Chapter 13
 Dance Invitation
“Arlo?”
Eleanor tilted her head, pushing him deeper into his thoughts.
After a brief but intense moment of hesitation, Arlo made up his mind.
“Letâs go,” he said.
With his blue cloak dramatically billowing behind him, Arlo, dressed in his finest attire, walked past her coldly.
It was a logical decision. While he found Eleanorâs obedient demeanor appealing, he had already chosen Nora.
Nora had proven to him that she was the real Princess of Astria. Once the truth became known, with her noble status, beauty, and dramatic backstory, she would surpass Eleanor and become the most admired woman in juvenile.
Arlo believed he deserved the best of everything. Thatâs why he had chosen Nora. Her charming looks and sweet demeanor delighted him, and so far, he hadnât regretted his decision.
Keeping his promise to himself, Arlo didnât speak to Eleanor or even glance at her on the way to the ballroom.
Watching his back, Eleanor smiled to herself in satisfaction.
âIt seems like my plan worked.â
From the looks of it, he wouldnât be asking her for a dance tonight. Even if he wore a mask, no noble would fail to recognize him, and the gossip would spread quickly.
Sure enough, the moment they arrived at the mansion hosting the ball, all eyes turned to them.
Arlo clearly had no intention of hiding his identity. The small mask barely covered his eyes, and his fiery red hair was fully on display. It was typical of someone who loved attention.
“Welcome, Your Highness! Late as always, I see,” said the Marchioness of Liv, the host of the ball.
“Oh, how embarrassing to be recognized so quickly. Isnât this supposed to be a masquerade?”
Arlo replied with a charming smile.
The Marchioness laughed. “Even with a mask, no one could fail to recognize such a handsome man.”
Eleanor took the opportunity to step forward and greet her.
“Thank you for the invitation, Marchioness of Liv.”
“Oh my! The future âLittle Moonâ of the Empire has graced us with her presence as well. What an honor!”
Arlo frowned slightly at the mention of the Empire’s âLittle Moonâ but said nothing.
The Marchioness was his aunt, the Emperorâs sister. He couldnât afford to cause a scene at his auntâs ball, especially for Noraâs sake.
For the same reason, Arlo planned to fake being unwell tonight. If he didnât ask Eleanor for a dance without reason, it would cause too much gossip and disrupt the party.
Besides, Eleanor didnât like dancing much anyway, so sheâd likely accept his excuse without complaint.
As they entered the ballroom, attention turned to them once again.
Arlo basked with admiring gazes, walked slowly toward his group of friends.
His and Eleanorâs mutual friends and acquaintances greeted them warmly, though there was a hint of awkwardness in their mannerisms.
“Your Highness, itâs been a while. And is that… Eleanor?”
“Eleanor? Is it really you?”
Eleanor caught their uneasy glances and smirked internally.
âSo, they knew.â
Their behavior during their last meeting now makes sense. They must have known about Nora back then but said nothing.
These were the same friends who had once vowed eternal loyalty and friendship. Yet, not one of them had warned her about Arloâs betrayal.
Eleanor felt a wave of disappointment but quickly pushed it aside.
Sheâd never truly considered them real friends, and clearly, they hadnât seen her that way either.
Her focus shifted to curiosity instead.
âWhat do they know? And how can I use them?â
She decided to play along for now.
“Yes, itâs me! Didnât recognize me right away? How many blondes with violet eyes do you know?” She teased with a lighthearted tone, studying their reactions carefully.
Chiara Portsmouth, the eldest daughter of the Earl of Portsmouth, flinched noticeably.
âSo, Chiaraâs met Nora.â
It wasnât hard to piece together the rest. Most of the people here must have been introduced to Nora by Arlo.
The thought stung for a moment but was quickly replaced by excitement.
âLetâs see how useful theyâll be when Nora, Arlo, and the Astria family begin to crumble.â
Chiara awkwardly laughed and tried to recover. “Oh, no! Itâs just that you donât usually attend events like these. Didnât you dislike masquerade balls?”
“I did,” Eleanor replied with a sweet smile. “But Iâve decided to start liking them.”
“Thatâs wonderful! You must come to the next party I host.”
