As I passed through the garden and stepped into the palace corridors, a few familiar faces began to emerge—recognizable from Lady Margaret’s art salon, where I had made acquaintances among the realm’s social elites.
“Lovely to see you again, Lady Mary.”
I offered a carefully controlled smile, exchanging pleasantries with grace.
Poise… composure…
With those words chanting in my mind like a meditation mantra, I entered the grand ballroom. Eric hadn’t arrived yet. Not that I could leave the Princess’s Palace immediately, anyway. Besides, I now had things to do here.
I gently reached into my robes and touched the ledger pages nestled close to my chest.
Stay safe…
Maintaining a calm, unaffected expression, I let my eyes scan the room in search of the Duke. It didn’t take long to find him—after all, right beside him stood a gleaming, octopus-headed old man who reflected the chandelier light far too well.
…Oscar.
Right. I vaguely recalled the steward mentioning that the old man from House Orléans’ elder council would be in attendance.
Please… just behave long enough to bring back five more invitation scrolls. And for the love of the heavens, don’t call him “that bald old relic.”
…Or maybe I should just forge the invitations? I’m good at that…
Lady Emelline… would you be willing to visit the Temple daily with me from now on? At this point, only divine strength can cleanse your thoughts…
Fine, fine! I won’t! I won’t!
I stifled a groan, remembering the butler’s appalled expression. Then, smoothing my dress, I approached the Duke and Oscar’s little circle.
Oscar’s face immediately twisted into a sour expression the moment our eyes met. I narrowed mine right back at him.
Here we go again… What now?
Oscar clicked his tongue and swept his gaze from the top of my head to the tips of my toes, clearly preparing to scold me into oblivion. I sighed, but there was no avoiding the customary greeting.
“Oscar, good eve—”
“Good evening, young miss! In the olden days, noble ladies only ever wore their hair in a single dignified updo! But now, the women of today—!”
Oh, Ancestors help me. My headache deepened with every “Back in my day…” he uttered. I shot the Duke a pleading look.
Of course, he offered no help. Instead, he looked positively amused, as though he were watching the results of some elaborate scheme he’d set into motion.
That wretched, soulless cultivator psycho.
Clenching my fists at my sides, I forced a sweet smile in Oscar’s direction. Perhaps he sensed something was off, because mid-rant, he hesitated. I tilted my head and asked him innocently:
“Then… what about someone who doesn’t have enough hair to twist into an updo? For example…”
My gaze drifted obviously to Oscar’s shiny, polished scalp.
A deep flush spread across his face.
“Young miss…!”
Oscar shouted loud enough to turn heads. Servants nearby froze and turned toward him. So did a number of noble guests standing nearby.
Leaning in, I whispered in a tone only he could hear:
“If you don’t quiet down, I’ll shout the word
‘baldy’
at the top of my lungs.”
“……!”
He froze. Oscar, to his credit, understood immediately that I meant what I said and would not hesitate. Lips pressed tightly shut, he looked toward the Duke for help—only to find the man still observing our spat with open curiosity and amusement.
So much for solidarity.
Just then, movement from the top of the stairs caught everyone’s attention.
The knights lining the staircase straightened and saluted. One by one, the nobles abandoned their chatter and turned toward the landing, anticipation heavy in the air.
All gazes gradually converged toward a familiar figure emerging from above—
…The servant who helped abduct me.
She was the Princess’s constant attendant. With a bold voice, he declared:
“The Princess will now partake!”
From atop the staircase, the Princess appeared—graceful and poised. Instantly, the eyes of every noble in the hall turned to her.
Rather than falter under the weight of so many gazes, she descended the steps with the natural presence of one long accustomed to reverence. She carried herself like a nascent sect master taking her place before a gathering of cultivators.
I heard it—the collective
intake
of breath from the assembled nobles. So sharp, it formed a unified gasp that rippled through the grand hall.
And it made sense.
‘…Damn it… she’s beautiful.’
I didn’t want to admit it, but the woman descending the stairs—my kidnapper, no less—was breathtaking enough to make one doubt she could be anything so crude.
‘This is seriously irritating…’
Her golden hair, always silky like the finest spirit-thread, glimmered even more brilliantly today, polished like sacred treasure under moonlight. It cascaded down like a golden waterfall, radiant against the dark hues of her dress.
And that dress…
Despite her usual tastes—those of a frivolous troublemaker—the gown she wore was unexpectedly elegant. Modest and regal, it covered everything it should, yet it didn’t feel heavy or dull in the slightest. The high collar only heightened her commanding aura, like a noble phoenix having completed her tribulation.
Was it because of the golden coronet atop her head?
Yes. A gold diadem.
The nobles’ eyes lingered longest on that.
Unlike the usual silver tiaras worn by princesses, Ella wore a crown wrought of gold, set with a ruby at the center. It matched her shimmering hair and deep crimson robe perfectly, the ensemble exuding the aura of one already seated on the imperial throne.
“…She looks like the sovereign herself.”
Someone murmured it—too loud to be ignored.
They quickly shut their mouth, realizing the danger of such politically charged words. A comment like that could end a lesser cultivator’s career—or life.
Yet everyone in the hall exchanged glances… all bearing the same unspoken thought:
Princess Ella
… felt more like a true ruler than the actual king.
Draped in royal red and imperial gold—the colors of authority—she looked down upon the gathering of nobles with noble bearing, as if this ball were her ascension ceremony.
No doubt it was planned. But to execute such a statement
this
flawlessly… that too was a form of talent.
She smiled—a benevolent expression she had never once shown me—and walked gracefully to the highest seat in the ballroom. Her attendant followed, carefully lifting the hem of her divine-silk dress.
“…Hah.”
As she finally sat, the nobles, who had all been holding their breaths, began to exhale—noisy chatter bubbling to life.
“Where is that ring from?”
“That necklace too!”
“Even the golden buttons on her dress look familiar…!”
The noble ladies’ gazes honed in on every gem and ornament adorning the Princess’s ears, fingers, and nape.
And then their eyes shifted.
To a single woman now swarmed by their attention.
Margaret Beaufort.
The silver-haired elder fanned herself lightly with a practiced look of feigned ignorance. “Oh? I wouldn’t know a thing~.”
But everyone
did
know.
Those items—
“Margaret’s Emporium.”
“It’s unmistakable. All of it.”
“Yes, I saw those pieces on the first floor just last week…”
Everything the Princess wore had come from Margaret’s Emporium.
No wonder…
A woman known for her disdain of gaudy accessories and finery suddenly decked out in gemstones and regalia?
It could only be deliberate.
Chapter 84