Nicolas’s departure returned levity to the room once more. The music rose again. Lutes and flutes slipped back into a light, lilting melody. Nobles resumed their conversations, some with genuine warmth, others with smiles a shade too thin. Servants glided among them with refilled goblets, silver trays, and carefully measured steps, as if they could smooth the air itself back into calm. One eventually came to take the bottle of wine from Serena.

  She turned to address the king. “Your Majesty… I’m sorry… for disobeying. I didn’t mean… to cause trouble.”

  Renault shook his head. “It’s not your fault if others lacked understanding.” He stepped closer, his gentle blue eyes meeting Serena’s innocent gold. “Edmund is right, this is your home, and you did nothing wrong.”

  She looked around. Oswald, Aristide, and a few other nobles met her gaze with quiet, reassuring smiles. She finally nodded at the king, relieved.

  “Why didn’t you ask a staff to take the bottle here anyway?” Aristide asked, tilting his head.

  “Everyone else seemed… busy,” Serena responded. “I didn’t want… to bother them.”

  “Since you’re here,” Edmund said as he extended his arm toward her. “Do you want to—”

  “Ed!” cut Nadja’s voice, bright and breathless, as she rushed to him. “That was incredible, standing up to that— that—”

  She waved one hand in the air, searching for a word strong enough. “That pompous peacock of a count!”

  A few nearby nobles stifled chuckles behind their goblets. Aristide coughed into his fist, half to hide his grin.

  “Nadja…” Armand hissed, having followed his daughter. “Mind your tongue.”

  Nadja flushed, but her gray eyes still shone with fierce pride as she looked back at Edmund. “I mean… your speech. The way you defended Serena.” She pressed a hand to her chest. “You were amazing.”

  Edmund’s ears reddened. “I only said what I felt.”

  Serena glanced between them, Edmund suddenly flustered and Nadja glowing with admiration. She lowered her gaze slightly.

  “Oh dear, oh my, pardon me…” came a woman’s frantic voice. Madame Grance slipped between the guests, weaving past nobles with a mixture of grace and barely contained panic. She reached Edmund at last, lowering her head at once, hands clasped tightly before her.

  “Dear gods,” she breathed, trembling. “Majesty, I am terribly sorry.”

  “Madame Grance?” Renault lifted a brow.

  “I—I got preoccupied,” she stammered, pushing her glasses up with a shaky hand. “I should have kept my eyes on Serena until she left the servants’ wing. I should never have allowed her to wander on her own. Please forgive this oversight.”

  “Calm down, Madame Grance,” the king assured gently. “I know you have many responsibilities tonight.”

  “Thank you, Majesty,” Grance replied, still refusing to lift her gaze. “If you’ll permit it, I can take her from here. Leif is already waiting on the opposite wing.”

  She reached out instinctively, her hand hovering just above Serena’s shoulder, careful and protective, as though she feared the girl might vanish or be scolded again if left a moment longer in the hall.

  Edmund opened his mouth slightly as if to speak.

  He wanted Serena to stay.

  Serena spoke first before he could.

  “I think it’s time… for me to go, Highness.”

  Edmund’s gaze dropped to the floor, then back to her face.

  “Are you sure?”

  Serena nodded gently. “Leif is waiting… so is Mother Idun.”

  Edmund didn’t respond right away, but the hesitation in his eyes was unmistakable.

  King Renault stepped closer, lowering his voice so only Serena and his sons could hear.

  “Edmund… let Serena go,” he murmured with soft paternal weight.

  “This night has already been too tense for her. Let her rest, son.”

  Edmund’s shoulders sank just slightly in reluctance.

  “I understand,” he murmured. “Will you be okay?”

  Serena nodded.

  Edmund let out a quiet breath, almost a sigh of relief, and managed a small smile.

  “Have a good night, Serena.”

  “You too… Your Highness,” she said with a polite bow.

