Reborn As Papa Silva

Chapter 57: Their Story (7)

As Sebastian's carriage arrived at the gates, it was halted for a routine inspection. Several guards circled the vehicle, checking for any signs of malevolent enchantments or devices hidden on or beneath it. Their gazes lingered momentarily on Sebastian's silhouette, barely discernible through the tinted windows, before exchanging nods.

A moment later, a House Silva butler approached the carriage. With a deep, practiced bow toward the passenger compartment, where Sebastian remained concealed, the butler turned to the coachman seated in the cockpit and extended his hand.

"Invitation, please."

The coachman tipped his tophat with a polite nod and reached into his blazer, producing a glass card, which he handed over with measured grace.

The butler accepted the card without a flicker of emotion, though his heart quickened as he recognized its significance—it was a VIP invitation. His eyes darted toward the carriage again, as if hoping to glean some clue about the mysterious guest inside. Yet the lack of any distinguishing emblems and the impenetrable tint of the windows revealed nothing beyond a solid guess that the figure was male.

Who is this? the butler wondered, but he did not linger on the thought. Nobles were as varied in their eccentricities as they were in their fortunes—some preferred grand, ostentatious entrances, while others arrived cloaked in anonymity. It wasn't his place to question such choices, particularly not for a VIP guest. What mattered was the authenticity of the invitation and the assurance from the guards that the carriage posed no threat.

Bowing once more, this time even deeper, the butler gestured for the coachman to proceed along a separate path reserved for the most distinguished guests. The main entrance was for the bulk of invitees, but there were three in total: the general entryway, the VIP route for close allies of House Silva and high-ranking clergy, and a third entrance reserved exclusively for royal families.

Sebastian's carriage aroused little curiosity as it moved gracefully toward the quieter VIP entrance, away from the bustling traffic of lesser attendees. This secluded gateway, shielded by a contingent of vigilant guards, offered privacy befitting its exclusive visitors. A red carpet had even been unfurled, ensuring no guest's shoes would be sullied by the estate's cobblestones.

The coachman brought the carriage to a halt in front of the carpet, swiftly disembarking to open the door with an effortless swing.

Sebastian stepped out.

His silver hair was neatly combed back, freshly trimmed into a light taper fade that accentuated his sharp features. His eyebrows had been groomed with precision, and his face was clean-shaven, leaving no trace of stubble.

He wore a plain yet elegant black dress jacket over a thinly gold-lined white shirt, paired with a black tie. The jacket was adorned with ornate gemmed buttons and understated cufflinks, while a fine leather belt remained hidden beneath its buttoned lower hem. His perfectly tailored black dress pants and polished black leather shoes completed the ensemble, adhering flawlessly to the dress code.

Male participants were expected to embody a clean yet unassuming appearance, their attire deliberately subdued to avoid overshadowing the event's hosts or guests of honor. Such decorum was not just tradition but an unspoken rule—no one dared outshine House Silva or, more importantly, Princess Acier.

This was her day, after all.

Though no such restrictions applied to the noblewomen, who could wear whatever colors or designs they wished, most opted for darker, simpler dresses, avoiding anything too ostentatious. Anything else might be perceived as a challenge—a defiance against House Silva and Princess Acier herself.

And no one was foolish enough to do that.

Sebastian's attire drew no particular attention as he walked down the carpet, his movements calm and stoic. It was clear he wasn't a guest of honor, just someone slightly more important than the typical invitee.

His hair, however, was another matter entirely.

The butlers, maids, and retainers stationed by the door stiffened mid-bow, exchanging incredulous glances as they straightened.

Why is a Silva here?

Only the main family members, the hosts themselves, were expected to attend—Nathaniel, Nicklaus, Amara, Acier, and Aurelia—along with a handful of Silva branch members who served as servants in the main estate. These retainers had received no notice of any branch family members being invited as a guest, nor would they expect such an occurrence. Tensions between the main family and the branch were high, though the reasons remained unclear to most.

It was well understood: the branch family wasn't welcome here. Even if they had been invited, none would have dared to show up.

