Soft music floated through the lavish ballroom, mingling with cheerful chatter and the clinking of glasses. The entire hall shimmered, adorned in gold and silver, with light bouncing off polished furniture and gleaming kitchenware like a magical haze.
Guests moved gracefully across the floor, dressed in their finest attire, faces hidden behind ornate masks. Some danced, others mingled, and many helped themselves to wine and delicacies. Paparazzi swarmed the room, capturing every moment with relentless flashes and the event was being broadcasted live.
"I told you not to wear that ridiculous suit! You look like a chicken in a tux!" a voice hissed through clenched teeth.
At a corner a woman stood, her navy-blue glittery gown hugging her figure, her matching mask embroidered with navy roses. She glared at a man—dressed in a white suit with feathers stitched along the arms and trousers, and a white mask adorned with a single feather on the upper left side.
"I don't believe this."
The man rolled his eyes.
"Seriously, Leticia, can't you just admit I look good? Besides I have to wear this. I'm the future Duke of Fortshire. The dove represents peace and prosperous harvests. It's symbolic. Even if I'm married into Florence, I still have to stand with my fief."
"Of course I know that," Leticia snapped. "But you could've worn the golden and white suit I had tailored for you. No—you had to pick the most ridiculous one. Did you do it on purpose? So I'd look like a fool? Huh. And I can turn into a laughing stock!"
Aaron's voice rose.
"Oh, just shut up! Do you think I want to be here? I only came because I want our new plan to work—and for you not to mess it up again. Otherwise, I'd rather be… anywhere else."
Leticia narrowed her eyes.
"You mean with one of your whores? Don't you dare walk away from me, Aaron. I swear, if you do, you'll never enjoy your high life again. And be able to fuck another whore. I swear it."
Aaron hissed and grabbed her arm tightly.
"Are you threatening me? Don't you dare act all possessive now. You and I both know this marriage is one of convenience, not commitment. So don't start with your jealous nonsense or bullshit. I don't have time for it."
He released her and turned away.
"Now, if you'll excuse me—I'm heading to the snack bar."
Leticia fumed, snatching a wine glass from a passing waiter and downing it like water.
"Urrgh! You'll regret this one day, Aaron. I swear it!"
Suddenly, the music stopped.
Silence swept through the ballroom.
All heads turned toward the grand entrance.
The double doors opened slowly—and the Royal Family emerged, regal and poised.
Everyone bowed their heads in reverence.
The Queen Dowager entered first, her golden-black regal gown gleaming like sunlight spun into silk. A golden crown bearing the kingdom's crest shimmered atop her head, and a matching golden mask concealed her face with dignified mystery.
Behind her, King Reginald and Queen Esmerelda followed—clad in golden-red ceremonial attire, the kingdom's emblem gleaming proudly on their chests. The King wore a golden mask, the Queen a deep crimson one.
Next came Prince Eric, dressed in a black and gold embroidered suit, his face hidden behind a sleek black mask. His twin siblings, Prince Edward and Princess Elizabeth, followed close behind in matching black and gold ensembles. Elizabeth wore a golden mask; Edward, a black one.
All eyes turned toward the entrance, expecting the Crown Prince.
But as usual. Not even his ghost walked through the door.
The rest of the Royal Family ascended to the upper floor, taking their places near the thrones. A round of applause rippled through the ballroom as they stood at attention, facing the crowd.
The Queen Dowager stepped forward to the podium, her voice calm and commanding.
"Good evening, everyone, and welcome to the grand Masquerade Ball. Tonight marks the beginning of the Royal Bride Selection Season—where our Crown Prince will choose his Crown Princess and the future Queen of Flambodia."
She paused, her gaze sweeping across the masked noblewomen.
"I trust that many of you are anticipating this event. Don't worry, fifty years ago, I stood where you stand now. And I assure you—there's nothing to fear. Prepare yourselves, do your best, and who knows? You may be chosen to wear the crown."
A ripple of excitement passed through the room.
"The selection will take place two weeks from now, so there is still time to prepare. But tonight, we are not only celebrating the beginning of this season—we are also celebrating victory."
She paused again, letting the silence build.
"Two days ago, the Crown Prince participated in the Royal Hunting Derby. He achieved a momentous victory—slaying five mountain tigers and saving an entire village from their vicious attacks."
Gasps echoed through the ballroom. Murmurs spread like wildfire—some praising the Crown Prince's bravery, others whispering disbelief. How could he have done it alone?
The Queen Dowager raised a hand, and the room quieted.
