Mira, in the pretext of entertaining the two princes, did not go back to the dance floor. But the main reason was that she did not want people to compare how many of tonight’s bachelors wanted to dance with Lara. So she stayed at the VIP table where Reuben and Alderan sat, ensuring the food and wine were properly served. She hated that of all days, she chose to return today. Was it just a coincidence, or was it intentional?
Prince Alderan observed the young woman as she enthralled her audience with an infectious energy. She possessed a beauty that was striking in its own right; yet, when placed beside the ethereal radiance of Lara, she seed to fade into the background. However, she exuded a captivating charm that was all her own. He noticed a rare glint of cunning slyness in her eyes—an intriguing depth far from typical for soone of her tender age of eighteen.
She was the adopted daughter of General Odin Norse, and her biological father was also a General. Even though she was concubine-born, her background was not to be trifled with.
Prince Alderan stood and extended his hand to her. "May I have the honor of dancing with the debutante today?"
Mira gazed up at Prince Alderan, her eyes widening in astonishnt. He bore a slight resemblance to Prince Reuben, and the distinct difference that set him apart was the hair. While Reuben’s hair was a deep, obsidian black, Alderan’s short locks were light brown, glimring like sun-kissed strands against his fair skin. His features, though familiar, carried a softer elegance that captivated her instantly.
She happily accepted the hand offered to her and they swaggered to the dance floor.
Lara, who had just finished dancing with Percival, declined the son of the Duke of Silverstone because she was tired. The young bachelor looked disappointed, but he understood because there were seven n who danced with her, and she had also just arrived from a long journey.
Lara joined her parents at the table. Prince Reuben and the father and son, Marlon and rlin Norse, were also there.
Lara was hungry, and she did not stand on ceremony. The mont the servant served her food, she dived in. Though she had to maintain the elegance and etiquette practiced in that era, she still ate with gusto because she did not want to starve herself.
"The Lady has quite the hearty appetite," Reuben remarked, his gaze fixed on Lara with a blend of admiration and curiosity. As she savored each bite, the way she relished her al—and the sparkle in her eyes—seed to draw him in, leaving him captivated by her enthusiasm for the feast before her.
Freya Norse, seated beside her daughter, felt her face flush. Was the Prince implying that her daughter was eating too much?
"Yeah, eating properly on the road was too difficult," Lara responded nonchalantly as she spread butter over the still-warm bread.
Freya heaved a sigh of relief. She had thought that Prince Reuben’s offhand comnt would offend her daughter, but she had thought too much.
A few tables away, a lively group of young won sat around a circular table, their laughter bubbling like champagne. With mischievous smiles, they nudged and teased Alia, urging her to muster the courage to approach Lara, who was seated opposite the second prince.
"Aren’t you best friends with her? How co she seed to not recognize you? You didn’t change much, right?" Janna, Alia’s cousin, smirked. She was insinuating that she did not change because her height was almost the sa as two years ago.
"She also knows you, but did not recognize you either." Alia retorted.
"Ah, cousin, but I am different. The two of you were like sisters." Janna’s voice sounded jarring to Alia’s ears.
She paused. Her friends were right. Wasn’t Lara so heartless not giving her face? Worse, she did not even glance her way. Did she not see her?
The air was thick with tension, their whispered coercion swirling around Alia, stifling her. In the end, Alia took the courage to approach Lara. She also had another motive: to see Prince Reuben up close.
Lara dabbed the corner of her mouth with a silk handkerchief, her gaze wandering across the bustling hall, but her attention snapped back as she felt a presence at her back.
"Lara, how have you been? It is good that you are alive and well."
The voice was soft, trembling with emotion. Lara stood and turned, finding herself face-to-face with a young woman who barely reached her chin. Her eyes shimred with unshed tears, and her smile quivered with sothing that bordered on disbelief.
Lara stood awkwardly and glanced around, trying to find Reya, only to rember that she had instructed her earlier to settle Sandoz.
Judging by how the woman spoke to her intimately, Lara could guess she knew her. Was she Alia?
Before Lara could piece her thoughts together, the woman surged forward, flinging her arms around her in a fierce embrace. Lara stiffened instantly, her hands hovering awkwardly in the air. She had never been fond of people intruding on her personal space—unless it was people close to her.
The woman’s smile faltered as she pulled back, hurt flickering across her face. Her gaze darted to the cluster of ladies behind her, who watched with thinly veiled mockery. Lara’s discomfort hung heavy in the air.
Across the courtyard, Asael raised his glass in laughter with the Duke of Silverstone’s son, his best friend, but his eyes flickered toward Lara. His smile vanished. He excused himself swiftly and wove through the crowd.
"Sis," he began gently, resting a hand on Lara’s shoulder. "This is Alia—your childhood friend." He turned to the young woman, his expression softening. "Alia, Lara lost her mory when she was abducted two years ago. She doesn’t rember much of her past."
A collective gasp rippled through the gathering. Freya’s hand flew to her mouth, eyes wide with shock. Alia’s expression faltered for the briefest mont before she composed herself, offering Lara a smile brimming with forced sympathy.
Lara lost her mory. Was it a good or bad thing for her?
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