There was slight unease amongst the atmosphere, not just among the staff but also among the more knowledgeable guests, who watched Sebastian's approach with barely concealed surprise.

Sebastian ignored the stares and whispers as he ascended the steps, clutching a bouquet of blue hyacinths in his hand.

"Where do I put this?"

The retainers snapped back to attention, their professionalism overriding their shock. One of the butlers stepped forward, bowing deeply.

"I'll take that off your hands, sir—"

"I'll handle it."

The interruption drew everyone's attention as a small blonde girl in a maid's uniform stepped forward. She curtsied gracefully before Sebastian, her expression calm and composed.

"I will take that off your hands, sir," Hilda said, her eyes briefly closing in a show of respect.

The other Silva retainers hesitated, momentarily stunned, but none dared protest. Though young, Hilda's rank far exceeded theirs, and she had the means to make their lives far more difficult should they cross her.

Sebastian's eyes narrowed slightly as he studied her, then he nodded and handed over the bouquet with measured care.

"Thank you."

Hilda offered a polite smile as she straightened and accepted the flowers. With another curtsy, she turned and began to walk away.

Her demeanor remained composed, but inside, she was panicking.

Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no! she screamed inwardly, her small loafers tapping hurriedly against the stone floor as she ascended the stairs. Out of sight, she bit her lip, sweat trailing down her face.

The Princess actually invited him?! Is she out of her mind? What if the Old Master or Mistress notices him? He could be beheaded on the spot!

Hilda's heart raced as she reached a door and slipped inside.

The room was lined with row upon row of flowers, all brought by the guests. But there was a problem. Until now, only two types of flowers had been delivered: blue irises, symbolizing prayers for hope and success, and red roses, gestures of love and courtship from the Princess's suitors.

The blue hyacinths in her hands would stand out like a glaring anomaly.

What should I do? What should I do?!

Hilda chewed her lip anxiously, her eyes darting around the room. Then, as if struck by inspiration, her face lit up. Clutching the bouquet tightly, she slipped out of the room and darted down the hall, keeping to the shadows.

After ensuring no one was nearby, she hurried to Acier's door and slipped inside. The room was dimly lit, the air heavy with quiet elegance. Hilda crossed the room, careful not to disturb anything, and placed the bouquet on the bedside table, tucking it out of sight.

She turned to leave but hesitated.

Pausing, she walked back and gently retrieved the flowers. This time, she tucked them behind the Princess's pillows, ensuring they were entirely hidden from view.

I hope the next person who comes in is the Princess—or at least not a snooper.

With that final thought, Hilda bit her lip and exited the bedroom, her steps steady and composed. By the time she reached the hallway, she moved as if nothing had happened at all.

—

House Silva, Great Hall

Sebastian stood stoically near the edge of the grand ballroom, elegantly partaking in the hors d'oeuvres circulating among the guests. Servers weaved between clusters of attendees, offering a selection of light snacks: canapés, quiches, cheese boards, nuts, and prawn pasties.

Careful not to overindulge, Sebastian maintained a delicate balance—eating just enough to avoid offending the hosts but not so much as to draw undue attention. Even so, he could feel the presence of several invisible gazes lingering on him.

He knew better than to give any opportunistic nobles a reason to single him out. Count Vardy had drilled etiquette and decorum into him—literally—with his cane. Hours of mock parties and rehearsals ensured Sebastian was never out of his depth in settings like this. Not enough to make a spectacle of himself, at least.

Sipping from a glass of diluted Clover Cuvée, the kingdom's prized vintage, Sebastian mused about the beverage. The aristocracy held it in reverence, and House Silva had generously provided an abundance for the guests—most of whom would never encounter such a bottle otherwise.

It's not bad, he thought as the crisp flavor lingered on his tongue. Actually, it's quite good. But I've had better.

Perhaps the wine's scarcity, rather than its flavor, accounted for its lofty reputation. Then again, Sebastian wasn't exactly qualified to critique it. He had little interest in alcohol, even less in wine. From both a financial and a personal perspective, he preferred water and juices—healthier choices, as his private studies in the medical field had taught him.

