The morning sun slipped past the heavy curtains, its light catching the faint dust that drifted through Cecilus's room. He rose early, the quiet stillness of the manor broken only by the distant rhythm of servants preparing for the day's grand event.
He dressed methodically, buttoning a crisp white coat over his shirt and pulling the cloak from its hanger. The garment shimmered faintly in the morning light — an elegant but plain choice, free of the elaborate embroidery favored by most nobles.
Father acted quite strange yesterday... I hope he's well enough to attend today. Actually... it might be better if he stays behind. Less chance of him forcing me to dance with anyone.
He motioned for a maid to bring breakfast, though his family had their own private dining space down the hall. He preferred solitude. It wasn't unusual — in recent years, he had grown accustomed to sleeping in his own quarters, far from his father's presence.
His independence hadn't come from rebellion but from habit — the quiet assurance of someone who had learned to rely on no one but himself.
When the maid hurried away, Cecilus's thoughts wandered again.
Now... what to do about Uncle Regnier? That brainless fool probably hasn't the faintest clue how deep he's gotten himself. Still, if I don't keep him in check soon, he'll find a way to strike.
He descended the manor's marble staircase, his steps echoing faintly through the hall. Early light pooled along the polished floor, glinting off the silver banisters.
The ball wouldn't begin for hours, which left Cecilus time — and a purpose. He meant to find Timothy and confront him before the day became too public for questions.
He had learned of Timothy's true parentage not through cunning but accident — a maid, in tears over a broken pot, had thought about the truth in front of Cecilus. She was Timothy's mother and Regnier's shame.
I still can't fathom how Regnier convinced his wife to accept that... especially to raise Timothy as her own. He couldn't have known the boy would become a prodigy. So was it affection? Or just pride — the need to claim something even in his disgrace?
Cecilus's lips twitched with faint contempt. Then again, it's not unlike the duke of the borderlands. Keeping his own daughter as a slave... Still... Marina got the short end of the stick. Timothy, at least, is treated better by his family than I am by mine.
But Timothy was nowhere to be found. Cecilus's search led him only through empty corridors and idle servants until the appointed hour of the ball arrived.
***
The ballroom glowed beneath a canopy of chandeliers, their light refracting through cut glass to scatter across the gilded walls. Tables of polished oak encircled the marble dance floor, each set with plates of sugared fruit, wine, and fresh bread. Music whispered faintly in the background, the pianists preparing their opening notes.
Cecilus joined his family at their table, his expression unreadable as he watched the formal greetings begin. The bride, Alison, stood radiant in pale gold beside her groom, Helies — a tall man with sharp features and an air of quiet arrogance. His father, head of the continent's most renowned mage academy, spoke to guests with practiced charm.
Cecilus studied them in silence. He had once wondered what it would be like to study in such a place, surrounded by peers, sharing theories and spells. But those thoughts never lasted long. He had learned from tutors in solitude, and his grasp of magic far exceeded that of most professors.
The orchestra began to play. Helies took Alison's hand, and the first dance of the evening began.
One by one, nobles rose from their seats — pairs forming, laughter spilling through the air like the clinking of crystal. Zylee and Ayas joined the throng. Cecilus remained seated, watching.
His father's gaze met his from across the table — calm but commanding.
"It's not proper for someone of your stature to sit this out," he said. "Your mother and I will dance as well. I expect to see you there."
Then he rose, hand in hand with Cecilus's mother, and disappeared into the whirl of silk and sound.
Damn it... the awkwardness of approaching strangers and pretending to enjoy it is more than I can bear.
He waited as the crowd thinned. One by one, nobles his age claimed partners, leaving only a few late stragglers near the edge of the room. That was when he noticed her — a girl seated beside an elderly man, her posture composed yet uncertain.
Left alone already, are you? Seems I won't find a better opportunity. She's around my height, too.
He rose, hands tucked into his pockets, and approached her. The girl's dark hair gleamed beneath the chandelier's light, her blue eyes flicking up at him — startled, then bright with anticipation.
How obvious can you get? Still... reassuring, in a way.
When he reached her, he stopped. "What is your name?"
"Cristaine," she replied, her tone hopeful.
Well, your eyes say it all, but I suppose confirmation is polite.
