Niana's eyes snapped open to a flurry of activity.
"Mistress! Wake up! Wake up! It's time!"
She blinked rapidly, shielding her face from the sunlight streaming through the curtains. The room smelled faintly of lavender and something sweet—oh no, the preparations.
"…Wha… what time is it?" she mumbled, voice thick with sleep.
The maids froze, exchanging quick glances.
"Six… A.M., Mistress," one said hesitantly.
Niana bolted upright. "…Six?! SIX?? That's… that's insane! I just—why would anyone wake up at six? It's not even breakfast time!"
The maids glanced at each other again.
"Preparations… for the Grand Awakening Ball… take six hours at most," another said gently, trying not to laugh at her panicked expression.
Niana's brain short-circuited. "SIX HOURS?? For one dress, hair, and… everything?? What… what are you doing to me, maid conspiracy?!"
Before she could argue further, the maids gently—but firmly—pulled her out of bed. There was no escaping.
"…Fine! I surrender!" she groaned, waving her arms dramatically. "Just—just make it quick! Please, I don't want to die today!"
---
The Dress
When the struggle was over, Niana found herself standing before a full-length mirror.
Her breath caught.
The dress was breathtaking. Midnight blue, almost black, with tiny scattered beads that glittered like distant stars. The fabric flowed like liquid silk, catching the light with every subtle movement. It clung delicately to her waist before fanning out into an elegant, floor-length skirt, giving her the perfect balance of grace and presence.
The color complemented her skin, making it glow softly in the morning light. Her hair, normally wild and untamed, was pinned up elegantly with a few delicate strands framing her face. A braid wound around the back like a crown, accented by tiny sapphire pins that twinkled subtly.
Niana couldn't help but run a hand over the dress, feeling the smooth fabric glide through her fingers. "…Wow… okay… this… this is… actually… gorgeous," she admitted softly.
The maids beamed. "You look radiant, Mistress."
Niana's lips curved into a nervous, awkward smile. "…Thank you. Really… thank you."
She straightened, taking a deep breath. "I… I'll try not to embarrass myself."
---
The Hair & Makeup
One maid fussed over her hair, carefully adjusting each braid and pin. Another brushed subtle touches of makeup onto her face—just enough to enhance her features without making her look like someone else entirely.
Niana watched herself in the mirror, her reflection almost unrecognizable. "…I… I look like… like a princess?" she whispered, eyes wide.
The maid chuckled softly. "A Duchess, Mistress. Remember?"
Niana nodded slowly, feeling the weight of the day ahead. "…Right… a Duchess. Okay. No pressure."
Her reflection showed a girl who was confident, elegant, and ready, even if her brain was screaming otherwise.
---
A Smile for the Maids
Before leaving, Niana turned to the maids, her hands clasped together. Her smile was a little shy, a little awkward, but heartfelt.
"…Thank you, really," she said. "I… I know this was early, and… I was terrible this morning, and… yeah. Thank you for dealing with me."
The maids bowed politely, smiling. "It is our honor, Mistress. You look perfect."
Niana's chest warmed slightly. "…I… I hope Lucien thinks so too," she muttered under her breath.
---
And just like that, she was ready.
The ball awaited.
And somewhere, in the quiet of the manor, Lucien probably waited too… his expression unreadable, as always.
Niana tried to steady her breathing. She was literally standing on the edge of her story, in a dress that looked like a night sky, hair perfectly styled, heart racing… and completely terrified.
"…Okay," she whispered to herself. "I got this. Maybe. Hopefully. Don't die, Niana. Don't die."
---
Niana had barely managed to breathe normally after the morning's chaos. The moon-cream torte she'd devoured for breakfast—because nerves demanded sugar—still lingered in her stomach as she descended the grand staircase.
And there he was. Lucien. Waiting.
Not in some flashy disguise, not in extravagant armor, but in the simplest of black-and-white butler uniforms. Tailored perfectly, crisp shirt, vest fitted like it was molded onto him. The sleeves ended exactly at his wrists. The trousers broke just over the polished shoes. Every crease immaculate.
And somehow, even in plain butler's clothes, Lucien looked… impossibly handsome. Golden hair catching the morning sun, sharp blue eyes calm but piercing, and that faintly cold expression that always made Niana's stomach flutter nervously.
"…He's too perfect," Niana muttered under her breath, adjusting the folds of her midnight-sky gown. "…Even as a butler. How is that fair?"
Lucien inclined his head slightly. "Mistress," he said, voice smooth as silk, "you appear… ready."
Niana blinked. "…I'm… ready. Kind of. Maybe. Possibly." She cleared her throat. "…Let's sit."
He gestured toward a low velvet couch near the manor's grand windows. The city glimmered faintly outside, sunlight glinting off cobblestones and rooftops. Niana sank into the couch, heart racing, adjusting her skirt like it would somehow shield her from social death.
Lucien sat beside her—close enough to offer guidance, but distant enough to maintain impeccable composure. He crossed one leg neatly, posture perfect, hands folded lightly on his knee. Even sitting, he radiated control and deadly elegance.
"Before we proceed to the ball," he began, tone measured and serious, "I must remind you—discretion is paramount. You are the Duchess of the House of Valeris. The Keeper of the Divine Word. Every word you speak, every gesture you make, will be scrutinized. Trust no one. Appear calm, appear polite, but reveal nothing."
Niana blinked, trying to absorb the gravity. "…Okay… so… basically… act like a normal person?"
Lucien's lips twitched almost imperceptibly. "…No. You will appear normal, but the slightest misstep could… endanger you. Or the secrets you protect."
Niana's brain short-circuited. "…So… basically… don't breathe wrong."
"Precisely," Lucien replied. "…Do not trust anyone. Observe, respond, and maintain composure. Above all, do not draw attention—except where it is necessary."
She exhaled shakily. "…Got it. Don't die, don't embarrass myself, don't… oh god, okay."
Lucien's gaze softened for just a fraction of a second—so fleeting that Niana almost didn't catch it. "…Mistress," he said quietly, "I will remain by your side. No harm will come to you while I am present."
Niana swallowed nervously. "…You… you say that, but you're… Lucien. You're supposed to be… you know… scary. And now you're… saying… reassuring things? My brain can't handle this."
He inclined his head ever so slightly. "I am… all that you require me to be, Mistress."
Niana groaned internally. "…That's terrifying too."
They sat in tense silence for a few moments, the only sound the distant clatter of servants preparing the manor's carriages.
Finally, she asked, "…So… how long until we leave?"
"Fifteen minutes," Lucien said, voice calm. "Enough for final preparations. Once we depart, the ball will commence. Remember: remain discreet, observe, and survive."
Niana slumped back into the couch dramatically. "…Survive. Right. Easy. Totally easy. I'm a Duchess. I've done… well… I've survived maids, desserts, and your deadly-but-polite stare. How hard can a ballroom be?"
Lucien said nothing, only inclined his head, perfectly unreadable as always. But his sharp eyes flicked over her, noting every detail of her posture, her gown, her expression, and—Niana shivered.
"…Okay," she whispered. "…Time to face my own story. Hopefully I don't die first."
And with that, the quiet before the storm stretched out. Outside, the grand ball waited. Inside, the Duchess and her deadly-but-handsome butler sat on a couch, hearts racing in very different ways.