Chapter 37
To be perfectly honest, this wasn’t the scene the Countess had hoped for.
In her heart, she had wished for Viola and Rix to step in harmony and dance together with elegance. To her, Viola matched Rix just as well as the Saintess ever had. Others might think she was biased toward her own daughter, but what mother could be blamed for such feelings?
Still, she couldn’t deny a sense of relief.
Rix and Ren spun across the hall as though they were one body, dominating the floor entirely. Though she wasn’t wearing a gown, his uniform was more splendid and dazzling than all the dresses worn by the young ladies present.
She stole a glance at her husband.
Count Mafla’s eyes were fixed on the pair, following their every move. The twitch of his lips made the Countess give a bitter smile.
Rix was the son of Saintess Lena. That meant her husband had once been one of the men of that very Saintess who had shaken the empire.
When the Emperor had still been the Crown Prince, he had crossed swords with Mafla over Lena. The scar on his brow, now faded beneath flesh and wrinkles, had once stood out sharply when she had married him in his robust twenties.
Even now, she could clearly recall their first night—how he had drunk wine until dawn, gazing silently in the direction of the temple. The memory left the same bitterness in her mouth. With a sigh, the Countess turned her eyes back to the young couple dancing.
The two moved so naturally, it was as if they had practiced together for years.
Sophia, meanwhile, had imagined that, like in the fantasies of other girls her age before bedtime, men would line up to ask her for a dance. But not a single hand was extended her way. Her illusion shattered completely. Pouting, she displayed her disappointment openly, until at last, Victor gallantly led his younger sister onto the floor.
Viola’s situation was the opposite.
Men hovered, vying for her attention, but none of them were the one she wanted. In the end, she had no choice but to accept the hand of a young count who had recently risen to prominence in society.
The music swelled with livelier rhythm.
Ren gazed up at Rix’s golden eyes, searching for traces of Lena in him. But the novel had only ever described the Saintess’s silver hair and blue eyes. From him, she could glean nothing of her. Yet, when she looked carefully, she thought his smile resembled the Emperor’s—just a little.
Their eyes met as he looked down at her, and she reflexively turned away. He chuckled softly.
“Why?”
She wanted to ask, Is your mother really Saintess Lena? But all that left her lips was silence. She let the music carry her, letting him lead.
Rix frowned slightly, sensing she was hiding something, though he couldn’t grasp the clue.
As they spun, his gaze suddenly locked with the Emperor’s across the hall. The Emperor’s expression soured. Without thinking, Rix tightened his grip on Ren’s hand and drew her closer against his chest.
“Ugh—!”
Her steps nearly tangled, but fortunately Ren managed to find her rhythm again and continue.
“Don’t do as you please.”
Ren muttered under her breath. Rix twirled her gracefully. Amid swirling skirts, the two of them gleamed brighter than anyone else. Ren glided in a turn before returning neatly into his arms. Leaning close, Rix whispered into her ear, just for her to hear.
“The Saintess who can’t stand to lose.”
“Ugh.”
“So, did you win?”
At the reminder of her proud words when she had kissed him at the temple and left so boldly, guilt pricked Ren. So this is how one gathers black history. Her neck flushed red in embarrassment.
“…More or less.”
“What do you mean more or less? Share it with me.”
“It was rebellion.”
“Rebellion?”
Their hands clasped as they spun to the music. Ren avoided his eyes, mumbling awkwardly.
“Against His Majesty’s order to wear the imperial gown.”
“Ah.”
Rix laughed aloud, unable to help himself. Ren, annoyed, briefly considered stomping on his foot and pretending it was a mistake. Just then, he spun again, glancing slyly at the Emperor. His gaze was not on other princes or noble ladies, but solely fixed on Ren.
It left him feeling foul.
Pulling her closer, he whispered,
“Looks like it worked.”
“Really?”
Ren’s eyes widened. He nodded. At that moment, the music shifted and partners were exchanged. Now, Viola stood before Rix, Victor before Ren, and Sophia—flushed to the ears—found herself across from the First Prince, Nocturne. Yet while she was burning with excitement at the honor, Nocturne’s attention strayed to Ren, not to her.
The music, after a brief pause, struck up again with cheerful energy.
Victor placed his hand around Ren’s waist, and she gently rested hers upon his shoulder. His ears turned crimson. She said nothing as they danced, but her gaze met Count Mafla’s across the hall. His narrowed eyes lingered on her every move, as though determined not to miss a single detail.
Ren quickly fixed her gaze on Victor instead. Embarrassed by her intense stare, he coughed awkwardly.
“Were you close with Prince Rix?”
The sudden question nearly made him trip. Casting a glance at Rix—who danced formally with Viola, his expression unreadable—Victor hesitated. Ren’s eyes pressed him, waiting for an answer. With an uneasy smile and a shrug, he replied:
“I thought we were fairly close, since I often visited the palace… but I’m not sure if His Highness felt the same.”
“How did you become close?”
It was a question she had long wondered.
If Rix’s mother had been Saintess Lena, and the Crown Prince (now Emperor) had been her main love, then why had Count Mafla—who had once crossed swords with the Emperor—allowed his children to befriend hers?
If she had been in his place, she would have packed up and left to keep them apart. Even if the Count had lived far away until now and only recently been invited, it still seemed strange for his children to be close with Lena’s son.
Victor drew her closer with the flow of the melody.
Rix, glancing from Viola, turned his head suddenly toward Ren. Viola, who had been shyly gazing at him, followed his line of sight and felt her heart sink as his eyes fixed unwaveringly on Ren and Victor. She swallowed the cry rising in her throat, the only thing she could do being to give a faint squeeze to his hand.
At last, he looked back at her.
“…Sorry.”
He murmured the apology, though Viola could feel it carried no real weight. Still, she smiled brightly and shook her head.
“It’s fine.”
Compared to their awkward atmosphere, Victor and Ren’s interaction looked far more intimate. To onlookers, they might have seemed like a couple using the dance as an excuse for a date. But their conversation was anything but sweet.
“I didn’t go out of my way to befriend him.”
“Then why?”
“Maybe because I was the only noble child his age at the time.”
“Just for that reason?”
“Would you like to know more?”
Ren realized too late that her tone sounded interrogative. She quickly shook her head.
“No. Sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“His Majesty and my father were never on good terms.”
Victor interrupted, saying what she had most wanted to know. Ren’s head snapped up. At that moment, the music faded into the background—her body simply moved as it had been taught, while her ears strained to catch every word.
“Then His Majesty introduced him to my mother, and within a week, they were married.”
Ren leaned in, not wanting to miss a single word. Victor smiled bitterly.
“I don’t know the full story.”
“…”
“But perhaps it was because my mother once served Saintess Lena as a noble lady-in-waiting.”
Ren’s curiosity about Lena deepened further.
“A lady-in-waiting?”
She blurted without thinking. Victor nodded, oblivious.
“Yes. I heard she began serving her formally once she entered the palace. She even witnessed His Highness’s birth and helped with the confinement afterward. But as the Saintess’s illness worsened—”
Before Ren could ask what illness had plagued Lena, the music stopped.
Before Victor could bow to her and end the dance, Nocturne stepped forward and extended his hand.
“A stubborn Saintess, aren’t you?”
He sneered. Ren’s expression crumpled as though she’d stepped in something foul.
The song changed again, this time to one airy and brisk.
According to Countess Mafla’s advice, this tune should be danced as lightly as if walking on clouds. But Ren’s feet refused to lift.
