The Duke Theobald took the letter from his aide's hand, his broad fingers enclosing the heavy envelope sealed with the imperial wax. The rasp of parchment as he broke the seal sounded like an alarm in Rina's ears. She sat tensely on her chair by the desk, her body stiff with unease.
He unfolded the letter slowly, his dark eyes scanning the elegant, slightly slanted script, as if the writer had woven grandeur and authority into every stroke. Rina could not contain her curiosity; she leaned forward, feigning interest in her book, though her wide eyes kept darting to the page in her father's hands.
With every word his lips shaped, her heart quickened, until she caught fragments clear enough to understand:
"To Duke Theobald Verchy,
I hear that Lady Elena, the First Baroness, has recently taken residence in your palace. Truly, you are a man of greatness, to accept and bear responsibility for the honored Duchess Revelina's sister.
We shall hold a grand ball at the Imperial Palace, and I ask that you, the young princess, Lady Elena, and her sons attend together—as one family…"
Rina's eyelids trembled at the phrase as one family. A hot surge burned in her chest, fury muffled but sharp. How dare they set her equal with her aunt and cousins? How dare they pretend she was merely a piece of some artificial tableau?
The Duke folded the letter in silence, laying it carefully upon the desk. His fingers drummed lightly against it while his face hardened, thoughts concealed behind a mask of composure.
Rina edged closer, her eyes glimmering.
"Papa… what does it say?"
He turned toward her. For a fleeting moment his gaze softened, though heavy with thought. He smiled faintly and patted her small hand.
"Let us say the Emperor has invited us… to a ball at the palace."
Her eyes widened, as though she could not grasp it.
"All of us…? Even—"
Her father cut her off gently, as though he knew the words on her lips.
"Yes, Rina. Even your aunt and her children."
The Duke reached for his quill again. The scratch of the nib across parchment sounded like fate being carved in stone. His reply was curt, precise, leaving no room for argument. Sealed with his personal crest, he handed it back to the aide. In his hand, the paper felt heavier than mere vellum, as though it carried a destiny of its own.
"Tomorrow will come," he murmured, eyes shadowed with caution. "And the palace will show us what awaits."
The day dragged on, slow and thick, until night cloaked the corridors. Lights dimmed, leaving behind hushed corners where whispers and doubts seemed to hide. Elsewhere, Elena busied herself with her sons, arranging their belongings in the chambers granted them. The rooms were still in disarray, yet her eyes gleamed with a strange fire—a mixture of ambition and fear. She pressed her hand to her chest, calming the erratic beat she barely understood.
Meanwhile, Rina returned to her room after hours of restless thought. Half-drawn curtains let silver light spill across her bed. The chamber became a silent arena of fears and memories: corpses in the square, her aunt's cruelty, the ghostly flash of white light.
Tomorrow… will be a turning point. She clutched her pillow, praying for answers.
---
The following morning, the atmosphere of the palace shifted.
Duke Theobald sat at his desk arranging correspondence when a soft knock sounded at the door. Calm but deliberate, it furrowed his brow.
"Enter," he commanded, voice steady and weighty.
The door opened slowly. Elena stepped inside with measured grace, her face serene though her eyes betrayed unease. She had accepted his terms the previous night, but the morning carried with it the weight of confrontation.
"Good morning, Duke… how are you?" she asked, voice woven with studied sweetness.
He lifted his gaze, unwavering, then gestured to the chair before him.
"I am well. Sit, Elena."
She obeyed, maintaining her practiced smile. Yet the air thickened between them. Theobald's eyes held the weight of a man accustomed to measuring people and fixing their boundaries.
"Elena," his voice cut like a blade through the silence, firm and unyielding. "If you intend to remain here for long, there are rules you must understand."
She straightened, her heartbeat racing though her hands lay still in her lap.
"First—your kindness is noted. But I do not need another woman to care for my daughter. Rina has all she requires. Your presence is not to fill a void that does not exist."
Her eyes flickered, but she masked it quickly.
"You are here to raise your sons. Focus on them. This palace has its own order, and any violation will not be tolerated."