  Edmund straightened slightly. “Madame Grance, you may escort her to Leif.”

  “Yes, Your Highness,” Grance replied, bowing low before placing a steadying hand on Serena’s arm. She already began her gentle scolding in a hushed voice as she led the girl away, the pair slipping back into the crowd until they disappeared beyond the hall’s far arch.

  Edmund’s gaze lingered on the archway where Serena and Madame Grance had disappeared.

  “Father… why does the count hate the alvarynn?”

  Renault turned his head slightly. “Edmund, this may not be the time.”

  “Please, Father.” Edmund’s brow tightened. “I just want to understand.”

  Renault drew in a slow breath. “Many people, beyond our borders, in nearly every kingdom, believe the alvarynn bring misfortune. The plague of the previous age, the fall of certain nations… superstitions tied tragedies to their presence. And so they fear them. Avoid them.”

  His voice gentled.

  “Some even let that fear curdle into prejudice.”

  “But… those were just rumors, weren’t they?” Edmund said quietly. “Serena saved my life. And Miss Idun, she kept Mother alive and well for a while before—”

  For a heartbeat, neither of them spoke.

  Renault nodded. “Yes, son. Mere rumors. Stories we pay no heed.”

  He rested a hand on Edmund’s arm.

  “But fear makes people cling to explanations… even false ones.”

  Edmund lowered his gaze.

  “Come,” Renault murmured, the softness in his voice returning. “Let us go back to your guests. Let the night end with warmth and joy, not with… discomfort.”

  Turning back to his guests, Edmund forced himself to rejoin conversations, laughing where he could, offering polite remarks where expected, and doing everything in his power to steady the lingering unrest in his chest.

  A few nobles recounted old stories, others teased him lightly about his first steps into adulthood. Edmund smiled, answered, and played the part of the gracious host, though his eyes occasionally drifted to the far end of the hall where Serena had disappeared.

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  A moment later, the musicians shifted their tune. The flutes softened, the lutes took on a brighter cadence, and the violins began a gentle, sweeping melody meant for the first dance of the evening.

  Edmund inhaled slowly and turned to Nadja.

  “May I?” he asked, extending his hand.

  Her expression brightened instantly, warm and sincere in a way that eased some of the tension knotted in his shoulders.

  “Of course,” Nadja replied, her smile blooming with delight.

  They stepped with the other couples onto the open marble floor. Nadja’s hand slid naturally into Edmund’s; his other hand rested lightly at her waist, while hers came to rest on his shoulder with practiced elegance.

  For the first time that night, Edmund felt the hall settle—chandeliers gleaming softly above, the hum of the crowd dimming, the melody taking hold like a steady current beneath their feet.

  “You look great,” Edmund said, voice low but sincere.

  Then, realizing how abrupt that sounded, he added awkwardly,

  “More than usual, I mean.”

  Nadja let out a small, silvery chuckle, her gaze lifting to meet his.

  “So do you, Highness.”

  Her tone was light and reassuring, an anchor in the swirl of the evening.

  Edmund’s cheeks warmed again at her comment.

  “I’ve never seen you stand up to anyone like that before,” Nadja said gently as they swayed, her voice barely above the music. “Especially during an occasion like this.”

  Edmund swallowed. His gaze drifted, not to her face, but to the blue stone of her necklace, which caught the chandelier’s glow like a shard of sky.

  “I think… I might have messed up our relations with some countries.”

  “Don’t worry too much about it,” Nadja replied. “If they don’t share your values, better they realize that before you become king.”

  Edmund fell quiet again, eyes lowered, the melody filling the spaces where words refused to form. His heartbeat kept tripping over itself.

  Nadja leaned in just a little, her voice soft enough to reach only him.

  “You did what was right. I’d react the same if someone important to me were treated like that.”

  The words snapped his attention back to her face.

  Her gray eyes, clear and steady, met his with an effortless calm that wrapped itself around the trembling in his chest.

