Chapter 34
Rieta was the least adorned among those gathered at the ball, yet she felt a peculiar sense of accomplishment in knowing that she was also the most beautiful.
Unlike those draped in glittering gold and the diamonds from the Floa estate, which had recently taken high society by storm, Rieta had only braided her hair with a long ribbon of round pearls and beads, letting it fall gently to the side. Her dress was modest, and she wore nothing more than a thin necklace. Yet the truth was that her dress had been a gift from the Viscount of Winterail, and her necklace—a sacred stone imbued with holy power—had been bestowed upon her by the High Priest. In effect, she was wearing the most precious items of anyone there.
Really, Lea is such a remarkable maid.
Thanks to the fine gold dust Lea had sprinkled into her hair, it glimmered as Rieta tucked it behind her ear, smiling sweetly at the crowd flocking to her. Beneath the chandelier, layered with tiers of massive crystals, she shone like a star. And beside her stood the Viscount of Winterail as her partner. A saint and a viscount—no one dared intrude, yet everyone longed for even a word with them.
“How delighted I am that the Viscount would graciously agree to be my partner tonight.”
“…It is I who should be grateful. It is an honor to escort the most noble of ladies.”
The hollow flattery left Norman stifled. He longed to retreat to a quiet balcony to clear his head, but in the presence of the Duke of Winterail, he had to maintain a stiff smile. It was exhausting. In contrast, Rieta basked in the admiring gazes, her left hand resting lightly on Norman’s arm.
Just as this one-sided enjoyment was wearing thin, the grand doors at the center of the ballroom swung open with a resounding crash.
For a moment, Rieta felt as though she were the star of the evening, only to feel guilty at the thought of the knights who were to be honored. But that worry was utterly misplaced.
No matter what anyone said, the true protagonist of the homecoming celebration was, without a doubt—Theodor Arvelche.
The instant Theodor appeared, every gaze in the hall turned to him.
Knights had said that even while toiling in foreign lands, Theodor had been strikingly handsome, sculpted as if from stone. Now, having completed his mission, washed away the dust of travel, tamed his tousled hair, and dressed properly, his already distinguished features gleamed brighter than ever.
When someone with fine looks entered a hall, women usually flushed and men harbored envy. But Theodor’s beauty was such that men and women alike stared, entranced. Behind him, Mark and Siveron discreetly exchanged a victorious fist bump. Forcing him to attend and even borrowing their sisters’ maids to groom him had been well worth it.
“Captain! Don’t just walk down right away—stand there a moment!”
“Why should I?”
“Our captain… completely without ambition. What are we to do with him?”
From the moment he crossed the threshold, the hall spread wide beneath a balcony platform. To the right was a staircase descending to the first floor; to the left, the way to the balcony seats. He might have paused at the railing to savor the reverent faces gazing up at him, but Theodor strode directly toward the stairs, utterly uninterested.
“My goodness, I’d heard he was handsome, but in person…”
“They say he’s to be granted a title soon. With all he’s accomplished, it’s only natural.”
“What a shame his family has no daughters.”
“Families with daughters think the same—it’s said even His Majesty has his eye on him.”
“No surprise—Sir Arvelche is the successor to that nameless knight who felled Leopold. He’s a hero.”
Those who had been clustering near the Saint now flocked toward the stairs where Theodor descended. Already weary, he hid his fatigue well, politely engaging each person with a practiced smile, though he longed only to excuse himself early.
I wonder what Charlotte is doing now. Nostri must be cold—hopefully she’s dressed warmly. Is she eating properly? I pray she isn’t gnawing on some half-frozen bread…
With Charlotte absent from this place, there was no reason for him to linger.
Left suddenly alone, Rieta’s hand trembled on Norman’s arm—not because she was cast aside, but because she was exhilarated at the thought of finally speaking with Theodor alone.
Somehow, she was certain he would give her such a moment. Then, remembering the kind viscount who had so graciously offered her his hand, she turned to him. But Norman only smiled more warmly than usual.
“If you wish to speak with Sir Arvelche, you may, Lady Rosanac.”
“But…”
“It’s fine. Go on.”