For Sebastian, food and drink needed to meet two simple criteria: they had to be edible and reasonably healthy. Anything beyond that—like exceptional taste—was a luxury, not a necessity. He wasn't about to critique the palate of the aristocracy when his exposure to fine dining had been so limited.

After handing his glass to a passing server, Sebastian prepared to excuse himself under the pretense of visiting the washroom. It was the perfect opportunity to disappear until the party officially began and, hopefully, shift the attention off him.

Fate, however, had other plans.

"Sebastian."

He paused, turning to see Count Vardy approaching. The Count walked arm-in-arm with a younger woman whose brown hair and hazel eyes softened her sharp features. Beside them trailed a small boy, likely close in age to Acier's maid, Hilda.

Count Vardy, dressed in a tailored black suit like Sebastian, wore a slightly more intricate white shirt beneath—adorned with delicate rhombus and star patterns in blue. His wife, Lady Vardy, was a vision of quiet elegance in her dark green floral dress, paired with leggings and high heels. The boy at their side, who was undoubtedly their son, bore his father's blonde hair and his mother's hazel eyes. His long black shorts, dress jacket with overalls, and spiffy bow tie completed the picture of a proper young lord.

Sebastian bowed deeply, his posture precise. "Sir," he said to Count Vardy.

He turned to the Count's wife and repeated the bow. "Madame."

Finally, he offered a respectful nod to the boy. "Young Lord."

The Count observed his protégé's flawless manners with satisfaction, offering a brief nod in return. Lady Vardy, intrigued, glanced curiously at Sebastian before smiling politely.

"He's one of my students," the Count explained, his voice strangely loud despite his wife being right next to him, as he lightly gestured toward Sebastian with his cane.

Lady Vardy nodded in understanding, her polite smile warming slightly and softening. Sebastian dipped his head in acknowledgment, but his composure faltered for a brief moment before he regained it.

As if on cue, or meeting some source of deterrent, many of the unseen gazes that had been scrutinizing him seemed to retract.

It took a moment for Sebastian to figure out why.

Sebastian shot a wordless look of gratitude toward Count Vardy, who gave a subtle nod in response and leaned in slightly. "Just stay by my side," the Count murmured. "I'll tell you when it's time."

Sebastian hesitated, his throat tightening as a quiet warmth spread through his chest. "Thank you," he whispered hoarsely.

The Count gave him a measured look but said nothing further as the ballroom lights began to dim.

It was time for the party to begin.

—

At the far end of the Silva Hall stood an expansive staircase, its straight, regal lines leading to a platform that framed twin grand silver doors. A large eagle engraving adorned their surface, gleaming under the chandelier's light.

With a soft creak, the doors swung open, and two figures emerged, instantly capturing the attention of every guest in the hall. The master and mistress of House Silva, Nathaniel and Amara Silva, stepped forward, their commanding presence heightened by the glow of the chandelier above.

Nathaniel Silva, the patriarch, was dressed in a long ocean-blue suit accented with silver trimmings and embroidered white floral patterns. A silver eagle insignia gleamed on his chest, while matching eagle silhouettes adorned his cufflinks. His short, neatly groomed hair emphasized his sharp features, and his silver eyes swept coolly over the assembled guests, pausing briefly—almost imperceptibly—on Count Vardy or, more precisely, beside him.

Amara Silva, the matriarch, exuded elegance with her hair styled into a sleek bun. She wore a flowing white dress that mirrored her husband's silver trimmings but lacked any eagle insignia. Instead, her ensemble was accented by sharp, pink cross-shaped earrings and pristine white gloves.

Together, they descended the staircase with an air of unshakable authority before veering to their right and taking their place at the lectern.

A brief pause followed, during which the assembled guests bowed deeply in deference to the masters of the house. Nathaniel returned the gesture with a curt nod, signaling their permission to rise.

With an icy, measured tone, his voice carried across the room, amplified by a magical communication device shaped like a microphone.

"Ladies and gentlemen, distinguished members of the nobility and kingdom," Nathaniel began, his words polished yet devoid of warmth, "I thank you for taking the time out of your lives to grace our house with your presence for my daughter's milestone."

