I pulled a phone out of my coat pocket, ignoring the collective gasp that rippled through the hall. The polished black surface caught the chandelier light perfectly.
I tilted the cara toward the prince and smiled.
"Smile."
Onecent blinked, clearly thrown off. "What?"
Click.
The shutter snapped before he could even breathe. I glanced at the photo. Good angle. Lighting was divine. His confused expression? Even better.
"Nice," I muttered. "Really captures the tension."
The silence that followed was so thick you could’ve sculpted it.
"What... are you doing?" Onecent finally asked, his voice dripping with disbelief.
I didn’t look up. "Announcing the duel," I said, scrolling through my feed. "To my followers."
"Followers?" he echoed, like I’d just spoken an ancient curse.
"Thousands," I replied, tapping the screen. "They’d riot if I didn’t stream my victory. You understand."
Sowhere behind , Belle exhaled like a long-suffering saint. "You’re insufferable."
"Confident," I corrected.
Onecent’s expression hardened. "You think this is a ga? You stand in front of the royal court and treat this duel as entertainnt? You should take this seriously!"
I froze mid-scroll and lowered the phone slowly, deliberately. "Seriously?" I asked, offended. "You wound ."
"What?" he said, utterly lost.
I pressed a hand against my chest, staring at him with what I hoped was the perfect balance of sincerity and heartbreak."I’ll have you know," I said, voice grave, "that I am the most humble person alive."
The crowd murmured. Belle made a small sound that might’ve been a laugh, or maybe a plea for divine intervention.
I glanced at her, smirking. "They don’t believe ."
"That’s because you’re physically incapable of being humble," she said dryly.
I shrugged. "Humility shines brightest when it’s challenged."
The air around us still buzzed from the exchange when the double doors at the far end of the hall opened again.
The poor announcer, whose job, up until now, had been limited to shouting noble nas nobody rembered, straightened his spine like he was about to recite holy scripture. His voice rang out, trembling slightly but echoing through the chamber:
"His Majesty, King Alios von Velkaris, and Her Majesty, Queen Misha von Velkaris, have entered the hall!"
Every noble in the room snapped to attention. Even the waiters froze.
And ?
I was mostly wondering if I could get a good angle of the royal entrance for my next post.
The King was taller than I expected, broad-shouldered, draped in a mantle that shimred with threads of gold and faintly pulsing mana sigils. His wife glided beside him, graceful, serene, and so effortlessly composed that even the light seed to bend politely around her.
But it wasn’t reverence that filled the hall.
It was confusion.
Because instead of basking in the attention ant for them, everyone, including the Crown Princess herself, was staring at our table.
The King’s brow furrowed. "What," he said slowly, voice like distant thunder, "is going on here?"
The silence cracked when Onecent all but bolted from where he was standing and hurried to his father’s side, the embarrassnt written all over his royal face.
"Father!" he said, bowing his head slightly. "There was... an incident."
The King’s gaze flicked toward , then to Belle, then back to his son. "An incident?"
"A duel," Onecent said quickly. "Between myself and—" he gestured toward with visible disgust, "—that commoner. Sebastian Nekros."
The King’s expression didn’t change much, but the faint twitch at the corner of his mouth said plenty. "A duel," he repeated. "In the middle of your sister’s birthday celebration."
Onecent swallowed. "It was... necessary. He insulted . And he—he wagered five hundred million thalgar!"
That did it.
The King’s eyes lingered on , sharp and assessing. The weight behind that gaze was nothing like his son’s. It was colder, older, as if he could peel apart with a glance.
Finally, he spoke, voice asured. "And do you take this duel seriously, Sir Nekros?"
I smiled faintly. "Oh, Your Majesty," I said, straightening just enough to sound respectful without pretending to be humble. "I take everything I do very seriously."
The King’s stare lingered a mont longer, then he exhaled slowly, the faintest trace of irritation crossing his otherwise regal composure.
"Duels," he said at last, "are sacred traditions of Velkaris. I will not forbid it."
Onecent’s shoulders straightened with relief, until his father’s next words landed like a hamr.
"But this is still my daughter’s birthday celebration," Alios continued, tone brooking no argunt. "The duel will take place after the dance. Not before."
He turned his head slightly, addressing the silent orchestra.
"Play."
The command rippled through the hall like a divine decree.
Strings rose, soft at first, then swelling into sothing grand and sweeping. The silence that had suffocated the room shattered as the nobles began moving again—awkwardly at first, like puppets rembering their strings. Then faster, smoother, as laughter and music filled the air once more.
The King and Queen took their seats at the end of the hall, the twin thrones gleaming beneath cascading light. They spoke softly to one another, but I could feel the weight of their gaze occasionally drift back toward our table.
I leaned back in my chair, letting out a quiet chuckle. "Guess I’m the opening act after the main event."
Belle gave a small shrug. "Appropriate, really. Birthdays before bloodshed."
The nobles were already pairing off, their jeweled shoes gliding across the polished floor. Everywhere I looked, boys were tripping over themselves trying to ask the princess for a dance. Nora smiled politely, declining each one with grace sharp enough to cut.
Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw him, a middle-aged noble with a chest full of dals and a gut full of confidence, striding toward our table. His eyes were locked on Belle, no doubt gathering the courage to ask her for a dance.
Amateurs.
I turned toward Belle.
She was half-watching the crowd, half sowhere else, expression calm, serene, like nothing in the world could touch her. The black dress shimred faintly in the light, embroidered with fine threads that caught every motion. The blindfold, stitched with intricate silver designs, sohow made her look even more untouchable.
Perfect.
I stood, then dropped to one knee before her. Gasps rippled through the nearby tables.
"My fair lady," I said, taking her gloved hand with exaggerated flourish, "may I have the honor of this dance?"
Her head tilted slightly, that small, dangerous smile tugging at her lips.
"You’re not serious," she said.
I t her gaze, or at least the blindfold hiding it, and smirked. "Belle my dear, I’m always serious."
For a heartbeat, she didn’t move. Then, softly, she laughed.
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