"Yes, it's shocking. But it is also deeply commendable. Our Crown Prince has shown us that he is destined to be a great ruler—one who holds his people close to heart. One who will defend our kingdom with virtue and strength."
Prince Eric clenched his fists, his jaw tightening.
'This was supposed to be my victory ball. I should be the one praised. Not that beastly brother of mine—who didn't even bother to show up. Again. I should be the one hailed as the future ruler of this kingdom. Not that… grrr…'
"So now, ladies and gentlemen," the Queen Dowager concluded, "let us enjoy this evening in celebration—and anticipation—for what is to come. Thank you."
She stepped down from the podium and took her seat on the throne.
Applause thundered through the ballroom as the music resumed and the festivities continued.
"Great speech, Mother," Reginald began, his tone clipped.
"Too bad your unfilial grandson keeps playing the dramatist—only showing up when it suits him. If I weren't so lenient, that title would've been stripped from him long ago."
"True words, my King," Esmerelda chimed in.
"Everyone came to celebrate his so-called 'spontaneous' victory and the start of his bridal selection, and he doesn't even grace the occasion. What kind of crude, disgraceful, and unworthy behavior is that? Certainly not fit for a future King."
Alicia's voice cut through the air like a blade.
"Oh? So rubbing everyone's bottoms is the noble way to ascend the throne now? That reeks of cowardice. I'd rather crown a beggar than spend my life wiping everyone's filth just to cling to power."
"Mother!" Reginald snapped, bristling at the insult.
'Old bitch!', Esmerelda seethed silently.
"What?" Alicia said coolly.
"I'm speaking the truth. And who said Daniel isn't here? I suppose that's what you're hoping for, so you can drag his name through the mud behind his back. But not today you won't. Not today."
Reginald sighed and slumped into his throne, burying his face in his hand. Esmerelda threw a daggered glare at Alicia but held her tongue, unwilling to escalate.
Eric, meanwhile, had heard the message loud and clear.
Coward.
That was the word buried in his grandmother's jab. And it fit. Because unlike Daniel, he had spent years trying to please everyone—trying to be seen as a worthy successor. Daniel didn't need to try. People feared him. Respected him. Even their father tread carefully around him.
Daniel was a beast in combat. Eric had never seen warfare as his path. But now, watching how Daniel's unmatched battlefield prowess had earned him reverence, Eric felt the weight of his brother's shadow pressing down on him.
Every. Single. Day.
He groaned inwardly and shifted his gaze toward the ballroom floor. Guests danced, laughed, drank, and chatted—oblivious to the storm brewing above.
He shook his head.
'This party could've been mine. Should've been mine. But no—it's all for him. His stupid brother.'
"Urrgh… what could turn this damn thing around? I'm bored." he muttered.
And as if summoned by his frustration—
The ballroom doors opened.
A man in a navy-blue suit dusted with silver glitter stepped into the ballroom.
Just behind him—
An exceptionally beautiful woman entered, her long wavy black hair cascading down her back like silk. Her black eyes shimmered with quiet depth, her small nose and rosy lips perfectly framed her poised expression. Her figure, graceful and bellsome, was wrapped in a blush-pink gown encrusted with delicate pearls. Around her neck, a pink diamond rose necklace gleamed, matched by her earrings that caught the light with every step.
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
All eyes turned to her.
Her small smile of acknowledgement was like a star breaking through the night—soft, radiant, unforgettable.
She walked beside the man toward the upper floor, where the Royal Family sat in regal silence. They bowed respectfully, then turned back to join the festivities.
Prince Eric watched her, transfixed. His heart skipped a beat. There was something about her—something magnetic. He was intrigued and he wanted to know more.
And he wasn't the only one.
On a balcony across the ballroom, a silver-masked figure in a black and silver regal suit observed quietly.
He had been growing bored—until she arrived.
Her beauty was undeniable, but it didn't stir him. What caught his attention was something else. A flicker. A pull. An intrigue he couldn't explain.
He noticed his brother watching her too—eyes filled with curiosity and unmistakable attraction. That was a problem. The second Prince wasn't allowed to engage with any woman who might participate in the selection.
"This is going to be interesting…" he muttered, sipping his wine as he watched her speak with a group of noble ladies.
Then—
She turned.
Their eyes met.
For a moment, time stilled.
Then she looked away, returning to her conversation.
The silver-masked man smirked, amused, and took another sip.
Inside his suit jacket pocket, a faint blue glow shimmered—just as their eyes had locked. It faded the moment they looked away.
A beckoning pull.
A sign.
Something big was coming.