It was a hollow courtesy. None of the guests had the option of declining his invitation; it had been more of a summons than a request. And yet, none dared to voice this reality. Nathaniel, unbothered, continued.

"Truthfully, with His Majesty's illness, we considered not holding this ceremony at all."

This statement caused ripples of surprise among the guests, who exchanged wary glances.

"We feared that it would be inappropriate," Nathaniel explained, his tone still cold but now tinged with gravity. "As servants of this kingdom and subjects of His Majesty, our resources should have been devoted to him during these troubled times—not spent on personal celebrations."

He paused, allowing the weight of his words to settle before continuing. "However," he said, his expression softening just enough to resemble a smile, "His Majesty personally blessed our house and said these words: 'A monarch looks after their nation just as their nation serves them. Hold the party, Nathaniel. Care not for me.'"

Nathaniel closed his eyes briefly, his voice dropping into a somber register. "Before we proceed, I ask that we take a moment of silence to send His Majesty our prayers and our hopes for his swift recovery. May he soon retake his place on the throne and continue leading our kingdom in all its glory."

At his behest, the room fell silent. Guests bowed their heads, clasping their hands as they murmured prayers.

Despite the formality, the sentiment was genuine. Octavian Kira Clover XII was a beloved monarch, respected by both the nobility and the common people. His children, however, were another matter entirely. Those privy to the inner workings of the court dreaded the prospect of his passing—not only because it would plunge the kingdom into a bloody succession war but also because none of his children inspired confidence in their character.

The nobles wholeheartedly wished for the king's recovery, not merely for the kingdom's stability but for their own peace of mind.

After a long, solemn minute, Nathaniel opened his eyes and turned his gaze back to the grand twin doors from which he and his wife had entered.

"And now," he declared, his voice steady and commanding, "to welcome the guests of honor."

All eyes followed his as the silver doors swung open once more.

An unlikely pair emerged from the silver doors, drawing audible gasps from the gathered nobility.

Aurelia Silva, clad in a dress identical to her mother's, descended the staircase arm-in-arm with Florian Vermillion, who wore a crimson red suit adorned with yellow flame-like floral patterns. His vibrant orange hair was tied into a neat man bun, contrasting sharply with Aurelia's refined elegance.

Under the chandelier's light, the second daughter of House Silva and the second son of House Vermillion—two rival houses as incompatible as fire and ice—walked down the stairs together, their closeness resembling that of lovers.

The aristocrats froze, their minds racing. Is House Silva reconciling with House Vermillion? Could this be the reemergence of House Silvamillion, the alliance of old? Whispers filled the hall as they speculated wildly, their imaginations conjuring schemes and political motives behind this unexpected pairing.

Few seemed to consider the simplest explanation: that the cold House Silva and the fiery House Vermillion had merely put aside their ancient rivalry to let two young hearts be together without interference.

Though their houses were rivals, they were not enemies. The lingering animosity between them had faded centuries ago, and both families adored their youngest members. If Florian and Aurelia wished to mingle, neither house would stand in their way. After all, who could be more suitable for royalty than a fellow royal? Close in age, status, and temperament, they seemed destined for one another—a match made in heaven.

The audience's attention shifted as two new figures emerged from the grand doors.

Descending the stairs was His Holiness, Pope Benedictus, his kindly face illuminated by the light above. Clad in intricate papal regalia, he walked with a serene, grandfatherly smile. At his side was the newly anointed Archbishop, Anslem Veritas, his expression calm and composed.

As the holy duo descended, the room solemnly bowed in unison. Benedictus acknowledged the gesture with a gentle nod before exchanging a glance with Nathaniel and Amara Silva. Taking their places at the great table, Benedictus and Anslem sat across from Aurelia and Florian.

The next group to appear elicited a warmer reaction.

Amber Vermillion, looking slightly pale yet radiant in a crimson dress, descended the staircase arm-in-arm with her husband, Ignatius. His suit matched his younger brother Florian's, and he cradled a tiny bundle in his arms—their eight-day-old daughter, the newly born princess of House Vermillion, Mereoleona.

