Adding the final touches, Ellis and Mila stepped down to the ground floor of the manor, where, in the reception hall, his father was already dressed impeccably and waiting for him. The eldest person in this manor, their butler, had also accompanied his father to the capital and was standing beside him, his hands tied behind his back.
He had been hired by Ellis's grandfather and had loyally served the family ever since, continuing under his father's command to this day. Denis, their butler, was even stricter than the Viscount himself—stern, disciplined, and unyielding in manner. Ellis had only exchanged a handful of words with him over the past few days, yet that was still more than he had spoken to his father. Being the sort who only conversed with his parents when absolutely necessary, Ellis had no intention of reaching out to his father now either.
Denis's gaze alone made it clear he did not approve of Ellis's appearance, though he held his tongue, his expression as unapproachable as ever. Instead, his eyes shifted toward the Viscount, who smiled faintly upon seeing his son—his gaze softening with a trace of nostalgia, as if some distant memory had momentarily drawn his thoughts away. Ellis came to stand before him, sensing the subtle distraction in his father's demeanor.
"You changed your style too; seems like it isn't just your personality that changed."
The Viscount spoke in a calm voice, his tone unhurried and smooth, carrying neither reproach nor criticism. Instead, a faint chuckle escaped his lips as he turned gracefully, his cloak swaying with the movement, gesturing for him to follow. Ellis quickly trailed after his father with small, careful steps as they stepped outside, where the carriage stood ready to depart.
Ellis didn't forget to throw away one of his earrings on the ground before getting in the carriage. He wanted to toss out both of them, but having one was more suitable, so he left one intact.
†††
The palace glimmered like a dream carved from gold. Every corner seemed built to impress. The grand ballroom shimmered like a jewel box spilled open—from the marble columns veined with gold to the vast chandeliers that dripped warm light over the ballroom below, silk curtains cascading from gold-carved ceilings, and a sea of masks glittering under the glow of hundreds of candles. The air carried the scent of roses and expensive wine, blending with the faint hum of conversation and music that rippled like a tide of restrained delight.
The royal family was obviously taunting the fact that gold could only be used and worn by them. Gold was a symbol of the royal family.
Ellis entered beside his father, Viscount Montfort, through the grand archway leading into the ballroom. There were no names called, no titles spoken—only the soft murmurs of masked strangers pretending not to know one another. That was the rule of the royal annual masquerade ball: for one night, rank and reputation were hidden and everyone became equal beneath the mask.
At least, that was the illusion.
The Viscount's silver-threaded black mask matched the embroidery on his black coat. His father adjusted his gloves as he spoke in a low voice.
"You need to behave properly tonight. You may not have noticed, but we are standing before the royal family. Try not to cause any trouble."
The man gave him a look of warning before moving off toward a cluster of nobles dressed in many distinguishable masks. What he had said was true—Ellis truly didn't recognize anyone. He could only guess the royal family members by the gold on their bodies or clothes, which he didn't want to do.
It took barely ten seconds for his father to abandon him at an event filled with unfamiliar faces and hollow laughter. Ellis stood alone amidst the dazzling lights, feeling both exposed and detached. He had never been fond of such extravagant gatherings—crowded events where people exchanged empty pleasantries wrapped in false smiles. Socializing was not his forte; he preferred the comfort of his own quiet circle rather than mingling with those who spoke not a single honest word.
With a soft sigh, Ellis immediately drifted toward a less crowded corner of the ballroom. His eyes swept through the sea of ornate masks, searching intently for one that resembled his own—the only face among the masquerade he truly wished to find.
Skipping through the crowd, Ellis searched restlessly, weaving past dancers and nobles adorned in glittering masks—but Lorenz was nowhere to be found. Finally, he stopped searching and retreated to a quiet corner of the grand ballroom, leaning against a gold-engraved column that gleamed beneath the chandeliers. The polished stem of a wine glass hung loosely between his fingers, the crimson liquid within untouched, catching the light like spilled rubies. His eyes, sharp and distant, swept over the far-off guests.
The air felt heavier with each passing minute, the swirl of laughter and music blurring into meaningless noise. He felt like he really didn't belong here. One of the many masked faces here could very well belong to the killer who had once poisoned him. He had originally planned to stay close to the main character, to bask in the safety of his so-called plot armor—but perhaps Lorenz had already forgotten him.
Maybe, in this grand story, Ellis was nothing more than a disposable extra, a piece of cannon fodder that could die quietly without significance. If that were true, then no one would come to save him.
The longer he lingered in the ballroom, the more his mood plummeted, sinking like an anchor in deep water. With a dejected sigh, he set the untouched wine glass onto the refreshment table, the crimson liquid swaying slightly before settling still. Without sparing another glance at the glittering crowd below, Ellis turned and made his way toward the grand staircase. He intended on finding a secluded corner—somewhere far from the noise. Somewhere no one would disturb him.