His words were a wall—solid, impassable. Elena felt their weight press upon her. It was not merely warning; it was a line drawn in stone.
She smiled faintly, hollow behind the curve of her lips.
"I understand, Duke. I will obey."
But inside, flames smoldered. To be pushed aside so bluntly, fenced into place—it stung deeply.
Theobald turned back to his papers, though his mind lingered elsewhere. He had never trusted her, and he never would. He would not allow her to come near Rina more than necessary.
---
As Elena left, she masked her turmoil with a fragile smile for the passing servants. Yet within, her schemes burned hotter. An imperial ball? A chance draped in music and light. Among dancers and laughter, she could pull unseen strings.
Above, the governess prepared Rina. The room brimmed with ribbons, silks, and boxes. She held up a violet gown of shimmering threads and fine lace.
"Try this, my lady… it will suit you."
Rina slipped into the dress, its silk whispering against her skin. She stood before the mirror, fingers grazing the delicate fabric. It was beautiful, fitting for a duke's daughter—but her reflection was blurred, her thoughts elsewhere. Something about this ball felt ominous.
From the window, she glimpsed carriages, flowers, and bustling servants. The entire palace moved like a machine wound for an extraordinary day.
Elsewhere, Elena's sharp eyes followed her children, her voice low and commanding.
"Remember… we are not here for pleasure. There is work to do."
In his study, Theobald reviewed papers with quiet vigilance. The ball… The Emperor must have a design. He would be ready.
Thus, as preparations swelled, unseen threads were being drawn: Elena plotting, Rina torn in thought, Theobald guarded in silence.
---
When Rina's gown was set and her hair arranged, she sat before the mirror again, her reflection steady now, her mind resolved. Her father's words lingered: the white light… the cleansing magic.
She had crept into the library the previous night, searching. An old tome on Purification Magic confirmed her suspicions. The calm, the clarity, the strange peace she had felt—signs unmistakable.
The Second Prince… he must be the one who holds this power.
But how? Purification magic was nearly extinct. None of the imperial bloodline were known to possess it. How had it surfaced in him?
No matter. She had her answer.
She opened her secret diary, writing firmly:
"I must make the Second Prince heal me."
Beneath it, she added:
"How to make him my ally… to save me."
She weighed her options in childish scrawls:
Alliance by pact
Advantage: formal, acceptable.
Disadvantage: I may have nothing to offer in return.
Friendship
Advantage: no payment required.
Disadvantage: may seem weak or desperate.
Finally, she wrote in bold:
"Best choice: begin with friendship. If that fails… offer a pact."
She closed the book, clutching it tight. Her heart pounded not only from the ball ahead, but from the path she had chosen.
No more running. Tonight, I will face him.
---
At the palace gates, the ball awaited.
When the Ferchy family entered the grand hall, whispers hushed. Theobald strode with solemn dignity, golden embroidery on his coat shimmering beneath chandeliers. At his side, young Rina walked composed, her violet gown modest yet regal.
Behind, Elena and her sons followed, ill at ease beneath the grandeur.
Rina alone felt a chilling familiarity, as if the shining marble floor still bore the stains of past blood. She clung closer to her father, hiding memories that threatened to resurface.
On the throne, the Emperor smiled broadly. His welcome rang across the chamber, warm in sound but hollow in truth. Beside him, the concubines and princes posed like pieces on a board, their rivalry plain even beneath their polished grace.
Among them, one face was absent—the Second Prince.
Rina's eyes searched, restless, until unease drove her away from the crowd into a quiet corridor. Shadows thickened, her small feet quickening as fear whispered that she was lost.
She pressed her chest, muttering under her breath:
"Damn it… where is he?"
The word echoed, carried into the silence. Then—soft footsteps behind her.
She froze, breath shallow.
"Whom does the princess seek?"
The voice was calm, low, strangely familiar.
Rina turned, wide-eyed.
There he stood: silver eyes gleaming like moonlight, golden hair catching the torchlight.
Her breath caught.
The Second Prince.