At balls and parties, a partner might be left briefly, but it was poor manners to abandon them entirely for another. Yet Norman not only permitted it—he guided her himself, leading her toward Theodor before stepping back.
Flustered, Rieta quickly forgot her unease as Theodor’s voice reached her from nearby. She slipped eagerly into the crowd around him.
At last, I can be alone… Father will…
Norman’s gaze shifted, seeking the Duke of Winterail. As expected, the opportunistic duke lingered on the balcony with a glass of champagne, clearly waiting for Theodor to be left unattended so he might swoop in. Norman smirked faintly.
Five years ago, he scorned the temple for admitting a common-born knight, yet now that man is a hero, suddenly the duke craves his acquaintance?
Theodor Arvelche—Norman knew him well. How could he not? For months society had been abuzz with tales of the knight. But Norman had known of him earlier, through another source. The name had often fallen from Charlotte’s lips.
[Charlotte, you have ink on your hand.]
[Ah, I wrote a letter this morning—it must’ve smudged then.]
[A letter? To whom, if I may ask?]
[To an old friend of mine. Theodor Arvelche. He’s away now on a campaign against monsters. I don’t write often, lest I trouble him, but I send a letter from time to time.]
Charlotte rarely spoke of others. She had so few fond memories that she usually kept her words close. Yet whenever she spoke of Theodor, she smiled—radiantly.
She never smiled like that with me.
Norman had felt it then—jealousy. She seemed more at ease when speaking of Theodor than when sitting at his side.
From across the hall, he studied the knight. Theodor’s lips curved with gentle grace, but his deep blue eyes were shadowed with weariness. A trace of annoyance lingered there. How could such a man be Charlotte’s dearest friend…?
“Norman.”
“!”
A chilling voice spoke from above. Looking up, Norman saw that the Duke of Winterail had moved closer.
He needed no explanation. His father wanted him to approach Theodor—strike up a conversation, so the duke could join naturally. Seeing him drain his champagne in a gulp only confirmed it.
Norman sighed. Always connections. Always ambition. To think a duke could be so greedy—it was sickening.
Meanwhile, Priest Lettran was rummaging through stacks of donated goods in the temple storehouse, directing the sorting. Normally, such tasks would be finished by midday, but preparations for the knights’ homecoming had delayed them. And with the “Temple Auction” only four days away, the inventory had to be completed swiftly.
“These are the latest donations?”
“Yes, the paintings here, the ceramics, and—”
“Don’t mix them. Keep them sorted—we’ll only confuse ourselves later.”
In the Argent Empire, the temple held monthly auctions. Though donations were usually monetary, they often received items unsuitable for personal use: small gemstones, heirlooms of the deceased, and various valuables. These were sold at auction, and the proceeds funded temple charities.
Yet sometimes items arrived too worn to sell, or too difficult to appraise, so priests had to examine each by hand. This time, with preparations delayed, goods had piled up higher than ever. Only after compiling lists of items and donors did Lettran and young Priest Fon finally straighten their aching backs.
By the time Lettran dragged his weary body out through the rear gate, the moon was already high. From the palace, the faint strains of music drifted on the night air. He longed only to collapse into bed when something dark caught his eye.
“What’s that carriage?”
A lone carriage stood near the back road.
“Oh—that’s the load meant for the auction house today. The city was too crowded, so it hasn’t departed yet.”
“Even so—among the donations this time are some truly valuable items. Leaving them unattended like this…”
Lettran approached irritably. Where had the driver gone?
Checking the carriage, he found the lock on the luggage compartment loose, its latch slightly open. Clicking his tongue, he muttered—if anything went missing, it would be on his head.
“Fon, bring me the list. Just to be safe.”
“Yes, one moment.”
Fon hurriedly passed him the donor inventory.
“Hmm… an old silver candlestick, a bronze bell… Oh! Once again, the generous Lord and Lady Kennis. Let’s see—gold bars—”
Wait.
He shoved the useless lock aside, opened the compartment, and began checking items one by one against the list. Then he froze, face draining of color.
“What’s wrong, Father?”
“This… This can’t be right…”
Staring between the list and the carriage, Lettran’s voice rang out in alarm—
“The gold bars donated by Lord and Lady Kennis are missing!”
