It was already evening when all the maids assigned to attend to the guests in the grand hall, where the celebrations for the Empress's birthday were held, quietly moved about. The moonlight streamed delicately through the tall windows, mingling with the soft glow of chandeliers, flickering candles, and the shimmer of fabrics laid out for the occasion. The hall was alive with murmurs of excitement, and all the nobles invited had gathered gracefully at their tables, their laughter and chatter filling the air.
Elira, along with the other maids, lingered behind the heavy red curtains, pressing themselves into the shadows. They peeked cautiously, sneaking glances at the dancing nobles, for they had not been assigned to serve the guests. Their curiosity had made them conspirators in mischief, hidden observers of elegance and beauty.
"Kyaaa… how I wish I were born a noble, just so I could wear dresses like those," whispered one maid, her eyes wide with longing.
"If the head maid catches us, we're doomed," another added nervously, while Elira let out a quiet chuckle. She lifted her chin slightly, scanning the hall for familiar faces—Mrs. Joana, Sylas, and especially Silvia and Luke, whom she had not seen for so long. Her curiosity was keenest about Sylas: how would he look in noble attire? And Cassian, too—she imagined them in fine clothing, and a small, amused smile curved her lips. I bet they would be even more handsome, she thought.
Meanwhile, Bea had finished serving some wine to the guests and hurried over to where Elira and the others were concealed.
"Hey, Bea! over here!" one maid whispered sharply, as Elira stayed pressed behind the folds of the curtain.
"Here, I've brought you some snacks," Bea said, handing over a small pouch. Inside were the rare, expensive cookies that the girls could scarcely taste at home. Eagerly, Elira and her companions took them, savoring the sweet treats while still peeking at the party. Elira nibbled on a chocolate chip cookie, her eyes darting back to the dancers, her cheeks flushing slightly with excitement.
"I'll leave you here for a while—wouldn't want the head maid to catch me," Bea said with a mischievous wink. She looked at Elira and waved; Elira returned the gesture, a quiet smile playing on her lips.
Minutes later, the entrance to the ballroom opened, and the herald's voice rang through the hall, announcing the arrival of yet another noble family. Elira and her companions leaned closer, their breaths catching in anticipation.
"Announcing the arrival of the Duke and Duchess of Everlieghn."
As Elira observed, a strange sensation prickled her skin. The Everlieghn family was no ordinary noble household; their presence commanded attention, an aura of quiet power and elegance that drew every eye. The Duke strode forward in a blue military-style coat with pristine white trim, a crisp sash, decorative chains, and tailored white trousers. His beige hair was neatly styled, his posture impeccable, and his violet eyes gleamed with a quiet authority.
Beside him, the Duchess wore a long-sleeved, high-necked gown of deep blue, embroidered with a subtle floral pattern that echoed her husband's attire. Her white hair was swept into a simple, elegant bun, and despite their age, both carried themselves with the poise of those who had lived a lifetime in refinement.
Yet it was not the Duke or Duchess who drew the most attention. Behind them walked a young lady, their daughter, whose beauty seemed almost ethereal. She wore an off-the-shoulder white ballgown, the bodice adorned with silver filigree, the sleeves puffed and layered, tied with delicate blue ribbons. The skirt cascaded in gentle waves, blue ribbons entwined with silver designs, trimmed with the faintest touch of blue at the hem. A high collar with silver detailing framed her neck, matching her pale, luminous skin. Her long beige hair fell in soft waves, braided at the crown, decorated with blue fabric roses and scattered pearls, and her fringe framed eyes that mirrored her father's striking violet hue.
Elira's gaze lingered, captivated. Even from behind the curtain, she could feel the elegance of the dress, the way it clung subtly to the girl's figure, the gentle sway of the skirt as she walked. Around her, other men and women were equally entranced, their admiration barely concealed.
"She's… she's breathtaking," one of Elira's companions whispered, her voice hushed, almost reverent.
"Indeed… like an angel descended from heaven," murmured another.
Elira could not tear her eyes away. Her heart fluttered slightly, and a small smile touched her lips. Even in the shadowed corner, she felt the girl's presence as something almost magical.
"Is she really that beautiful, Elira?" one maid asked, her eyes still fixed on the noble girl.
"Indeed, she is," Elira replied softly, her voice tinged with awe, her gaze unwavering.
Just then, the parchment in the herald's hand rustled, signalling the arrival of yet another family. Slowly, their attention shifted, but Elira's mind still lingered on the radiant figure of the Duke and Duchess's daughter, her image imprinted in her imagination.
