#009. Masquerade Ball
A black carriage raced fiercely through the gates of the royal castle. Guards holding halberds stepped aside at once at the sight of a carriage that was virtually unique in the kingdom.
The banquet hall was not far.
The black carriage followed the well-paved road along the castle walls. Upon reaching the fountain in front of the banquet hall, it gradually came to a stop.
Anastasia slowly rose from her seat.
Artorius had not yet caught up, but she was not concerned.
He was the monster of Aquila Castle, who had lived for two centuries. Had he fought in earnest, Anastasia would have been killed before she could even cast a spell.
If he had struck her throat instead of the center of her chest then—
“…I might have died without ever returning.”
Anastasia quietly brushed the thin scar at the center of her chest.
What had returned to her were wounds—and her hair.
“May I ask which noble lady you are?”
A guard at the entrance to the banquet hall began his habitual identity check.
Anastasia had nothing with which to prove her identity. Until now, she had been little more than one of Sorban’s accessories.
“Which house….”
Instead of producing anything, Anastasia traced the air with her fingertips.
A light breeze rippled in response. With a snap of her fingers, a sprig of osmanthus appeared in her hand.
It was not magic.
In this kingdom, there could only be one princess who could display such a mysterious ability while presenting an osmanthus blossom.
And if she had descended from a black carriage, the identification was even more certain.
“Entry of Second Princess Anastasia Etranger has been confirmed. Guests of the House of Etranger are over—”
“No need. Thank you.”
Anastasia casually tossed the sprig of osmanthus onto the guard’s chest and stepped into the banquet hall.
The harmonious sounds of an orchestra blended with a pipe organ gradually grew clearer.
It was a time for dance and music.
Diana’s fingertips trembled uncontrollably. Though she had followed behind the Duke of Etranger, the image still lingered vividly in her mind.
Anastasia’s single, precise movement that deflected the Duke Sorban Etranger’s powerful attack.
However, more than that, she feared the duke’s wrath at possibly being fired after the drastic changes in Anastasia these past few days. That was also why Diana had risked her life to carry out “that act.”
While Lord Hawthorne and his staff were busy dressing Anastasia, Diana had broken the heel of her shoes and fled with the duke’s party.
She had roughly fixed it with plaster, but once Anastasia began dancing, the heel would surely break again midway.
They were fairly high heels, so her ankle would likely twist, causing her to fall in a humiliating manner in front of everyone.
Although the masks made it difficult to recognize faces…
Diana still knew which dress Anastasia was wearing among the many attendees.
There she was.
At the edge of the banquet hall, drawing all eyes of noble youths, entered a single, beautiful swallowtail butterfly.
Her golden hair, as radiant as fluttering osmanthus petals, captivated the gaze of countless men.
“Did you complete the task properly?”
At that moment, a thin voice came from behind her.
It was Zenis Etranger, the First Princess.
“Y-Yes, of course. I have carried it out as instructed, Your Highness.”
Diana lowered her head and nodded.
Anastasia had only arrived after the music began, so she would not know the order of the dance pieces.
When this slow piece played by the pipe organ and orchestra ended, it would transition into a waltz. After that would come a faster piece.
Anyone who took her hand to dance would witness her humiliation when the heel broke.
It would be a grave breach of etiquette for a lady, and a destruction of her dignity.
All she had to do was wait.
Just a little longer.
With everyone masked, it was impossible to tell who was who.
One thing was certain: Anastasia knew well that her dancing skills were not particularly exceptional.
She had not come here to dance.
She had come to find reliable allies.
‘To restore the Chantier dynasty, I’ll need power….’
Simply humiliating someone or tarnishing their reputation would not build her own faction.
Of course, she would take revenge for past grievances—but not at the expense of her larger principles.
What she needed was power that no one could look down upon.
Establishing her position came first, along with settling accounts with those who had once dismissed her.
Were there still families loyal to the Chantier royal house?
Honestly, no.
There likely were none.
Two hundred years was enough time to overturn nations twenty times over. How much more would it change the hearts of people?
No one would even remember the Chantier of that time.
So she must first build her own power base.
At that moment—
“Lady.”
A man approached her. His voice was familiar yet unfamiliar.
It was clearly a voice she had never heard before—yet one that felt as though it might have echoed once in a distant memory.
“…Lady?”
Seeing her lost in thought, the nobleman called out to her again.
“Oh, forgive me. I was lost in thought for a moment.”
Anastasia lifted the hem of her dress slightly in apology and took his hand.
“May I have this dance?”
“If you can endure my rather unskilled dancing for an entire piece.”
A modest remark that lowered expectations while expressing courtesy. Anastasia rarely made verbal mistakes.
That was how mages were.
“I shall guide you.”
He took one of her hands and placed the other on her waist.
Anastasia willingly entrusted herself. The slow tempo of the waltz was perfect for organizing her thoughts.
The waltz was not a difficult dance.
“You are… quite slender, my lady. Like a flower blooming alone.”
However, the man would not stop speaking. With each word, something in her memory seemed to be stirred.
Something she wanted to forget. Something that had certainly not ended well.
“You see me as a flower.”
Anastasia’s brow furrowed slightly. The man’s lips grew dry.
Such an outdated notion was not to her liking.