  “Yeah,” Edmund murmured, his breath quieter. “She’s—she’s important to me. Whether it’s her… or you… or anyone. I couldn’t bear to see someone who matters to me get mistreated.”

  Nadja’s expression softened, warmth blooming there alongside a quiet understanding Edmund didn’t fully notice.

  But the moment didn’t last.

  A young nobleman stepped forward with a polite bow, gesturing toward Nadja just as the melody shifted again.

  She glanced at him, then back at Edmund, her eyes lingering on him longer than courtesy required.

  “Well,” she said with a small smile, “I suppose you should let me go now.”

  She did not move her hand from his shoulder.

  Not yet.

  For a heartbeat, she simply held his gaze, waiting, letting him be the one to loosen his fingers first.

  “Thank you for this dance, Lady Montclair,” Edmund said at last, releasing her hand, though his eyes stayed on hers for a moment longer.

  Nadja’s gaze dipped, just barely. A soft breath escaped her before she lifted her eyes to meet his again.

  “And I thank you, Prince Edmund,” she replied, her voice warm beneath its practiced elegance.

  Only then did she lay her hand in the other nobleman’s, though her eyes lingered on Edmund until the very last moment… before she finally allowed herself to be led away.

  After letting Nadja go, Edmund allowed himself a moment to breathe. He accepted a few more invitations to dance before finally slipping away toward the refreshments. By the chocolate fountain, he spotted Aristide perched beside a bowl piled high with strawberries and biscuits.

  “Tired?” Aristide asked, dipping a strawberry with the solemn concentration of a master craftsman.

  “Kind of,” Edmund admitted as he reached for a bowl of his own. “You?”

  “Still holding up,” the younger prince replied. “I just stopped here for snacks.”

  They lingered in a small oasis of quiet, sampling chocolate-dipped fruits and cookies, creating a private, peaceful pocket cut out from the banquet’s constant hum.

  Edmund broke the silence first.

  “That was impressive,” he said. “When you stepped between the nobles earlier.”

  Aristide didn’t look up, still focused on balancing a chocolate-coated biscuit.

  “I tried,” he muttered. “Didn’t want them to ruin your night.”

  He took a small sip of tea.

  “They almost went back to bickering afterward, though.”

  “Still,” Edmund said, “I wasn’t even sure what they were talking about back there.”

  Aristide froze mid-sip. He lowered his cup slowly, turning toward his brother with a look somewhere between disbelief and pain.

  “You… don’t know what they were talking about?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “Were you… not paying attention during your history lectures?”

  “I guess… the Rucaldian Empire does sound familiar,” Edmund said at last, eyes drifting toward the chandelier above.

  Aristide leaned in.

  “Do you recall anything else? Like how our family was connected to them?”

  Edmund took a moment to think. His mouth tightened; then he shook his head.

  Aristide inhaled sharply.

  “Edmund!” he hissed under his breath. “That’s like the most important part of our history!”

  “Sorry,” Edmund murmured. “I wasn’t paying that much attention. Plus, I don’t read as much as you do.”

  Aristide pressed a hand to his forehead, brows curving in wounded disappointment.

  “Our family was—” he began, but a voice cut cleanly through the music.

  “Aristide, this is a time for pleasantry, not lecture.”

  Both princes turned as a man approached, tall, calm and bearing the faintest amused smile.

  “Lord Odilon,” Aristide greeted, a little flustered. “It’s just that…”

  Odilon wagged a finger lightly.

  “Regardless of reason, there is a place and time to educate. Tonight is neither.”

  Aristide exhaled, shoulders sinking.

  “I know…”

  Odilon chuckled softly. “You have a fondness for learning, my prince. But your brother’s strengths… lie elsewhere.”

  Edmund blinked. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

  Odilon laughed. “What I mean, Your Highness, is that everyone has their talents and their moments. Why, just as Aristide refuses to touch a sword, you may refuse a history scroll.”