The baby stirred in her father's embrace, her tiny movements drawing coos of admiration from the audience. When she opened her scrunched eyes to curiously survey the room, the guests noticed her small, fang-like teeth—an unusual trait for an infant.

Then she smiled.

It wasn't the sweet, toothless grin of a baby but a sharp, predatory smile that sent a chill through the crowd. Her expression seemed to appraise the nobles like prey.

No, we're imagining things, they all thought in unison, trying to dismiss the unsettling impression.

As the Vermillions took their seats, the focus shifted once more.

The next figure to descend the staircase was none other than Lux Kira, the representative of House Kira. His golden suit glittered extravagantly under the chandelier's light, blinding and ostentatious. A prideful smirk adorned his pale face as he basked in the attention.

Nathaniel's icy gaze locked onto Lux, a flicker of cold, complex emotion flashing in his silver eyes.

Lux Kira was alone tonight. His father, the king, lay on his deathbed. The queen and the king's concubines remained confined to the imperial palace, while all of the king's sons—including Lux's elder brother—stood vigil at his bedside. They played their parts as dutiful heirs, hoping to earn the king's favor and secure the title of Crown Prince before his passing.

But Lux had no interest in their charade.

Let those fools compete for a prize they'll never win, he thought smugly. While they waste their time, I'll claim the real treasure.

His lips curled into a faint smirk as he gave a slight bow to the Pope and Ignatius before taking his seat at the table.

That old guy has finally let go and given me his precious gem... heh... heh... heh. That throne is as good as mine.

All eyes in the hall remained fixed on Lux, drawn by his radiance and presence. None noticed the subtle grind of Nathaniel's teeth—none, that is, except Alfred.

Standing unobtrusively by the snack bar, Alfred observed his master's restrained reaction with quiet understanding, his expression inscrutable.

Nathaniel turned back to the audience, his voice cold and steady as he announced, "And now, for the honoree and subject of this grand occasion."

The silver doors swung open once more, but no figure emerged immediately. Instead, several servants stepped forward, their movements synchronized as they rolled a luxurious fur carpet down the grand staircase.

In the corner of the ballroom, the small ensemble of musicians began their piece. Violins hummed a delicate melody, a piano chimed in harmony, and the soft trill of a flute added depth to the atmosphere. Slowly, a figure appeared at the top of the stairs.

Sebastian's throat hitched.

Acier Silva emerged with a soft smile, her arm linked with her grandfather, Nicklaus. Dressed in a suit identical to his son Nathaniel's, the elder Silva escorted the pride of House Silva with care and dignity.

Acier's long, silky silver hair cascaded down her back like a shimmering waterfall. Her accessories mirrored those of her mother and sister—identical long evening white gloves, matching pink cross earrings and a similarly styled necklace graced her exposed neck. Her lips glowed with a light ruby hue, and her highlighted eyelashes framed her mesmerizing silver eyes.

She wore a long, elegant silver dress that trailed gracefully behind her, brushing against the fur carpet. The gown was intricately designed, adorned with layers of white floral fitchies at the hem, rimmed with small, glistening diamond shards. Gold-threaded coral patterns embroidered the fabric, adding a touch of ethereal brilliance.

As she descended the staircase, Acier unlinked her arm from her grandfather's and curtsied to the audience with a dazzling smile that seemed to illuminate the entire ballroom.

Lux's prideful smirk grew wider.

The room fell silent. Breathless. Every gaze remained transfixed on her, as though she were a vision beyond reality.

Sebastian hurriedly lowered his eyes, a strange itch tightening in his chest. What am I doing? he thought. Sebastian felt like a blasphemous sinner, who had just looked at something he wasn't worthy of. A lowlife who dared to covet something that he was far beneath.

And so he took a slow, unsteady step back, all of the boundless confidence and resolve he was running on for the past 10 days, disappearing like fleeting wind. The moment he laid eyes on her, he remembered; they were different, too different, from different worlds and stations, all he was doing was being selfish and arrogant, not even considering for a moment how his potential actions could affect her.

He only ever thought of himself, and what he wanted. What he needed. But what was best for Acier at this moment, was probably for him to leave.