“…I apologize if I offended you.”
“Do you happen to know of a flower called oleander?”
“Oleander…?”
His hair was a slightly deeper gold than hers.
“Yes. It bears beautiful blossoms resembling roses or peach flowers.”
“I see.”
“People sometimes use its branches to skewer meat for roasting, and children may accidentally pluck its leaves and put them in their mouths.”
In the brief silence, only the waltz’s delicate melody and the pianist’s fingers pressing the keys could be heard.
“…And what happens then?”
When the man, unable to contain his curiosity, asked again—
“They die. Oleander is poisonous. So you must be careful. Its meaning is ‘danger, do not let your guard down.’”
As the waltz came to an end, Anastasia released his hand. She gently pushed away the hand that rested at her waist and took two or three steps back.
That was when it happened.
Snap!
The sound of a heel breaking. At the same time, Anastasia’s body swayed.
“…Ah.”
So this was it. Now she understood why Diana had fled with the family ahead of her.
She had run away.
The man panicked and rushed toward her, abandoning all composure. Anastasia began to use magic to steady herself—but stopped.
Instead, she decided to use the situation to her advantage.
Soon, his arm wrapped around her waist to support her.
“…Are you alright, my lady?”
However, his mask had already flown off somewhere.
His golden hair, even deeper in color than hers. Emerald-green eyes that shone brighter than jewels. It was unmistakably the hallmark of House Yanport.
Only upon seeing his face did Anastasia recognize the familiar presence.
“…Louis?”
Louis Yanport, the First Prince.
The greatest pillar supporting the kingdom—and its undisputed next king.
The boy who had once shown interest in her ten years ago.
“…Do you know me?”
Anastasia removed her mask. While masks were generally not to be removed at a masquerade ball, an exception was made when the host himself did so first.
A royal night ball.
The host of this stage was, of course, First Prince Louis Yanport.
“Anastasia?”
Louis had not forgotten.
Those blue eyes, like lapis lazuli without a single speck of gold.
The two spoke as naturally as they had in childhood.
As if they were back in a large room beside the social hall, where children around ten years old were allowed to play.
“Of course I remember. You spoke a few words to me back then, and it made Sister Zenis quite upset.”
As Louis, the host of the ball, removed his mask, others began to reveal themselves as well.
Only then did Anastasia realize someone was standing awkwardly beside her.
Judging by his posture, he had clearly been trying to support her.
But he had been too late.
Anastasia looked at the man, frozen for some unknown reason.
With a light snap of her fingers, his mask flew off.
It was Aslan.
“…Interesting.”
Anastasia’s expression grew cold. Behind him, Zenis, her father, and even her mother came into view.
All wore expressions of shock.
Her fate was a cruel one. Only one of the two princes would ascend the throne.
“Louis. Could you let go of me?”
Nobles, trained in etiquette from a young age, were expected to uphold every courtesy.
Among them, the only person Louis had ever allowed to speak to him informally in his lifetime was Anastasia from ten years ago.
An achievement sufficient to provoke jealousy and impatience from Zenis.
“But Anastasia, your shoe—”
Anastasia removed her shoe. She lifted the broken heel, revealing a hardened white substance beneath the adhesive.
Plaster.
The shoes had been received today, and only a limited number of people could have tampered with them.
Lord Hawthorne and his staff. And… Diana, who had been watching from the corner.
There was a reason she had disappeared at some point.
As expected, behind Zenis Etranger, Diana’s eyes gleamed.
“So the heel really did break.”
Anastasia glanced around casually. Everyone looked at her with admiration—and envy.
Among them, two people trembled.
Lord Hawthorne and Diana.
“Lord Hawthorne.”
“Y-Yes, Your Highness….”
Breaking a heel in front of the royal heir was no small matter. It could cost him his entire honor.
“At Esteban Hawthorne, do you attach shoe heels with plaster?”
“…Plaster?”
Lord Hawthorne shook his head.
“All shoes from our store are bonded using isinglass made from dissolved fish swim bladders. It is the same quality adhesive supplied for royal guards’ bows.”
“…Then there is only one person who could have used plaster.”
Anastasia looked toward her family standing in the distance.
All eyes in the room followed her gaze.
No one dared look down on a lady under the protection of the First Prince; the crowd’s attention shifted with her accusation.
“Sister.”
“Anastasia.”
Anastasia’s deep blue eyes looked up at Zenis, meeting her tense gaze.
“Did you perhaps order this?”
A faint smile appeared on Anastasia’s lips. Though it was phrased as a question, in high society—where gossip thrived—it was effectively a declaration of guilt.
Zenis flinched at her younger sister’s unseen cunning, but quickly composed herself.
“I had intended to question my maid Diana… but it seems you are trying to shield her, Sister.”
Zenis turned to look at Diana, who stood trembling behind her, pale as a ghost.
Despite her foolish appearance, Zenis carried herself with elegance even in such a gesture. Her reputation as the “flower of high society” was not undeserved.
“Anastasia.”
Turning back to her, Zenis’s expression carried clear sympathy.
“You must not falsely accuse someone just because you harbor ill feelings toward them.”
Zenis had deep experience in social circles.
“Even if Diana may have made a small mistake toward you.”
