The celebration had settled into a pleasant rhythm.
Light chatter floated through the air, glasses clinked gently, and the music softened into a charming melody as the orchestra began to shift to a waltz. The light from enchanted chandeliers cast a warm golden hue across the marble floors, reflecting off the gowns and polished boots of the empire's nobility.
Noah stood near a column draped in silken silver, his presence composed yet distant. Scarlett had gently excused herself to speak with a noblewoman who recognized her, while Lyra and Layla stayed close, casually sipping juice in fluted crystal goblets.
Just as Noah was about to lean back and enjoy the music—
Click. Click.
A soft sound of heels echoed closer.
Turning his head, Noah saw her.
Charlotte.
She moved through the crowd like moonlight on still water, her black gown whispering secrets with each step. The silver embroidery on the dress shimmered with every movement, resembling constellations in a night sky. Her void-like eyes, deep as eternity, met his calmly.
"Noah Von Augustus," Charlotte said, her voice elegant and cool. "You look surprisingly tolerable tonight."
He gave a soft chuckle. "And you look less like a tyrant than usual, Princess."
She smirked faintly, folding her hands before her. "Must be the lighting."
A small pause passed between them, comfortable in its silence. Then she turned her eyes toward the ballroom floor, where nobles were beginning to pair up.
"Tonight is not just for speeches and wine, you know," Charlotte said quietly.
Noah tilted his head, watching her. "You mean the ball?"
"I mean," she said, taking a step closer, "would you do me the honor of a dance with you, Lord Augustus?"
Noah blinked. Of all people, she was the one to ask.
He turned his eyes slightly, looking toward the trio standing nearby.
Scarlett, Lyra, and Layla were already watching him. They didn't speak, but the meaning in their gazes was clear.
"Go."
"Just for tonight."
"We'll be waiting."
Layla gave him a wink. Lyra nodded softly. Scarlett smiled, though a flicker of emotion glimmered in her eyes.
Noah looked back at Charlotte and extended his hand.
"I'd be honored, Your Highness"
Charlotte placed her gloved fingers into his, and the two moved gracefully toward the center of the ballroom.
The orchestra struck the first note.
Soft violins.
A distant cello.
The haunting breath of a flute.
The ballroom cleared slightly as eyes turned to the stage—this dance, it seemed, was the first official one of the evening. And it belonged to the princess.
Charlotte placed her right hand gently on Noah's shoulder. He rested his left hand at her waist, and their free hands met, fingers interlocking with practiced grace.
They began.
Step. Step. Turn.
Charlotte's gown flared slightly as Noah led her through a slow twirl, the silver patterns on her dress catching the light. He guided her effortlessly, each movement fluid, matching the rhythm of the orchestra.
1… 2… 3… 1… 2… 3…
The waltz swayed them like a gentle current in a moonlit river.
Charlotte's thoughts:
'He's improved… not just in power, but grace. His touch is steady. No hesitation. No trembling. This isn't the same boy who stood awkwardly during our first duel.'
And yet… he still doesn't look at me the way I want him to.
Noah's thoughts:
'She's different tonight. Less guarded. The way her hand rests in mine… it's warm. Real. Not the princess image everyone fears.'
But can I trust her? Or is it another mask?
Charlotte leaned in slightly, enough that her perfume—soft, floral, regal—lingered in his senses.
"You've changed," she murmured.
"So have you," Noah replied.
"Did you ever think we'd be dancing like this?" she asked, arching a brow.
"Not unless we were both possessed by spirits."
She chuckled softly, a sound no one else would believe belonged to her.
Their steps moved faster now.
Charlotte turned gracefully, her dress spinning like a silver spiral, only to be pulled back into Noah's embrace as the music swelled. His arm tightened slightly around her waist, lifting her just barely before setting her down with a gentle sweep.
A soft gasp went around the room.
They're perfect together.
What chemistry…
Are they engaged in secret?
But neither of them paid attention.
"You look… beautiful," Noah said quietly.
Charlotte's breath caught—just briefly—but she didn't let it show.
"You're only noticing that now?" she replied smoothly.
