Aris watched the guests dance in sumptuous, dazzling choreographies.
Of course, everything had been rehearsed long before the night itself.
Every step, every movement, every glance, and every emotion had been carefully taught, practiced, and mastered by those present in the hall.
Each dancer sought to express their own unique style, yet none dared stray too far from the simplicity of the classic waltz. When two partners clasped hands, spinning together in gentle spirals, their robes fluttered like waves upon calm water, shoes gliding soundlessly, women sighing softly while men held their breath.
Everything had to be magnificent. The slightest mistake would be noticed, remembered, and never forgotten. Thus, perfection was demanded.
And perfection was delivered.
Not a single misstep disturbed the harmony. Under the gaze of the Emperor of Light, failure would have been disastrous. His piercing, domineering eyes bore down upon the dancers, suffocating them with pressure rather than easing their nerves. Yet, strangely enough, that same pressure drove them to give their very best.
At one point, the King of Koran reached for his queen's hand and stepped into the circle. Their steps were proud, regal, their aura unmatched among the crowd. Even so, theirs too remained nothing more than a simple waltz.
The king's expression was solemn, though far less cold than usual, while the queen's elegance carried a subtle charm that elevated the dance into something majestic and awe-inspiring. Together, they blended seamlessly with the rest before withdrawing from the circle with quiet dignity.
No other sovereigns followed them. The Duke would usually enter the dance with his daughter, but as she was absent—and as no one else was willing to invite him for obvious reasons—he remained alone. His cold, cruel gaze was enough to scatter the few who dared linger near him.
A faint smile tugged at Aris's lips. Perhaps De Grey had never known the touch of a true woman after all.
His gaze then shifted toward the Emperor of Light.
Ventis was a figure both divine and dreadful. His face was too perfect, his aura too imposing. To stand at his side would only diminish one's own presence, and the thought of taking his hand in dance was unthinkable.
And, of course, there was the second reason: he was the Grand Ventis. No one would dare approach him for something so trivial as a dance.
It might have been a little sad to see him standing there, isolated, but Ventis was not considered human. To feel pity for him was to misunderstand him entirely. Instead, people were only more afraid.
Then there was Aris himself. Though he avoided the gazes of the young ladies, he knew he would eventually have to choose one and make the first move. Tradition demanded it. It was never the woman's role to extend her hand—it was always his.
The thought unsettled him, but he pushed it aside, bracing himself to make his choice.
Ana stood beside him, arms crossed like a stern overseer. Her sharp, dark gaze scanned the hall, glaring down every woman who dared glance in her king's direction. Without turning her eyes from them, she spoke.
"Well? Have you chosen your beloved yet?"
Aris arched an eyebrow, fully aware that she was still shooting daggers at the others.
"I wouldn't know. You tell me."
Ana's lips curved faintly as she answered, still watching the hall.
"The Baron Astrol's daughter looks kind enough. You might spare her feelings by not refusing her outright."
Aris's eyes drifted to a young woman in a resplendent rose-colored gown, her appearance reminiscent of a fairytale princess. Her golden hair was braided perfectly, adorned with a flower that completed the picture.
She did not dance, however—her father had forbidden her until she found a proper fiancé. She was still too young, and the baron feared she might stray before securing a match.
"Rosie Astrol? I thought you considered her far too fragile."
"She is gentle, beautiful, humble—and a true treasure."
Aris raised a brow in confusion.
"Isn't she a little too young?"
"She is only sixteen, yes. But she sees you as a prince from her stories. You could take her as your fiancée and wait until she is older."
"I thought you had more sense than that," Aris muttered. "True, I've set sixteen as the minimum, but I never expected you to push it so brazenly."
"You needn't announce it publicly if you don't wish to be seen as a..."
Aris suddenly coughed, loud and sharp, as though struck with sudden illness.
"Are you insane? Some people here have enhanced hearing, in case you've forgotten."
"…Forgive me."
"Besides, why are you so determined to marry me off?"
Ana finally turned her gaze toward him, her expression as unreadable as ever. Then, discreetly, she pointed her finger at the Duke.
"Because it's becoming urgent. And I refuse to see you end up with someone like his daughter."
Aris stared at her for a long moment before shrugging.
"…Fair enough."
Together they fell silent, watching the guests twirl and spin in perfect rhythm. He stood tall in his royal attire, and she beside him in her sharp black gown, elegance woven with severity.
At last, Aris's lips parted with a faint smile.
"Well then… why shouldn't it be you, my dear and beautiful advisor?"
Ana froze. Her eyes widened, her composure shattered. For once, the cold woman was caught off guard.
"Me? But.."
She turned quickly toward him, but the sight made her breath catch. Aris had already extended his hand, his body bowed ever so slightly. His voice was refined, his tone bold.
"Would you grant me this dance, Ana Alessia?"
A victorious gleam flickered in his eyes, as if this moment itself was a conquest.
Ana's heart pounded. She was only a counselor. A king did not dance with his counselor. And yet… he had chosen her. Perhaps it was arrogance. Perhaps it was defiance. Or perhaps it was simply Aris being Aris—challenging rules and tradition with that confident smile of his.
In the shadows, even Ventis seemed amused. The faintest of smiles ghosted across his lips, nearly invisible beneath the play of light and shadow.
The hall erupted in whispers as guests turned to witness the King of Arkis himself offering his hand to his counselor. Yes, Ana was striking—her beauty undeniable—but she was no noble. Such a gesture was unheard of. Yet none dared speak against it.
This was Aris. He was in his own court. And Ana Alessia, beautiful and commanding, could stand among the nobility with ease.
Besides, everyone knew of the king's reputation. Arrogant, willful, unpredictable—Aris was known across the human realm. This was simply another display of his audacity, and soon enough, the crowd returned to their dancing.
Ana, however, remained frozen far longer. Slowly, her cold features softened. Her lips curved into a faint smile, her eyes shining with something rare, something warm.
"…Very well. Why not?"
Beneath the false starry sky, under the heavy gaze of the crowd, Aris gently drew his counselor forward and led her into the waltz.
Their bodies drew closer, pressing together, and in moments their movements became one—graceful, elegant, magnificent, and majestic.
The dance was pure, flawless. Though they had never truly danced together before, their synchronization was seamless, as though they had been partners for years. The king and his counselor moved as if bound by fate, guided by the enchanting music of the orchestra.
All eyes followed them—the King of Koran, the Duke De Grey, even the great Ventis himself—as the unlikely pair twirled across the floor in perfect harmony and serenity.
Their breaths aligned, their steps intertwined. Each could read the other's thoughts, feel the other's heart, and share unspoken emotions with every turn.
And beneath the false starry heavens of Arkis, Aris lived his finest moment...
The Ball of Peace (End)