“Of course, Chiara. Iâll come with Arlo.”
Eleanorâs words were accompanied by a soft laugh as she casually leaned her head toward Arloâs shoulderâslowly enough for him to move away if he wanted.
As her head drew near, Arlo quickly pulled his arm away to avoid her touch.
Smack!
The movement caused Eleanorâs hand to hit his arm with an unexpectedly loud sound.
Everyoneâs attention snapped to them. Even distant onlookers turned to see what had happened.
Eleanor looked up at Arlo with a hurt expression, further increasing the awkward tension.
Chiara, sensing the growing discomfort, raised her voice to change the subject.
“Oh, look! The music is starting. Whoâs going to dance first?”
But the suggestion only worsened things for Arlo.
He had planned to mention his supposed illness discreetly. Now, with all eyes on him, anything he said might spark unwanted rumors or anger Eleanorâs powerful father, the Duke of Astria.
âDamn it! Why am I even going through all this trouble?â
Suppressing his irritation, Arlo took a deep breath to compose himself.
Before he could say a word, Eleanor seized the moment.
“Arlo,” she said softly, her voice trembling just enough to sound vulnerable.
“Will you dance with me… please?”
Her large, tear-filled eyes and quivering lips created the perfect image of heartbreak.
Though her voice wasnât loud, it was enough for the curious nobles nearby to hear. The dramatic display captivated the crowd, their interest intensifying when Arlo hesitated to respond.
âWhat in the world is happening?â
“Didn’t they have a good relationship? Their wedding is just months away, so why are they acting like this?”
“That attitude was strange earlier. Is he really not going to dance with her?”
Rumors swirled through the crowd. The idea of conflict between the future emperor and his fiancée was too juicy to resist. Whispering voices buzzed around the ballroom, and Arlo, the crown prince, clenched his jaw in frustration.
He couldnât believe Eleanor was putting him in this situation, clinging to him in a way that was clearly meant to make him uncomfortable.
He didnât feel pity for herâonly irritation. What had started as amusing attention from the crowd had now turned suffocating.
Arlo glanced around at the onlookers, their curiosity hidden behind the anonymity of their masks. The audacity of these nobles, gossiping about someone destined to be emperor, annoyed him. He let out a sharp breath and turned to Eleanor.
âIâm tired. I need to rest.â
With those few words, he abruptly left her side, heading toward the refreshments table, where wine awaited. His excuse of being tired was laughable as he eagerly sought out a drink instead of rest.
As Arlo walked away, groans and murmurs filled the room.
The crowdâs interest shifted to Eleanor, now alone in the middle of the ballroom. Friends who had once been at her side awkwardly stepped back, and no nobleman dared approach her.
They knew Arloâs possessive nature well. Even though he had publicly refused to dance with Eleanor, no one wanted to risk his unpredictable temper by offering to take his place.
âPoor thing. The proud Lady Astrea, left standing like a wallflower.â
âHow humiliating. I canât bear to watch.â
Eleanor kept her head lowered, hearing the soft mockery and pitying voices around her.
It stung, of course.
She couldnât remember the last time she had been humiliated like this in public.
But this was exactly what she needed. The more pitiful she looked now, the easier it would be to manipulate public opinion laterâespecially regarding Nora.
No matter how humiliating this moment felt, it was a small price to pay for the freedom she planned to secure.
From nearby, she heard musicians tuning their instruments, signaling that the dancing was about to begin.
âItâs time for me to retreat,â she thought.
Eleanor bit her lip, maintaining the appearance of holding back tears as she slowly moved toward the edge of the ballroom, away from the center of attention. Her head remained bowed as she took each step.
But then, her path was blocked.
She stopped and blinked, confused. In front of her was a pair of large, polished black shoes.
Lifting her head, she looked up to see a man she didnât recognize.
The man was tall and broad-shouldered, dressed in a crimson cloak and wearing a full-face traditional mask that concealed his entire head. The faint scent of fresh air clung to him, suggesting he had just arrived.
Eleanor stared, puzzled as to why he stood in her way. Was he lost? Or perhaps just rude?
Then, without a word, the man extended his hand toward her.
The black-gloved hand was unmistakable in its intent.
He was asking her to dance.