"All hail the arrival of the High Supreme Commander Crowholt, together with his wife," the herald proclaimed, his voice echoing through the grand hall.
At last, this was the moment Elira had been waiting for.
The first to step through the entrance was the High Supreme Commander himself, his arm offered in escort to his wife as they entered together. He wore a black military uniform edged with silver accents, the fabric sharp and imposing, a fur collar resting heavily upon his shoulders. A long black cape flowed behind him with every measured step. His neatly kept dark hair framed a face hardened by command, and his piercing silver eyes swept across the hall with quiet authority.
At his side, guided by his steady presence, walked his wife—Joana.
She was dressed in a long-sleeved emerald gown embroidered with delicate silver florals, the fabric gliding smoothly against her form with each graceful movement. A lace-trimmed high collar framed her neck, while a silver panel ran down the centre of the dress, catching the candlelight as she walked. A jeweled belt cinched her waist, understated yet refined, reflecting her preference for elegance over extravagance. Her silver hair was styled in a twisted half-up arrangement, the remaining strands cascading softly in loose curls that brushed against her back. Even with fewer adornments, she carried herself with a quiet grace that required no ornament to command attention.
To Elira's eyes, though the two bore the marks of age, they appeared striking—daring, even. Joana, whom Elira regarded as a mother, seemed radiant beneath the glow of the chandeliers, her presence warm yet dignified.
Following them were Silvia and Lucien, dressed in emerald-toned attire suitable for the celebration, refined without excess. Beside them was young Luke, walking proudly at their side. At the sight of them, Elira felt her chest tighten with happiness. The faces she had longed to see were finally before her. She forced herself to remain where she stood, gripping the curtain lightly, reminding herself of her place. She was forbidden to approach nobles—especially the wife of the High Supreme Commander.
"So this is the world of nobility," Elira murmured under her breath.
Yet even as she watched, a quiet restlessness stirred within her. Something was missing. Her gaze wandered again through the hall, searching for two figures she longed to see dressed in noble attire.
"Where would the son of the High Supreme Commander be?" Elira asked softly.
"Well, Elira," one of her companions whispered. "The son of the High Supreme Commander usually attends the ball separately from his family."
That answer only deepened her curiosity.
"Why?" Elira pressed.
"Because—"
"Kyaaaa! The prince and the son of the High Supreme Commander—kyaaaa!"
The sudden shriek cut the explanation short. Elira's attention snapped toward the wide staircase at the centre of the hall. Her breath caught as two figures descended, and her eyes widened in disbelief. Heat rushed to her cheeks, staining them crimson. She had not expected her two gentlemen friends to look like this.
Cries of excitement rippled through the noble ladies as Sylas and Cassian stepped forward, their presence commanding immediate attention.
Sylas wore a dark military coat patterned with intricate detailing, silver epaulettes resting firmly upon his shoulders, and a striking blue sash crossing his chest. His silver hair was neatly styled, swept back with a subtle wave, emphasizing the sharp lines of his face. His gaze was cold yet intense, mirroring the commanding presence of his father.
Beside him stood Cassian, the Crown Prince of the Empire. He was clad in a white military uniform adorned with gold detailing—fringed epaulettes, a red sash, a decorative gold belt, and a black bow accented with tassels. His golden hair fell in soft waves, slightly tousled, longer than Sylas's, lending him a gentler air. His blue eyes carried warmth and charm, a stark contrast to Sylas's piercing stare.
Elira felt her heart falter.
Standing there, greeting the guests, the two were utterly captivating. She could not decide who appeared more handsome; the comparison itself felt impossible. Together, they were unmatched.
"How lovely, isn't it?" one of her companions whispered in awe.
"Indeed… whoever marries either of them would be incredibly lucky," another maid sighed dramatically.
Elira could only smile at their reactions. Though Sylas and Cassian were not unfamiliar to her—having often been around Joana's household—the sight of them dressed in such refined attire was something she had never imagined. They rarely wore garments like these, favoring sword training and practical wear instead. Seeing them now felt almost unreal.
Yet within Elira's heart, one presence lingered more deeply than the other.
She could not name the feeling, nor did she dare to face it fully. Somewhere within her chest, something stirred—quiet, uncertain, and unresolved. She wondered, fleetingly, if she would have accepted Joana's invitation to attend the ball had she known she would see him like this.
She pushed the thought away at once.
She wished to remain a commoner, even as feelings quietly took root—feelings she could neither deny nor confirm, lingering in silence, waiting for a truth she was not yet ready to face.