  Both princes exchanged a look, silently wondering whose side he was on.

  Odilon only smiled deeper as he stepped toward the table.

  “And tonight,” he concluded, picking up a handful of cookies and fruits, “tonight is a night meant for sweets, not genealogy.”

  As Odilon wandered off to fill his bowl with delicacies, Edmund leaned closer to his brother.

  “Can you… help me study?” he asked quietly, almost apologetically.

  “Of course,” Aristide replied, though a sigh slipped into his voice. “Just… don’t expect the story to be beautiful.”

  His eyes drifted toward the family crest hanging from the nearest column.

  The golden five-petaled flower of Aurelith, gleaming beneath the chandelier.

  Curious now more than ever, Edmund followed his gaze.

  While the remaining nobles enjoyed the final hour of the celebration, two figures slipped quietly away from the palace under the escort of a pair of guards. Leif and Serena walked side by side, neither speaking until they reached the warm light of their small home.

  “You shouldn’t have gone there,” Leif said at last, setting the bundled food onto the table a little harder than he meant to.

  “I just wanted… to hand the bottle,” Serena murmured, removing her crimson cape and folding it neatly.

  “You could’ve asked someone else to do it,” he pressed, anger edged with worry. “Those nobles… many of them don’t like us. What will they think of His Majesty and His Highness now?”

  Serena lowered her head, guilt settling heavily in her chest. Had she made the prince look bad?

  “Leif?” Idun called softly as she emerged from her bedroom. “What’s going on? Why do you sound upset?”

  Leif explained everything.

  How Serena went into the banquet hall, how some nobles reacted, how Edmund stood up for her.

  Idun’s brows drew together in a stern, protective frown.

  “Come here, dear,” she said, opening her arms.

  Serena stepped into the embrace, and Idun wrapped her tightly.

  “Is the prince… going to be in trouble?” Serena whispered.

  Idun gently stroked her hair. “No, dear. He will be fine.”

  She then pulled back to look Serena directly in the eyes.

  “But next time, promise me you’ll listen when they ask you to avoid outsiders. Not everyone is as kind as the king.”

  Serena nodded silently.

  Idun turned to Leif next. “And you, don’t be too upset.”

  “It’s just…” Leif began, voice thick with frustration, “I don’t want anyone saying bad things to her.”

  “I know,” Idun said softly. “I know you care for her. But you can express your concern with gentleness, not scolding.”

  Leif let out a sharp breath through his nose.

  Idun stepped closer and ruffled his hair, smiling warmly. “Frowning doesn’t suit you.”

  Despite himself, Leif’s lips twitched into a small smile.

  “Your food is on the table, by the way,” Leif pointed out.

  Idun turned toward the bagged containers. “Let me see,” she said, walking over with a soft smile.

  Serena followed them, at least at first.

  Halfway across the room, she slowed… then stopped entirely.

  This is your home too.

  She’s my friend.

  The prince’s voice echoed in her memory, warm and steady. He had stood up for her—publicly, fearlessly.

  A small warmth bloomed in her chest, followed by a quiet thought.

  I wish… I could do something for him too.

  Her gaze slid to the window to her right. Beyond it, the treeline shifted under the moonlight. Something about the stillness tugged at her attention. She stepped closer, brow furrowing.

  “Serena? Is something wrong?” Leif asked, turning when he realized she wasn’t behind them.

  Her eyes narrowed, her hand hovered near the window latch. “I thought… I heard something outside.”

  Idun joined her at once, peering through the glass.

  Only the leaves shivered, stirred by a passing breeze.

  No footsteps.

  No shadows.

  Nothing out of place.

  “It’s just the breeze, dear,” Idun assured gently, closing the window with a soft click. “Come. Sit with me.”

  Serena nodded and moved away from the glass, but her head turned back once more.

  The woods were still.

  Yet—

  Was something watching us?

  The question clung to her mind like a whisper she couldn’t shake.