I sat upon the alcove's plush cushion, treating it as my throne. My back was straight, my hands folded neatly in my lap.

But beneath my calm expression, a cold fire was burning. My eyes were fixed sharply on the central dance floor below.

Among the swirling sea of people in suits and dresses was my daughter. Carine. And she was there, holding hands with the Third Prince, Julient.

Normally, I would be grateful, even proud, of my dear Carine for catching the attention of someone of such high rank. But all I could feel was a deep, gnawing uneasiness. It all stemmed from me recognizing that look in his eyes far too well.

The way he grinned, the way he stared. I could see that possessive gleam in his eyes even from a dozen paces away. I had expected him to invite Carine for a dance, if only as a formality to greet the academy's top student. But the way he looked at her was far too… enthusiastic.

That man… he sees her as a tool, doesn't he?

For generations, thanks to our history, the Sareids have lived in a peculiar social standing. A ducal house without the basic privileges of one. Barely invited to gatherings.

I was initially elated to find the Third Prince supporting Carine, but the way he looked at her made me wonder if this was truly just support. The last thing this family needed was to be used as a political pawn.

Then, a shift in the air interrupted my thoughts. A figure approached the alcove, her presence causing a subtle silence around us.

It was the girl they called the Saint. Saint Clara. She had medium-length brown hair that fell in soft waves, framing a face known for its gentle warmth. Her dress was a simple, sunny yellow with light frills—a refreshing sight.

This was the girl who had healed both me and my daughter after the incident, and for that. I was informed by Kyrat that she had even offered to treat us free of charge. For that, I held a high degree of gratitude to her.

It was rare to see someone so young be so selfless nowadays. I would've been happy to welcome her and offer a seat, perhaps even a word of thanks.

But I sensed her goal was different. Clara's warm, earnest eyes weren't fixed on me, but rather on the boy sitting silently next to me.

"S-Sorry to bother you, Your Grace," Clara said, dipping into a deep and respectful bow. "W-Would it be possible for me to invite Sir Feyt for a dance?"

My eyebrow lifted subtly.

So… Feyt, too, has his admirers.

And a rather prestigious one at that.

I took a moment to take a good look at him. He was sitting stiffly, adapting the composed and professional sitting posture I had drilled into him through countless personal training sessions.

The suit I had ordered for him was impeccable, and at a glance, he seemed to belong among all these nobles. My staff had done great work to make him look presentable.

He was following the lessons very well lately. Not to mention, he had proven his worth during the practical exam, coming over to Carine's aide just from a whistle. Had he not been there, she wouldn't have dominated the scoreboard as she did.

I couldn't help but finally see what made Carine so interested in him.

Then, Feyt turned to me, his expression asking for my permission.

I held back a chuckle.

"Do as you like," I said.

The Saint's face lit up with a genuine, relieved smile. Feyt, for his part, looked utterly stunned. He stood, a bit clumsily, and followed Clara onto the dance floor, leaving me and Leila alone in the alcove.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

I watched as they went, a faint smile forming on my lips.

If he has another girl in his life, perhaps he will stop chasing after Carine so fervently.

It was as if a solution for what had troubled me all this time had just fallen into my lap. It was a clean solution, too. If the Saint could truly sway him, not only would he be in the company of someone as prestigious as her, but he would also finally leave Carine alone…

But as I watched Feyt's retreating back, my smile slowly faded. An unwelcome, persistent whisper came to my mind.

I had seen the trust my daughter put in him. I had seen his determination to protect her life as if it were his own. And I had seen just how awkward and genuine Carine could be around him.

A small part of me began to debate myself. Would pushing him away truly make Carine happy? Or was I trying to remove the one person who looked at my daughter as more than just her title or name?

I pressed the bridge of my nose in frustration. I was overthinking things again.

It had been happening more and more recently whenever I saw the two of them together, and I wondered why.

Perhaps… I need to take a break soon.

…

The dance began in earnest below.

Carine and the Third Prince moved with a polished elegance. Every step and turn was executed with textbook perfection. It was what was expected of a royal dance: flawless. But instead of focusing on their steps, it seemed they were talking about something. Every time he leaned in to whisper something, my grip on my own hands tightened.

Trying my best not to throw my glare their way, my gaze drifted to another pair that caught my attention.

The Saint, Clara, was doing her best to lead a visibly stiff Feyt. He was following her cues, but his movements were reserved, almost hesitant. He held himself back, as if afraid to truly engage, for whatever reason.

I let out a silent sigh before rising from my cushion. "Leila, I'll fetch us some drinks. What would you like?"

Leila gave a slow, deliberate blink. She then shifted upwards from her seat. "My Lady, allow me to do so—"

"—No, that's alright," I interrupted her. "You have been working far too diligently these past few days." I could see the protest forming in Leila's eyes, but unfortunately for her, I was in need of a short walk. "I'll bring a bottle of wine for us, so rest and enjoy the dance."

Leila reluctantly sat back down on the cushion, perhaps perceiving my words as an order. Of course, her expression was as unreadable as ever, so I couldn't really tell what she was thinking.

I made my way to the lavish wine table in the corner of the hall, crowded by the countless parents of the examinees, drinking and conversing with each other, barely paying attention to the dance.

I made my way through the crowd, or rather, they made way for me. Then, through the various selections of wine available, I selected a glass and sampled it, swirling it with a practiced spinning motion before taking a sip. It was acceptable. I gave a curt nod to the attendant. "Have a bottle of this sent to my alcove along with an empty glass."

"Of course. We will bring them right away, Your Grace!"

With my own glass in hand, I walked back to my seat. It was then that I noticed a shift in the hall's atmosphere. The crowd murmured in stunned voices and gasps. My brow furrowed slightly.

What now?

I kept my pace, arriving back at the alcove. "They shall deliver the drink shortly," I announced to Leila.

But uncharacteristically, she didn't respond. She was utterly transfixed; her usually deadpan eyes were wide and unblinking, staring at the dance floor as if she were witnessing a miracle.

Curious, I followed her gaze.

My eyes widened at the sight.

There, in the center of the floor, was my daughter. But she was no longer dancing with the Prince. Rather, she was dancing with… Feyt.

A sharp, cracking sound echoed faintly. I looked down, startled to find my wine glass cleanly cracked in my clenched fist.

I left for a moment, and this is what they're up to?

But as my initial shock died down, my anger was replaced with… something.

I became… mesmerized. It was the same kind of mesmerizing sight I saw on that accursed day.

The way they moved together was nothing short of… breathtaking.

It wasn't the rigid, by-the-book dance with the Third Prince. This was, for the lack of a better word, alive.

Carine's steps were no longer perfect imitations of her lessons she usually does; they were natural, varied, flowing. She held her gaze focused on the partner before her. No talking, no blinking, as if her entire world consisted only of her and her partner.

Feyt, too, had thrown away all his earlier stiffness. The hesitation he showed with the Saint was gone, replaced by focused, flowing steps. He moved with Carine as a perfect partner, gently pulling and pushing her throughout the dance, as if he was only ever comfortable with her and only her.

Neither was guiding the other. Neither was following the steps by the book. Their eyes were only on each other, and nothing more.

Like their duet of blades… their dance was beautiful.

After seeing those two together for so long, fighting, training, living under the same roof… it felt almost natural seeing them dance like this.

Unlike her dance with the Third Prince, her dance with Feyt felt… right.

And that was a truth I could no longer ignore.

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