After another week of lessons at the Academy, Delphia found herself standing at the threshold of House Faremont, Zypher at her side. As the grand doors swung open, a gust of wind swept past them, carrying the scent of exotic perfumes and the faintest trace of arcane energy into the crisp night air.
Delphia, expression composed, stepped into the opulent ballroom. Her maroon-gloved hand rested in Zypher's firm grasp, his touch a quiet tether as the murmurs of gathered nobility swelled around them. Voices dipped into hushed tones, attention shifting as they entered.
It wasn't just the usual curiosity—this was sharper. Eyes lingered. Speculative.
Zypher's voice was a soft lilt near her ear. "We're being watched." His thumb brushed the back of her hand before he released it, the gesture lingering longer than necessary.
Delphia tilted her chin slightly, lips parting at the absence of contact before she masked it with a slow breath. "Let them look," she replied, her voice measured. Her gaze flicked sideways, admiring the way the charcoal grey of his suit caught the golden chandelier light.
She slipped her hand free and adjusted her sleeve, the deep maroon of her gown mirroring his eyes—a detail not lost on her, or likely, the room.
"Shall we?" Zypher asked, offering his arm again.
She took it, and he led her smoothly into the rhythm of the evening.
They danced.
The ballroom came alive around them—an orchestra of violins filled the space with elegant notes, and the polished floor gleamed beneath shifting silks and flowing gowns.
As they moved, Zypher leaned in, his words an undercurrent to the music. "The Lord of Westmere—he's pivoting to fund independent guilds. Crown's not pleased."
Delphia arched a brow but didn't reply.
"There—Countess Ralene. She's been writing to Eastern territory factions. Dangerous ones."
Delphia turned subtly, her eyes scanning the crowd. "Mm."
Zypher's gaze shifted again. "And the man beside the artifact display—he's hoarding mana crystals. Black market."
Her attention, however, had drifted. Beyond the crowd, framed in soft violet silk and golden light, Calista Faremont glided across the ballroom. Sky-blue hair cascaded around her shoulders. Her smile was luminous.
And beside her: Alaric Aramore.
He was impossible to miss. The Crown Prince stood with the unwavering posture of someone raised to be watched, but his gaze rarely left Calista. The way he leaned into her, hung on her words—it was unmistakable.
A fairytale.
Delphia's stomach twisted.
"She's too good at this," she muttered under her breath.
Zypher's focus followed hers. "What do you mean?"
Delphia narrowed her eyes slightly. "In the book, she was unsure. Hesitant. Now? Every gesture, every word—it's performance."
He hummed in agreement. "And Alaric?"
"Hopelessly smitten," Delphia said flatly. "Which makes it easier for her. Convenient, really."
Zypher's smirk was faint. "Convenient is putting it lightly."
They completed one more turn before Zypher gently guided her toward the edge of the dance floor.
"Rest for a moment," he said quietly. "I'll make my rounds."
Delphia gave a small nod, slipping away to claim a drink from a passing tray and sinking into a velvet-cushioned settee. From here, she had a clear view of the room.
Zypher moved easily between clusters of nobles, exchanging greetings, smiling in that careful way that didn't reach his eyes. Occasionally, he would lean close to speak, and the responses he received were guarded, measured. He was gathering. Calculating.
And yet, despite his distance, she could feel the eyes on her. Not just on them now, but on her alone—a curiosity sharpened by the sight of them dancing. Their unity had become a statement. Five years of cold distance rewritten by a single dance, a few subtle touches, a look.
She took a slow sip of wine, watching Calista again. Watching the way she lit up at Alaric's words.
"Was that always her goal?" she whispered to herself.
She didn't notice Zypher's return until he spoke close to her ear, his voice low. "You're frowning. That's going to invite questions."
Delphia's breath caught at his proximity.
A passing noblewoman glanced their way, and Zypher didn't move back. From the outside, it must have looked intimate.
Delphia tilted her head just enough to keep up appearances, voice playful but quiet. "You'd know a thing or two about inviting questions, wouldn't you?"
Zypher's mouth curved into a slow, knowing smile. "Careful, Delphie. If you keep looking at me like that, they'll write songs."
She let out a quiet hum of amusement and turned her eyes back toward the crowd. But the moment lingered.
And the nobles saw it.
Even as Zypher stepped away again, conversation resumed around her—but now it carried a new energy.
For years, she and Zypher had been seen as barely tolerable company for one another. But tonight, in a ballroom full of watchers, that illusion cracked. A shared glance, a dance, a whisper too close, and suddenly the narrative shifted.
And perhaps, Delphia thought as she traced the rim of her glass, she didn't mind that so much after all.
***
After another week, the Witchade Soiree, though smaller in scale than the grand galas that dominated the social calendar, was no less significant in its impact.
Held in the grandiose halls of the Witchade Estate, the event exuded an air of mystery and sophistication. Its intimate guest list was reserved for the Kingdom's most influential families and political figures, and the night was renowned for its magical displays—an opportunity for Nobles to showcase their prowess in controlled yet awe-inspiring demonstrations.
Delphia arrived arm in arm with Zypher, their presence immediately drawing whispers from the assembled Nobility. They stepped into the hall like two halves of a spell—coordinated not just in color but in intention. She was breathtaking in a topaz gown, her hair elegantly pinned up, gloves reaching her upper arms to complement the sleeveless dress. Zypher matched her in a topaz button-down, accented by a tie clip and brooch that made his maroon eyes glow like embers.
While their engagement had always been public knowledge, their increasingly close partnership—marked by shared appearances at events and a visible shift in Delphia's demeanor—was the source of endless speculation. To some, it was a scandalous pairing: the scion of House Vosswell betrothed to the Magic Tower's enigmatic heir. To others, it was a strategic alliance of immense power.