He took another backward step but before he could retreat further, Vardy's cane struck him firmly on the back, halting him in his tracks.

"Don't chicken out on me now, boy," Vardy hissed, his voice a low growl. "I didn't spend all those sleepless nights instructing you for you to run away now."

Sebastian stiffened, his back straightening under the Count's gaze.

"Look around, boy," Vardy ordered in a somber tone.

Sebastian obeyed, his eyes sweeping across the ballroom. What he saw made his stomach churn.

It was just as he had once envisioned when stirred by the painter's words. The audience—young men and old, husbands and bachelors alike—openly ogled Acier. Their gazes were unrestrained, unbridled, filled with a lust that made his skin crawl.

She's my friend, Sebastian thought, anger rising in his chest like a flame. And they're looking at her like... like she's nothing more than a prize to claim.

Some of the men had wives clinging to their arms or daughters standing by their sides, yet their eyes lingered on Acier with hunger.

The strange itch in Sebastian's chest dissolved, replaced by a searing rage that burned away his self-deprecation.

"Do you think I'd teach you to dance, knowing your goal, if I thought you were like the rest of them? Gluttonous pigs in human clothing?" Vardy's question cut through Sebastian's thoughts like a blade.

Sebastian froze, clenching his fists as Vardy continued.

"You'll be asking her to that dance, even if I have to drag you up there myself. Understand me, boy?"

Sebastian straightened his posture, his resolve solidifying as he nodded firmly.

"Good." Vardy gave a small, approving nod, his whisper barely audible beneath the thunderous applause and cheers Acier received from the crowd.

The Count gently tapped Sebastian on the back. "Now, make your move, boy. It's about time."

—

Acier exchanged a glance with her grandfather. Nicklaus, after a moment of hesitation, begrudgingly nodded and stepped aside to stand with Nathaniel and Amara. Taking a deep breath, Acier moved gracefully to the front of the crowd.

And then, the men—hounds and wolves in human clothing, who believed they were now unchained and free to hunt the prized prey—stepped forward.

Subtly, they jostled one another, vying for a place within the princess's view. They straightened their backs, dabbed on perfume, and slicked back their hair, each trying to appear more appealing, more worthy of being chosen as her partner.

Nathaniel's icy gaze swept across the room, flashing coldly. Nicklaus's eyes, however, held something more complex as he subtly scanned the eager suitors. Finally, he exchanged an imperceptible glance with Lux Kira. The silver-haired prince inclined his head in acknowledgment, a faint smirk playing at his lips as he stood from the table.

His movement immediately drew attention. The other guests of honor turned toward him, their gazes scrutinizing. Lux walked with deliberate, smug confidence, his hands casually tucked into his pockets, as if he already owned the room.

This is my moment, Lux thought, the smirk on his pale face widening as he approached the crowd.

From the table, Anslem, Aurelia, and Florian frowned in unison, their expressions a mixture of disapproval and unease. Pope Benedictus narrowed his eyes thoughtfully, a gaze evidentially laced in contemplation.

Meanwhile, Amber Vermillion's face turned icy as she observed the scene. Without warning, she reached out and took her newborn daughter from Ignatius's arms, startling him. Leaning close, she whispered firmly in his ear.

"Honey, please go dance with Acier."

Ignatius stiffened, his brows furrowing in surprise. "Amber, you know the rumors that would spread—"

"I don't care," Amber interrupted, her tone cool and resolute. Then, in a softer voice, she continued somberly, "All that matters is the truth—the truth we know. That you are loyal to me and only me. Let those wolves whisper about infidelity and adultery all they want. I don't care, so long as it spares that girl from having to dance with any of those pigs."

The newly crowned Lord Vermillion froze, her words hanging heavy in the air.

Amber softened, her voice wavering. "I'm sorry for asking something so selfish of you, something that could tarnish our House's name—" n/ô/vel/b//in dot c//om

Ignatius shook his head silently, cutting her off. He leaned forward and placed a tender kiss on her forehead, causing her to stiffen in shock. Even private displays of affection were rare for her reserved husband, him doing so in public made her heart skip a beat.

In a gentle voice, Ignatius whispered, "You're a very kind woman, Amber."

