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CHAPTER 61………….
The Masquerade Ball (3)
The ballroom fell silent, as if someone had doused it with cold water.
The one to break the suffocating stillness, where not even a breath could be heard, was Illeon.
“I’d like to know why you refused my request for a dance.”
“……”
“I hope it’s a reason I can accept. I’d feel far too—no, very—slighted if I were to step back just like this.”
Cellya gazed quietly at Illeon, whose face betrayed no hint of offense.
She knew that Illeon was intrigued by her.
His feelings for her were not quite as shallow as greed, yet deeper than the pure passion of a curious scholar.
“The reason I refused is…”
Cellya deliberately trailed off, then let out a soft laugh.
“Because you already have someone else you desire.”
At her bold words, the crowd gasped in disbelief.
Noblewomen immediately began whispering venomously.
“Has she gone mad? To say such a thing before His Majesty, when she’s being escorted by the Duke of Calypso?”
“So the so-called Angel of Brillion is a fool after all. Loved simply for breathing, she’s forgotten her place.”
“What good is beauty if a woman is that brazen, no matter the place?”
Cellya let the murmurs slip past her ears.
She didn’t care how others saw her.
Biased gazes had long since ceased to sting.
At the Brillion viscount’s manor, she had tried to be as docile as possible.
Lying low, sharpening the blade of vengeance in silence.
But they had never left her in peace.
The viscount’s household wrung her dry for coin, and the men hungered and lusted for her without end.
So to Cellya, whether the one before her was emperor or beggar—it hardly mattered.
“His Majesty will punish her, surely? Our just emperor wouldn’t let such insolence slide.”
“Of course he will.”
The noblewomen waited with thinly veiled anticipation for Cellya’s downfall.
But Illeon betrayed their expectations with ease.
Instead of taking offense at being refused, he burst into hearty laughter.
“If your heart already belongs elsewhere, then there’s nothing to be done.”
He gave her no punishment at all.
“The night is shorter than you think. I hope you savor every moment of happiness with him.”
Illeon’s gaze drifted toward Dietrich.
“Well then.”
With that, he strolled gracefully out of the ballroom.
Cellya fixed her eyes on his departing figure.
Just then, a hand was suddenly extended toward her.
She looked up at the owner of that hand.
Firmly pressed lips, a broad forehead, and eyes that were soft, warm, and directed only at her.
The one reaching out to her was none other than Dietrich.
“Would you dance with me?”
Cellya’s eyes curved into a smile at Dietrich’s polite address.
“With pleasure.”
The orchestra began to play a gentle piece.
Dietrich’s large hand rested on her waist.
Their hands met, fingers intertwining.
Together, they moved to the center of the ballroom and began to dance.
Their movements were in perfect harmony.
At least for this moment, they cast aside every obstacle and focused solely on each other.
Cellya’s lithe form swayed into his arms and then away again.
As they twirled in each other’s embrace, their lips hovered close—almost touching. Their eyes met, and both broke into radiant laughter.
People kept stealing glances at the beautiful pair.
But intoxicated with one another, the two saw no one else.
From behind a marble pillar, Reina, wearing a red half-mask, watched it all.
“…That bitch.”
Her vicious curse made the man beside her flinch.
She glanced at him sidelong.
He was pitifully gaunt, his body shriveled like dried anchovies, his neck hunched like a turtle. His long navy hair fell over his mask, so much so that one had to wonder how he could even see.
Reina frowned and followed the man’s gaze.
His eyes were locked on Cellya, dancing with Dietrich.
“She’s mine… mine. Cellya. She promised she’d only look at me…”
His muttering dripped with obsession, his voice rasping like metal scraping.
Reina studied him, then conceived a plan.
“What is it you want?”
Startled at her sudden words, the man fell silent.
“I hold a high place. If you desire that woman, I may be able to hand her to you.”
At this, his head twisted unnaturally toward her.
“Hand her over? Cellya?”
His use of coarse speech stung Reina, but her determination to ruin Cellya outweighed her pride.
“She was mine from the start. From the moment she smiled at me at the estate, she was mine.”
Reina judged his delusion to be severe.
But that only served her purpose. She fanned the flames.
“Then if she was yours, you must take her back.”
“Take her back…?”
“You lost what you wanted, and you’re just watching? No—you must take her.”
“You’re right… Why have I just been watching?”
He clenched his fist, then dropped his head weakly.
“But I’m too weak.”
Reina clicked her tongue inwardly and glanced around.
Fortunately, hidden behind the pillar, no one was nearby.
She pressed a vial of red liquid into his hand.
“A potion.”
“…Potion?”
“Yes. Within a minute of drinking, it takes effect. It excites the body so strongly it robs the mind. If you give it to her, she’ll want only you.”
“You’d give me… something this precious?”
She shrugged.
“It is precious. So don’t tell anyone you got it from me.”
Even if he caused trouble, she planned to deny involvement.
What could be easier than using another’s hands to do the dirty work?
She had learned that from her brother, Illeon.
Masked and cloaked in darkness, she was certain the man would not recognize her. Satisfied, Reina slipped quickly out of the ballroom.
Cellya and Dietrich.
Tonight would be the last night they danced together.
Reina ground her teeth.
—Better find another to warm your bed. I suffer from a touch of fastidiousness.
He had spoken to her so coldly—yet to that woman, he smiled so tenderly.
When she turned to her brother Illeon for help in her resentment, he had only said:
—Poor Reina. You’ve lost utterly to Lady Cellya. You’ll never have Dietrich.
She refused to accept that.
Cellya, that wretch, was nothing but a pretty face.
A street orphan, with no power, no standing.
And yet she had become Dietrich’s beloved.
Dietrich had chosen such a worthless woman over herself—who had both noble birth and unmatched influence.
Even worse, Illeon knew how Dietrich had spurned her, and still offered Cellya the first dance.
Reina bit her lip until it bled.
She wanted Cellya ruined.
She wanted to see her flounder in utter despair, to ease her own suffocating fury.
That gloomy man now held a potion of frightening potency.
Originally, it was meant for Dietrich.
But Reina had changed her plan.
She wanted to see Cellya utterly destroyed.
It was Reina who had spread the rumor that Cellya was a man-eating witch.
But that had done little damage.
She needed something far, far bigger.
As soon as Cellya and Dietrich’s dance ended, people flocked to them, eager to speak.
“Duke Calypso.”
Though the emperor had changed, Dietrich’s power remained unshaken.
He was still a duke—and commander of the Imperial Knights.
Everyone sought his favor with flattery.
“I thought it was only gossip. Who would have believed Your Grace was the lover of Brillion’s angel?”
The men cast furtive, lingering glances at Cellya.
Dietrich shielded her from their gaze with his broad frame.
“I’d rather you stop staring.”
Caught out, the men gave embarrassed smiles.
“Our apologies. Her beauty is… overwhelming.”
“We’ll take our leave.”
With Cellya’s hand in his, Dietrich left the ballroom.
Cellya smiled softly at his steady, reassuring back.
But once outside, her expression cooled at once.
Someone was waving at her.
