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Chapter 09
The boy stood by the doorway in a crooked, defiant posture, as if embodying rebellion itself. A fresh, gently curved smile lingered at the corners of his mouth, effortlessly drawing the eye.
“Alex!”
“Yeah? Why’d you call me?”
Alexis was dressed in a tuxedo, holding a large bouquet in his arms.
“Did you miss me that much?”
“No, I mean—contact. No, no, no. I thought you wouldn’t make it!”
“I told you I’d be back before the debutante ball.”
As the prince slipped into the room, the maids hurried to bow.
Countess Viera quickly took the bouquet, and the maid who had been styling her hair stepped closer and picked up a small purple wildflower.
It seemed she planned to follow the current trend and decorate her hair with fresh flowers.
“You didn’t believe me?”
“No, I did. I just—um… I’m not trying to complain, it’s just that you didn’t contact me.”
“It was a region where communication was difficult. And I was moving in a hurry.”
“Are you hurt anywhere? Are you very tired? You didn’t go hungry, did you? Are you really okay?”
“I’m perfectly fine.”
Alexis stepped closer, took her hand, and placed a brief kiss on the back of it.
His violet eyes lightly skimmed over her dress, which was nearly the same color as his own gaze.
Unhidden satisfaction flickered near the corners of his lips.
“You’re beautiful.”
“Everyone worked very hard to dress me up.”
“Oh no, we hardly did anything,” the maid fastening the flowers into her hair replied with a smile. “It’s because Her Highness is already so beautiful.”
“Just a moment, Your Highness—could you look this way?”
The brush swept lightly over her lips and pulled away.
While Alexis idly played with her fingers, Cecilia obediently blinked as instructed.
“…We’re finished.”
At the declaration, she carefully stood up. Among the people gazing at her with fond expressions, she spotted her nanny—the only one openly sniffling—and ran over to hug her. The sobbing grew louder.
“No, Countess! Please stop crying! What if Her Highness’s makeup—”
“Your Highness! You’ll be late!”
The clapping maids gasped and made a fuss, forcing Cecilia to step back under their hurried guidance.
“Nanny, don’t cry. I’ll be back.”
“Yes, yes… sniff.”
“Have a wonderful time, Your Highness!”
“Happy seventeenth birthday!”
Cecilia bowed politely in thanks, then left the room with Alexis, who had been waiting for her all along.
At last, the debutante ball.
* * *
Thierry Estier entered the imperial ballroom at an unhurried pace.
Because the inspections at the entrance were so thorough, there still weren’t many people inside.
Normally, at the Palais de Fontre, a barrier would prevent anyone but the imperial family from using magic. But since this was the imperial princess’s debutante ball—likely for the sake of spectacle—it seemed the barrier had been lifted.
Which meant security had to be all the tighter.
He accepted a glass of strawberry champagne from a nearby attendant.
In the distance, near a window, two journalists and a noblewoman were chatting quietly.
“To think Her Highness is already seventeen.”
“I know. It feels like she appeared out of nowhere just yesterday.”
Cecilia Lucen had been adopted into the imperial family at the age of ten—having lost all her memories.
At first, the empire had opposed adopting someone with black hair, especially from a collateral line. But upon seeing a memoryless—astonishingly beautiful—girl, opposition gradually faded into silence.
Tragic narratives were powerful.
And a story of sudden fortune lifting someone from misery was even more so.
As the heroine of such a tale, Cecilia Lucen became beloved, even surpassing the true heir, Alexis Lucen.
“Still, it’s such a relief that the siblings are so close. Given the prince’s personality…”
“Madam.”
“I misspoke.”
The worse the rumors about the prince’s temperament spread, the more popular the princess became.
Thierry silently sipped his champagne.
Before leaving for the Sahira Mountains, he had steeled himself.
He’d worried whether the already prickly, arrogant prince could endure sleeping outdoors—and whether he himself would have to bear the brunt of his frustration.
In hindsight, it had been a foolish concern.
They had arrived in the forest on a night so dark even the stars were hidden.
Unaware—or uncaring—of Thierry’s anxiety, the prince climbed a tree (the first shock), came back down with an armful of fruit, then skillfully scraped together fallen leaves on the ground (the second shock) and set them alight.
When he tossed the fruit into the fire once it had grown strong enough, acrid smoke billowed upward.
“Come closer, Sir Thierry. Ah—sorry for calling you by name.”
“Please, do. I was just going to look around the perimeter—”
“No one’s coming this far, not if they have any sense.”
He wasn’t wrong.
Yet for some reason, Thierry hesitated. Instead of growing angry, the prince smiled faintly.
Behind the crackling campfire, scattering sparks, the boy’s smile looked strangely unreal.
Spring was slipping away.
A fleeting curve of youth—impossible to grasp, yet unforgettable.
“Your Highness is correct, but—”
A smile shaped from fading innocence.
“You might defeat hundreds of men, Sir, but not hundreds of mosquitoes.”
“…”
“Come closer instead of becoming a living blood bag.”
He’d seemed not just accustomed to camping, but to life in the forest itself.
A mage who navigated the Sahira with ease.
Just as Thierry scratched his chin, sinking deeper into memory, the head attendant shouted loudly:
“Under the blessing of the Firebird, the noble direct line of Palettina, guardians of the Mage Tower and the suns of Lucen—Their Majesties enter!”
Only then did the knight awaken from the past and return to the now-crowded ballroom.
In the heavy silence, the doors at the top of the staircase opened.
The black-haired emperor and the red-haired empress appeared like a painting, gently waving to the crowd. As if on cue, the citizens of the empire knelt.