He smirked. "Maybe I was too busy trying not to die in our previous encounters."
The dance entered its final act.
Turn. Step. Dip.
Noah dipped her low, her hair brushing just above the floor. Their faces were inches apart.
In the silence that followed, there was only the sound of their breaths.
Then he pulled her back up, and the music faded.
Applause erupted around them. Loud. Enthusiastic.
Charlotte looked at Noah, her void-like eyes unreadable.
"Thank you," she said softly.
"For the dance?"
"For making me feel like a girl… not just a princess."
He bowed slightly, never breaking her gaze.
"You're welcome, Charlotte."
And as they parted—slowly, reluctantly—the night resumed around them.
But something had changed.
Something had begun.
The final notes of Charlotte's waltz faded into the golden air, leaving behind a trail of applause and murmured admiration. Noah barely had time to step off the dance floor before a familiar, sweetly mischievous voice reached his ears.
"Noaaah~"
He turned—just in time to be snatched by the wrist and dragged off by none other than Layla.
Her long black hair flowed like ink behind her, and her amber eyes shimmered with anticipation.
"You think you can dance with a princess and forget about me?" she pouted dramatically.
"I was going to ask," Noah chuckled.
"No need. I take what I want."
Layla spun into his arms, and their dance began.
If his waltz with Charlotte was refined and regal, then this was the opposite—fiery and wild.
Layla moved like a flame, full of energy and playful spins, drawing him in close and letting him go with teasing flourishes.
She laughed as he guided her through the moves, and at one point she leaned in and whispered, "If you don't take responsibility for stealing my heart tonight, I might curse you."
"You already did, didn't you?" he replied with a grin.
After a twirl and an overly dramatic dip, Layla sighed happily. "Okay, I feel better now."
Before he could even catch his breath—
"My turn," Scarlett interrupted softly, stepping forward with a slight blush.
Layla smirked and gave Noah a little shove toward her. "Don't step on her toes, lover boy.
As she took his hand, Noah noticed her nervousness.
"You don't have to force yourself," he said.
She looked up and smiled. "I want to."
Their dance was gentle, filled with unspoken emotion. Scarlett was graceful, more than she realized, and the way she looked at him—like he was her entire world—made his heart ache. She rested her head lightly against his chest as they moved, whispering, "You look like a prince tonight, Noah…"
He gently squeezed her hand. "Your Prince."
By the end of the song, Scarlett's cheeks were as red as her dress.
Then came Lyra.
No words were exchanged. She simply stepped forward, expression calm, and held out her hand. Noah took it without hesitation.
Her skin looked luminous beneath the pale colors, and her icy aura contrasted beautifully with her warm eyes tonight.
Their dance was elegant, balanced, quiet.
They moved like winter wind—fluid, graceful, and understated. Lyra's fingers lingered longer than usual, her gaze softer, more open.
Noah caught her eye and murmured, "You're beautiful."
She didn't respond, but the faintest smile curved her lips.
When the music faded, Lyra stepped away, only to be pulled into a small hug by Scarlett and Layla, who had been watching.
Noah exhaled, content.
And then… he felt it.
A gaze.
He turned.
At the edge of the ballroom, standing near the polished pillars of white marble, was Olivia Lanze.
The Saintess.
She wore a stunning maroon gown tonight—modest, elegant, flowing down to her ankles like liquid wine. It was nothing like her usual holy robes, but it was unmistakably her.
A gentle glow seemed to follow wherever she stepped, her platinum blonde hair shining under the lights.
Her emerald eyes were watching him.
Hopeful. Expecting. Almost… longing.
Noah smiled.
He walked over to her, stopping just before her.
"Would you care for a dance, Saintess?"
Olivia's eyes softened, and she smiled—gentle, radiant. "I was waiting for you to ask."
He offered his hand.
She took it.
The music shifted once more—this time slower, more classical.
They began.
Their dance was nothing flashy. No wild spins or dramatic lifts. It was graceful—refined. Their steps were measured, their turns seamless. It was as if the air around them hushed to listen.
