduction. Even if she wore a mask, her sensuality would be apparent. Curtis’s thoughts wandered briefly. The men drawn to her like bees to a flower worried him. Should he just lock the door and leave her in the room like a cherished bird in a cage, so he could stop gazing at her?
But the thought didn’t last long. Roxana’s clear voice ended the tense silence that seemed endless.
“Frey… won’t be going. He says he prefers to stay here.”
“I see.”
It was, after all, an event for men and women in full bloom to drink, dance, and press close to each other. Curtis, inwardly relieved, approached her. Seeing him close the distance, Roxana instinctively took a step back. But she could not run forever. The door was right behind her. Curtis closed the distance relentlessly, leaving only one step between them, as if a deep, uncrossable river lay in between.
“….”
At the look in his eyes urging her to come closer, Roxana quietly took his extended arm. In the wild current of this moment, neither could escape—not him, not her.
“May infinite blessings fall upon the entire territory this year as well!”
“To blessings!”
As soon as the king’s toast ended, everyone shouted in unison and raised their glasses high.
At the long table facing the king, lavish foods and exotic fruits were spread out: pheasant dishes brimming with herbs, wine, and spices; roasted young lamb brushed with olive oil; sturgeon dishes; honey-and-almond cakes; and salads sprinkled with saffron.
Once the banquet reached its peak, the musicians prepared to play at the cue of the master of ceremonies, performing an elegant tune.
The first dance of the masquerade was that of the king and queen. As the king rose from his seat with the queen and stepped into the center of the grand hall, the noisy crowd instantly fell silent. The king and queen danced gracefully to the slowly flowing music.
Everyone watched in awe, and Roxana, too, was captivated by the unfamiliar, glamorous scene. It was like the images from the books her mother read to her as a child: magnificent banquets and a grand castle. The spectacle she had longed to see unfolded before her eyes, leaving her feeling as though she had fallen into another world. She stared, wide-eyed, until the king and queen finished their dance.
Next were the princess and her maids. Men who had been waiting approached their partners and extended their hands. The princess, however, sat as still as a statue.
“Your Highness.”
A man who had been promised by the king approached her repeatedly, but she remained silent. When the princess did not stand, the other maids, wary of disrupting etiquette, did not take the hands of the men who approached.
The awkward atmosphere prompted the queen to intervene.
“Princess, Sir Henry’s hand will feel awkward waiting.”
“Mother, I wish to dance with someone else.”
“What?”
The court and her maids knew it was a long-standing tradition for a princess to dance first with the partner chosen by her father. The queen’s face twisted in shock, and the room fell silent. The flustered queen looked to the king for help. Stroking his beard, the king smirked.
“You know who it is.”
“Father…”
“Viscount Byungyeong.”
The resounding call echoed through the hall, drawing hundreds of pairs of eyes immediately to one spot. Curtis twisted his lips at the arrow-like attention. The king, with a solemn expression, asked slowly,
“You wouldn’t refuse, I hope?”
“….”
Curtis did not answer but looked at Roxana beside him. He hoped for some kind of reaction, though he did not expect any particular answer.
But his hope was crushed. Roxana stared straight ahead, unmoving, as if she had nothing to do with the situation. It was as if it didn’t matter which woman he danced with, pressed against. The voice that had cut him like a blade echoed in his ears again:
“I have no intention of interfering between you and the princess.”
Though his face was masked and expression hidden, his thorough disregard made Curtis snort in amusement.
“Of course not.”
Clenching his teeth, Curtis removed the sharp gaze he had fixed on Roxana. Rising from his seat, he approached the princess amidst the hundreds of eyes glued to them. The princess, who had been seated arrogantly, smiled.
“Would you grant me the honor of the first dance?”
“Gladly, Viscount Byungyeong.”
As if the insults of “vixen” and “stray dog” had never been exchanged, the picturesque pair stepped into the hall where the king and queen had just been. Excited maids followed, pairing off and moving into the hall. Curtis held the princess’s hand with one hand and wrapped the other around her waist as they danced the slow, elegant waltz.
Among the many couples dancing, one pair stood out, sparking whispers throughout the hall.
“They look perfect together. I didn’t know the princess was interested in the viscount.”
“Exactly. I was nervous she’d refuse, but it seems the viscount isn’t entirely indifferent to her either.”
“Rumors can’t be trusted. Some said he wore a wolf-skin coat, had horns, and two pairs of eyes.”
“Right? Seeing him in person, he’s so much more handsome. I was floored when he entered the hall. Hard to believe he’s still single.”
“Well, whatever the truth, it makes sense the princess would take interest… hmm. Anyway…”
A lady fanning herself noticed Roxana sitting quietly and changed the subject, but it was too late. Roxana’s full attention was on Curtis, lifting the princess lightly, holding hands as they danced.
The dance had been the one he had taught her in the moonlit backyard before the ball at Baroness Philomena’s. Though they had stumbled and wavered several times, the support from his strong arms had always made her feel secure.
“I’ll teach you to dance.”
“Excuse me?”
“Learn when I say teach. Roxana.”
A flood of memories surged, leaving a bitter taste in her throat.
Avoiding the glances of onlookers, Roxana rose from her seat. She planned to return quickly after catching her breath.
She weaved past servants carrying food and drink, limping slightly, and exited the hall.
“Ah.”
She searched for a seat but could not find one. Wandering the wide corridor, she collided with someone at a corner. A mask fell simultaneously.
“Sorry.”
Bowing, Roxana reached for the mask. But the other person picked it up before her. When she looked up at the faint smile, she immediately recognized the platinum blonde she knew—no one else in her world.
“…Thank you, Your Grace.”
Roxana quickly turned her back, attempting to flee, but a quiet question caught her attention.
“Is your ankle alright?”
“….”
He had saved her from a man clouded in lust the other day and treated her twisted ankle. She could not ignore him. Slowly, Roxana turned back, still masked.
“Yes. Thank you. I only receive your help.”
“You helped me too, so it’s mutual.”
Enoch glanced around. Confirming no one was nearby, he quietly asked,
“And Sir Russell?”
“He’s busy; I came out for a moment alone.”
“You are dancing the first dance with the princess.”
“…Yes.”
Roxana nodded after a brief pause.
“Then…”
She wanted to leave quickly. But her wish was not granted. As she tried to leave after he had shown proper courtesy, he grabbed her shoulder and asked plainly,
“What is your name?”
The piercing gaze from behind the mask made Roxana instinctively look away.
“Melanie.”
“Lies.”
His grip on her shoulder tightened. There was an air of certainty in his tone, and Roxana’s pupils dilated. Her palms sweated, and a headache and nausea surged.