The couple—married after a romantic love affair and famed for their enduring devotion—were the pride of the empire.
At their signal, everyone rose as they descended the stairs.
Then came a second proclamation:
“Under the blessing of the Firebird, the empire’s treasured jewels—Their Highnesses enter!”
And so the true star of the ball entered, holding her younger brother’s hand.
Like a single violet blooming toward the sky.
As the princess bowed deeply, Laurentia Waltz No. 2 filled the hall.
Those watching the siblings dance likely shared the same thought.
They look like a painting.
Thierry caught himself admiring the sight—and flinched.
A foolish idea crossed his mind: that the prince might be deliberately ruining his own reputation for his sister’s sake.
Impossible.
There was no way.
And the only person who could answer that question was too busy gazing into shimmering golden eyes.
His eyelids felt heavy with exhaustion, yet that radiance made him forget it.
The smile curving Cecilia’s lips was simply lovely, her dimples carved deeply by joy.
…He’s just happy that the sister he worried about returned safely.
Alexis, harboring no such misunderstanding, supported her slender waist firmly.
Moments you wish would last forever are fated to fade.
As expected, the waltz rushed toward its end. Cecilia’s steps slowed, and he had to release her hand.
People gathered around her almost immediately.
While Cecilia faced the crowd layered thick around her, Alexis watched quietly before turning toward the terrace.
No one would be looking for him anyway. No one had the nerve to approach a prince whose magic remained unstable.
The moment he stepped outside, a cool breeze swept over him.
To clear his head and cool the heat in his body, Alexis loosened his cravat and walked forward.
Beyond the railing stretched the deeply shadowed gardens of Fontre.
The summer night was fragrant and peaceful, yet the silence blanketing the world felt dangerously thick.
There’s a soundproof spell on the terrace curtains.
His already heavy eyelids seemed to grow heavier, and Alexis began to sense something amiss.
Just as he considered returning to the noisy ballroom, an owl landed on the railing and fixed its gaze on him.
Its bleak blue eyes glinted with killing intent, piercing straight through him.
The deathly stare, reminiscent of the wail of the dead, chased away any trace of drowsiness.
Alexis clicked his tongue softly.
“Lower your gaze.”
Regardless of whether the bird glared or not, the boy calmly finished loosening his cravat.
What should I do…
Cecilia Lucen’s debutante ball had only just begun.
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see people clustering around the princess.
Among them all, she shone almost painfully bright.
Alexis slowly withdrew his hand from his undone cravat.
She was someone meant to be loved. And indeed, she was loved.
Even as something inside him burned to ash, he couldn’t deny how captivating that brilliance was.
He felt restless.
Was this what it felt like to watch gold dust slip helplessly through grains of sand?
Even knowing he wasn’t foolish enough to simply let it go.
At times, the desperation still surged.
Flap.
At the sudden noise, he turned to see the owl beating its wings noisily, as if demanding not to be forgotten.
Is that bird just desperate for attention?
With a short sigh, the boy waved his hand.
“Get lost while I’m still letting you live.”
He had no desire to deal with it right now.
The owl flapped again—flap flap flap, not cock-a-doodle-doo.
Right. Not a chicken.
Alexis pondered how to deal with the bird without even a rumor spreading that he’d dealt with it at all, while the owl only flapped more enthusiastically.
“And who exactly are you—”
“Your Highness?”
“….”
“Ah, I knew you’d be here.”
Blanche came hopping in.
Perhaps dressed for the ball, she’d tied her brown hair up in a single tight knot instead of her usual twin braids.
Of course, Alexis was the sort of person who wouldn’t care whether Blanche burned off her hair or shaved her head entirely—he merely frowned at his overdressed friend.
And Blanche, annoyingly, was exactly the sort of person who didn’t care in the slightest what expression that ill-tempered prince was making.
“May I stay here for a bit?”
“No.”
“I’d like to. People don’t come near me when I’m next to you.”
Though no one would approach her anyway, being a mage, the girl chose to needle him regardless.
Alexis stared quietly at his chattering friend, then suddenly reached out.
Grabbing the back of her neck, he lifted her clean off the ground. Blanche flailed in protest.
“Hey! What’s wrong with you?! Why are you treating me like a dog?!”
So she does know what it feels like to be treated like one…
And the very next moment, Blanche sucked in a loud breath.
“Hii—!”
She’d locked eyes with the owl’s vivid blue gaze.
“T-th-that—what is that?!”
“It’s an owl. But I don’t know what kind.”
“Are you going to roast it?”
“Not yet.”
When Alexis casually set her down, Blanche stumbled as she landed.
She studied the bird with keen curiosity, then spun back toward her partner in crime.
“Can I poke it with my finger?”
“…You really have no sense of fear, do you?”
It was clearly a no.
When the girl reluctantly turned her gaze back to the owl, the bird twisted its neck with a creaking krk.
Alexis leaned lazily against the railing, while Blanche awkwardly twisted her body as they watched the bizarre spectacle.
The neck kept turning until it reached about two hundred and seventy degrees before finally stopping.
Those eerie blue eyes stared at them from an impossible angle, draining even the last trace of humor.
“Blanche Houston. Do you really want to poke that thing?”
“…I think I’ve lost my mind.”
“Good. As long as you know. Hey.”
The last call was directed at the owl.
As if understanding, the bird slowly twisted its distorted head back into place.
An owl’s eyes were usually crimson, gray, black, or yellow.
But this one was blue.
Yes—just like…
…a bear from the Dublen Forest.