Noah was careful. His hand rested respectfully on Olivia's waist, and their joined hands were held at a polite height. But it didn't stop him from feeling the warmth of her through the silk.
She looked up at him, her gaze deep and searching.
"You're surprisingly good at this," Olivia said softly.
"You sound surprised."
"I thought you'd stumble… or blush."
"I'm not that easy to fluster," he replied, though her presence made that more difficult than he admitted.
Their steps flowed in harmony.
A twirl.
A sweep.
A turn.
Then, Olivia leaned in slightly—just enough to let her breath tickle his neck. "It's strange… when I'm near you, I forget I'm the Saintess."
Noah looked at her, and his usual wit faltered.
Her eyes sparkled with emotion. Not lust. Not flirtation. But longing. Gentle. Deep. Real.
"…You look stunning tonight," he said honestly.
Olivia's cheeks flushed. "Thank you. You… look handsome as well. Divine, even."
He chuckled lightly. "Now who's blushing?"
She laughed softly, resting her head just slightly against his shoulder.
For a moment, they were no longer Saintess and Swordsman. Just Olivia and Noah—two souls in step under a golden ceiling.
And though Noah tried to keep a respectful distance…
He couldn't help but feel her heartbeat.
The music had softened, replaced by the elegant murmurs of conversation and the clinking of fine crystal. Noah stood beside Olivia now, his expression relaxed, surrounded by the familiar warmth of his closest companions—Scarlett, Lyra, and Layla.
Scarlett leaned toward Olivia with a knowing smile. "You two looked… very elegant out there."
"Oh? I thought it was more of a heavenly blessing," Layla teased, smirking at Noah. "The Saintess looked like she wanted to drag our dear Noah away for herself."
"Maybe I should've cast a freezing spell," Lyra added softly, "just to make sure things didn't heat up too much."
Olivia blushed, caught between composure and amusement. "You're all exaggerating."
Noah let out a helpless chuckle. "I take one dance, and now I'm the villain?"
"You've always been the villain in my heart," Layla said, dramatically clutching her chest, making the others giggle.
As their laughter echoed around the golden ballroom, the air shifted—like a sudden chill passing through silk.
A young man stepped forward, his boots clicking sharply against the marble. He was around Noah's age, tall and broad-shouldered, dressed in a fine dark green coat with gold trimming and a brooch of silver steel pinned to his chest—the unmistakable crest of House Ironclad.
His dark brown hair was slicked back, and his eyes—cold grey—held sharp confidence that had never been challenged.
He stopped just before them.
"I am Ethan Vel Ironclad, heir to the Ironclad Duchy," he introduced with a courteous bow. His voice was smooth, but there was a smug undertone that didn't go unnoticed.
The girls nodded politely, but their expressions were unreadable.
"I couldn't help but notice such radiant beauty gathered here tonight," Ethan said smoothly. "Ladies… would you do me the honor of a dance? One by one."
Scarlett's response was immediate. "No, thank you. I've already danced."
"I only dance with Noah," Layla added with a shrug, not even pretending to be polite.
Lyra didn't answer—she just moved closer to Noah.
And Olivia?
She smiled kindly. "I'm honored by your offer, but I'm afraid I've already shared my dance with the one I came with."
Ethan blinked. Once. Then again.
Rejection.
Not once. Not twice. But four times.
His confident façade cracked as his jaw clenched. Behind his composed mask, fury bubbled.
'This white-haired nobody...
Even the Saintess and the Princess danced with him?
Why? What does he have that I don't?!'
He stared at Noah—his expression twisted with disdain and boiling pride.
Noah could feel it.
The silence.
The tension.
The attention.
He cursed inside, already knowing what was about to happen.
Then—
Ethan walked with deliberate steps to the center of the ballroom, every movement echoing like a challenge across the floor.
He turned to face Noah, raising his voice—loud enough for all to hear.
Even the Emperor and Empress turned their gaze toward him. Nobles went quiet. The music stopped.
"I, Ethan Vel Ironclad, young master of House Ironclad…in the name of my family's honor, challenge you—Noah Von Augustus—to an honourable duel!"
To be continued…