Amber blinked, her resolve momentarily faltering as her husband's rare warmth rekindled her love for him. Ignatius stroked the tiny tuft of hair on Mereoleona's head, his expression softening further.

"Whatever fallout happens from this, I'll take full responsibility," he said firmly, patting his chest as if to steel himself.

Amber watched as he rose from his seat, his back straight and his movements purposeful. Ignoring the puzzled looks from Pope Benedictus, Anslem, Aurelia, and Florian, Ignatius stepped forward, heading toward the center of the room.

But then, he froze mid-step.

It wasn't just him. The entire room fell silent, the boisterous and eager crowd suddenly rendered motionless.

In front of Princess Acier stood a silver-haired boy. He knelt on one knee, dressed in a plain black suit that contrasted starkly with the opulence of the lady in front of him. His left hand rested over his chest, while his right hand was extended upward toward her.

"Princess Acier," he said softly, his voice carrying power despite its gentleness. "Will you honor me with this dance?"

—

A moment earlier:

Sebastian watched indifferently as the horde of pigs jostled and shoved their way through the crowd, vying for attention. He was just about to push through himself when a sharp whack landed on his back. Wincing in pain and annoyance, he turned to glare at Count Vardy, who was already snorting in disdain.

"Hold on," the Count muttered, raising his cane.

Sebastian paused, his irritation giving way to curiosity as he noticed silvery-white wisps of mana swirling around the bottom of Vardy's cane. The Count tapped it firmly against the floor, and a ripple of imperceptible mana surged forward, passing seamlessly through the crowd.

Almost immediately, the nobles in the room shifted subtly, their feet moving of their own accord as though infected by an unseen force. Without realizing it, they stepped aside, some to the left and others to the right, creating a narrow pathway that led directly to Princess Acier.

Vardy's hiss snapped Sebastian out of his daze. "Are you waiting for an invitation, boy?!"

Sebastian didn't need to be told twice. His heart raced as he darted down the newly formed lane at a speed walk, weaving through the parted crowd. Adrenaline surged through his veins with every step.

And then, he was there.

Standing before the crowd and mere steps away from Acier, Sebastian felt his breath hitch. She looked so radiant, so utterly enchanting, that he had to force himself to keep his gaze steady. She's... blinding.

Her eyes widened, pupils dilating in unmistakable shock as she locked eyes with him.

Then, silence engulfed the ballroom.

Sebastian felt it—he felt the weight of a thousand gazes on him, a thousand silent judgments ready to crush him. He forced himself to push through the apprehension, the trepidation, the gnawing fears clawing at him from the inside: the fear of rejection, the fear of humiliation, the fear of offending her, and the fear of stirring trouble he couldn't possibly undo.

But he refused to falter.

Sebastian took a knee, his left hand over his chest and his right hand extended upward, trembling slightly.

"Princess Acier," he began, keeping his voice as soft and endearing as he could manage. "Will you honor me with this dance?"

He swallowed hard, forcing down an inaudible gulp, and waited for her response.

The silence shattered.

Hushed whispers rippled through the ballroom as the crowd exchanged puzzled glances.

Who's that boy?

Apparently, he's Count Vardy's student.

A Silva bastard dares to appear here?

Beats me.

Maybe he's a stand-in or prearranged partner?

Preposterous! They'd at least pick someone of rank!

The murmurs continued, each comment like a dagger shooting invisible blades at Sebastian's back.

In opposite corners of the room, Alfred and Hilda lowered their heads in resignation.

Here we go, they thought simultaneously, exasperation painted across their faces.

Lux Kira stiffened, his smug grin growing wider. Well, this just makes it even better. Thanks for the fun, boy. He leaned back slightly, savoring the moment. Lux looked forward to the humiliation etched on Sebastian's face when Acier inevitably turned him down. After all, he would step forward and take her hand as her rightful partner, the one preordained to dance with the heiress. And not just on the dance floor... Lux thought gleefully, already envisioning the future.

Nicklaus froze, his entire body vibrating with rage. What is a lowly bastard doing here, stirring up trouble and ruining my Amethyst's ceremony?! His jaw tightened as his inner fury boiled over. I knew it. I should have had all those useless branch trash purged!