The murmur of curiosity followed them as they entered the main hall, the polished obsidian floors reflecting the flickering glow of enchanted candelabras suspended in mid-air. The Witchade emblem, a raven woven in gold thread, adorned the deep velvet drapes that framed the grand windows. The air buzzed with latent magic, a palpable energy that hinted at the evening's primary entertainment.
As Delphia and Zypher moved through the room, they observed the Nobility engaged in their subtle dances of influence—conversations laced with double meanings, measured laughter, and carefully placed glances. More than a few of those glances lingered on them.
A cluster of nobles near the refreshment table paused their discussion as Delphia's quiet chuckle reached them, her gaze locked with Zypher's in a way that sent ripples of intrigue through the gathering. A young lady leaned toward her companion, whispering behind a lace fan, eyes darting between the couple. Another noble, a lord of middling rank, smirked into his wine, exchanging knowing looks with his peers.
However, Calista was impossible to miss.
Dressed in an emerald gown that shimmered with every movement, her sky-blue hair cascaded down her back like a waterfall. She stood alongside her family, though her proximity to Alaric made her the center of attention. Their shared smiles and easy conversation added fuel to the whispers that this reunion of lost nobility was more than mere coincidence. Delphia's gaze lingered on Calista, her sharp mind noting how effortlessly she played her part. Every glance, every laugh, every tilt of her head was calculated to charm. It wasn't simply charisma—it was strategy.
"She's creating a narrative," Delphia murmured to Zypher as they paused near one of the side tables laden with refreshments. "Every move is deliberate."
Zypher followed her gaze, his expression unreadable. "The question is whether the narrative is for the room or for Alaric alone."
Before Delphia could respond, the host of the evening, Duke Witchade, called for attention. "Ladies and gentlemen," he announced, his voice carrying an elegance that silenced the room, "it is my pleasure to present the next magical demonstration. Lady Calista Faremont has graciously agreed to show us her talents."
Polite applause rippled through the crowd as Calista stepped forward, her movements graceful yet exuding confidence. Delphia felt a pang of unease as the room's attention turned to the blue-haired beauty, the light of the enchanted candelabras casting a golden halo around her figure.
The air crackled with energy as Calista raised her hands, summoning an intricate weave of light and earth mana. The magic took shape, blooming into an array of radiant tendrils that danced across the room like fireflies. The display was mesmerizing, drawing gasps of admiration from the crowd as the light intensified, refracting in a prism of colors that seemed to fill the space.
Delphia folded her arms, though her expression remained neutral. The crowd gasped, but she felt only a growing chill—one that had nothing to do with the spectacle. She glanced sidelong at Zypher, and to her surprise, his gaze wasn't on Calista anymore.
His maroon eyes were on her.
And for just a moment, the tension slipped away.
Then he leaned closer, his voice low. "Did you see that?"
Delphia blinked, startled. "See what?"
"There." His tone was barely audible. "Her mana faltered. Just for a moment."
Delphia's brows drew together. "What do you mean?"
"She miscalculated the flow," Zypher said, eyes still locked on Calista. "It was subtle—barely noticeable unless you're looking for it. But it's there."
Delphia watched the scene with renewed scrutiny. Calista stood basking in the applause, her expression untouched by strain. "Do you think it was deliberate?"
Zypher tilted his head slightly, a small smirk playing at his lips. "It could be. But if it wasn't… then it means she's either overextending herself or not as adept as she wants everyone to believe."
Delphia considered him, then smiled and raised her glass. "Damn, just how good are you?"
He grinned back. "Just how good was I described to be?"
Their glasses clinked in a quiet toast—unspoken but understood. Delphia's smile wasn't the practiced kind she wore for nobles; it was softer, more private. Zypher's fingers brushed her lower back as they moved to rejoin the crowd—a touch so fleeting she almost questioned if it happened at all.
Across the room, a noblewoman arched an eyebrow at the scene, nudging her husband. Another turned to her companion, murmuring something that made them both chuckle. The tension between Delphia and Zypher was undeniable, a thread of warmth woven into the cool political atmosphere of the evening.
Calista returned to Alaric's side, her demeanor as composed as ever, but Delphia's perception of her had shifted. The cracks in her performance were small, but they were there—and Delphia couldn't help but wonder what they might reveal.
As the magical demonstrations concluded, Zypher and Delphia mingled with key figures in the room, their conversations laced with subtle inquiries. The political undercurrents of the Kingdom were growing clearer, the pieces of the conspiracy slowly falling into place.
"Lady Vosswell, your betrothed has quite the reputation," one Noble remarked to Delphia with a sly smile. "It seems you've made an intriguing match."
Delphia returned the smile with polite detachment. "A reputation well-earned, I assure you."
"Perhaps," the Noble replied, glancing meaningfully at Zypher. "Though I daresay there's more between you than mere reputation."
Delphia's smile remained, but the weight of watching eyes did not escape her. Their every interaction had been cataloged, interpreted, and dissected. A dangerous game, but one she played willingly.
As the evening wore on, Delphia couldn't shake the feeling that the room was a stage, each guest an actor playing their part in a script they couldn't entirely control. And at the center of it all was Calista—a protagonist whose performance was beginning to reveal its imperfections.
"She's hiding something," Delphia said quietly to Zypher as they prepared to leave. "And I'm curious to know what."
Zypher's gaze lingered on her, a flicker of amusement in his maroon eyes. "Good. Because the more cracks we find, the closer we get to understanding the bigger picture."
Delphia nodded, her resolve hardening. The Soiree had been illuminating in more ways than one. And as they stepped into the cold night, she couldn't help but feel that the threads of the story were beginning to loosen—but this time, she wasn't pulling them alone. Zypher was beside her, and together, they would unravel it all.