"Cristaine," he said, nodding slightly. "Would you care to join me for a dance?"
Her smile widened as she turned to the old man beside her. The elder gave a faint nod. Cecilus offered his hand, and together they stepped toward the dance floor.
"You're Cecilus Crow, aren't you?" she asked as they walked.
"Yes," he replied. "Am I that well known?"
"Everyone here knows of you. You look just like your father."
"I get that a lot."
His smile thinned slightly, the edges stiff.
They reached the outskirts of the crowd. Cecilus placed a hand gently at her waist as the music swelled.
"This is my first time dancing with someone outside of lessons," she said, voice soft with nerves. "Please pardon me if I make a mistake."
"Word of advice," Cecilus murmured, lips curving. "Don't tell people that. And you'll be fine — I've had enough practice to cover for both of us."
Her laugh was small, uncertain.
But Cecilus's mind drifted again, reading the traces of emotion behind her eyes. She's anxious... not just about the dance. Her family's struggling. Father assassinated — an advocate for the convergence, if I recall. His assets were also seized because he hadn't written a will. His relatives likely took everything. So now she's here, trying to hold onto what's left.
They still have wealth, but not enough for others to see her as worth courting. That's why no one approached her.
Well, good for me then. I didn't try my hand at anyone in particular, but I doubt it matters. Father doesn't seem to care about things like that. He said that he would have made me marry an elf if I had not already garnered the favor of all of the elven tribes. I'm going to leave them in the end, so it was for the best how things ended up.
He moved with her easily, guiding her steps. "See? You're doing well. Only apologize after a mistake. If you get it right, no one ever needs to know."
Cristaine giggled — forced, light, too practiced.
That laugh was fake. Did you think I was joking? This is genuine advice.
"I'm not joking," Cecilus said aloud, his expression calm.
"Huh?" she blinked, confused — and promptly lost her footing. He caught her before she could fall.
"There," he said with a faint grin. "That's when you explain it."
"Ha... ha..." Her cheeks flushed scarlet.
They danced for a while longer, exchanging small talk about the manor's decorations, the journey there, the flavor of the food. When he noticed the fatigue in her steps, he guided her gently back toward the table.
"Would you like something to eat?"
Her eyes widened at the offer before she nodded.
She thinks I stopped dancing because I was bored. No, Cristaine — I stopped because you were sweating through your sleeves, you fool.
He waved down a waiter and ordered for both of them.
"Why'd you quit dancing if you were just going to sit with me?" she asked, curious.
"Ask yourself that," Cecilus said simply.
Sorry, Cristaine. You weren't lucky when I approached you. I don't plan to remember anyone I meet at these things — not this year, not ever. But if it makes you feel better, I'll talk a bit longer.
They sat together, chatting idly until the old man beside her finally spoke.
"You are Cecilus, are you not? Why spend your time here instead of forging stronger connections? Surely someone of your status has no need to speak with my granddaughter."
"Grandfather!" Cristaine's voice cracked in protest.
Cecilus looked up, unbothered. "Why not? I don't see any purpose in any of this. My father wanted me to choose someone, so I did. She happened to be the last one left."
"I thought as much," the old man muttered. "So you have no intention of furthering your family's goals."
Furthering my goals... What an assumption. Even if our families reached some ridiculous arrangement, I wouldn't be married for years. Still, he speaks as if he can see straight through me.
Cristaine's shoulders sank, her gaze falling to the table.
Sorry. Better honesty now than disappointment later. It's cruel that your future rests on who's willing to dance with you. Your grandfather's only trying to protect what's left of your name.
He leaned slightly closer, lowering his voice.
"Despite my true intentions," he said, "I had fun. I hope you find someone who makes you happy. I could tell you wanted this to mean something for him... but remember — family is important, yes. Doing what you want is just as important. Don't lose that."
Her eyes widened, lips parting as if to speak — but Cecilus was already walking away. One hand slipped into his pocket as he gave a casual wave over his shoulder.
The music carried on. His parents were still dancing. The night would stretch long into the early hours. But Cecilus had no interest in the rest of it.
Regnier had not attended.
And that was enough reason to leave.
Because tonight, Cecilus had one true intention left.
To kill Regnier.