But then he exhaled, forcing himself to remain composed. Calm down, Nicklaus. You can have this insolent worm executed later. For now, let him enjoy his little charade. Acier will turn him down, as arranged.

Nicklaus had already informed his granddaughter of her partner in advance—Lux Kira. She knew the protocol: anyone else was to be declined. This wasn't even a setback. If anything, it promised a more dramatic show, and Nicklaus looked forward to seeing the despair carve itself into Sebastian's face.

Amara watched from her place with a disgusted frown, her expression mirroring her thoughts.

Nathaniel's icy silver eyes flickered, something indecipherable glinting within them.

Across the hall, at the table of honor, Aurelia and Florian exchanged perplexed glances, as though silently asking one another, Who is he?

Anslem placed a hand on his chin, his curiosity piqued as he studied the scene.

Pope Benedictus narrowed his eyes further, his expression inscrutable as he observed in silence.

Amber and Ignatius had a single thought running through their minds in unison: Is he Acier's... boyfriend?

But at the center of it all, Acier and Sebastian were in a world entirely their own, their surroundings fading into insignificance.

Acier schooled her features into an impassive mask, erasing any trace of familiarity with Sebastian. To the onlookers, she appeared indifferent. But to Sebastian, her eyes betrayed the unspoken questions swirling beneath the surface. Why are you doing this?! Are you out of your mind?! Do you wish to die?!

Despite her attempts to maintain composure, a rising panic gripped Acier, and she summoned all her will to suppress even the slightest tremor in her frame, or the faintest shimmer of tears in her eyes.

Sebastian remained steadfast, unyielding. His posture didn't falter as he continued to kneel, his arm extended, patiently waiting. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes told her everything: I won't take no for an answer.

In that moment, it was just the two of them, standing on either side of a vast chasm. A world apart, yet bound together by an unspoken connection.

Nothing else existed.

Nothing else mattered.

Acier's trembling hand reached forward, her left gloved fingers curling into Sebastian's outstretched grip.

The chasm closed.

They were connected, and Sebastian slowly rose to his feet, never breaking eye contact.

Nicklaus and Lux froze, their expressions locked in stupefied incomprehension. The rest of the room mirrored their shock, save for Count Vardy, whose satisfied smile grew wider.

But there was one other exception.

Nathaniel Silva, the ice-cold Patriarch of House Silva, known for his unfeeling demeanor, had a flicker of light illuminate his silver pupils. For the briefest, imperceptible moment, his thin mouth quirked upward into the faintest semblance of a smile.

The crowd parted wordlessly, Ignatius dragging a stunned Lux back with a subtle grin.

Sebastian and Acier stepped into the middle of the ballroom, their movements synchronized as though drawn together by an unseen force.

His left hand intertwined with hers, raised high. His right hand rested gently on her back, and her left hand settled on his shoulder.

Ocean-blue pearls locked onto lavender gems, an unspoken vow passing between them.

And then, the music began.

It was time to dance.

Author's Notes:

[1] Can you guys please stop asking questions, like will this happen or will this happen? How can I answer that without declaring a spoiler? One that may not even come true, as this is discovery writing so I may change the plot at a moment's notice.

I genuinely don't know what the fuck I'm writing, I have this volume planned out, the beginning of the next, and several possibilities for the final one, well I'd say final arc not final volume, but nothing much in between just potential plot points and arcs I wish to cover.

That's why I don't like answering questions, because stuff changes and I've already lied to you because of that in several ways.

Like the power scaling, originally I said Sebastian would only be slightly stronger than the average Captain during the final arc, but now although that's not really a lie, the average captain is will be so much fucking stronger than in the OG.

Another thing is that there will (likely, don't quote me on this) be something to do with elves and Sebastian.

If you get the silent treatment from me on a question or statement, just treat it like you're pretty spot on or close to the truth.

[2] Originally this Chapter was supposed to cover the entire ball, and then some, but life got in the way

[3] Feel free to join the discord: https://discord.gg/s3MME8X8ar