Reborn As Papa Silva

Chapter 58: Their Story (8)

Through the Silva Grand Hall, a rendition of a tune strikingly similar to The Nutcracker echoed, orchestrated by the small band in the corner. The melody resounded through the ballroom, weaving an elegant ambiance into the air.

Sebastian's left hand intertwined with Acier's right, his other hand resting lightly on her back. Her left arm draped over his right shoulder, their bodies rocking gently to the music as high-ranking members of Clover society observed them with the intensity of hawks.

Sebastian's voice touched Acier's mind, courtesy of the Mind Ring—an unassuming artifact he chose not to wear on his finger, lest its shabbiness attract undue attention. Instead, it remained tucked safely in his coat pocket.

"If you have any questions, you don't have to keep them to yourself", he said, his tone gentle through the mental bond.

Acier's expression remained impassive, as though Sebastian were a stranger she humored for amusement. Her voice, unreadable, answered in his mind. "Do you even know how to dance?"

"Of course". Sebastian's reply carried resolute confidence, before he jested lightly. "I'm not here to ruin your special day, after all."

Acier didn't find it funny.

"Then what are you here for?" she asked, her lavender eyes flickering with a heavy, unreadable emotion.

Before Sebastian could respond, the music swelled to its climax. They began to waltz.

Their faces shifted, adopting the smiles decorum demanded: Acier's radiant and dazzling as the evening's star, Sebastian's softer, exuding a silent assurance as her partner and guide. Their feet moved with precision. Sebastian led, stepping forward with his left foot as Acier stepped back with her right. They shifted their weight in unison, bringing their trailing feet together in perfect synchronization. Each measure carried them forward—stepping on the first beat, gliding on the next two.

When their roles reversed, Acier stepped into him, while Sebastian moved backward, mirroring her steps. The sequence culminated in a graceful twirl as Sebastian raised his arm, allowing Acier to duck beneath. Her gown swirled as she spun, and for a fleeting moment, she bit her lip against the silence. But then his voice broke through again.

"You were the one who invited me here", he reminded her. "You said friends celebrate friends' birthdays. So here I am... to celebrate you."

As she completed her turn and faced him once more, Acier caught a flicker of nervousness in his ocean-blue eyes. It was so uncharacteristic of Sebastian that she almost faltered, her body yearning to freeze and stare. But she held herself steady, her will unyielding.

They resumed the box step, circling elegantly in the center of the ballroom. Their movements were seamless, each sequence ending with a twirl, their synchronicity leaving no room for fault. The high-ranking spectators continued to watch, searching for a mistake, any reason to jeer at Sebastian. Yet none came.

If someone wished to mock him, they would first need to contend with the Silva family. Though the branch and main families were not entirely harmonious, the former still paid their tribute. In return, the main family was duty-bound to protect their honor. Insulting Sebastian—Acier's chosen partner—over his heritage would risk incurring Nathaniel's ire. The onlookers' spiteful hopes remained unspoken.

Besides, Sebastian's skill left little room for criticism. Perfection in the waltz, as taught by Count Vardy, far exceeded the standards of the average royal tutor. His movements were polished, flawless—a match for Acier's own, making them a breathtaking pair. It was their mastery that allowed them to converse so effortlessly even as they danced.

They continued to circle the center of the hall, and Acier fired back. "Of course I remember. I gave you that invitation personally. I also recall specifically mentioning for you to contact me if you were set on coming, so I could help you pick out a suit."

Her eyes lingered on Sebastian's luxurious black suit, and she subtly bit her lip. "Please tell me that's a rental."

Sebastian fought the bodily instinct to shake his head. His voice entered her mind with simple honesty. "No. It's not.:

Acier forced a brighter smile, twirling once more. "Did you use the money I gave you?"

"I did", he answered indifferently as they broke into another rhythmic sequence of box steps.

Her voice returned a beat later, heavy with exasperation. "Didn't we agree it was for emergencies?"

"It was an emergency", Sebastian replied, causing her brow to arch slightly in confusion. His voice softened, almost meek. "You told me dancing was one of your greatest passions. I used to love reading and learning, you know? My parents kind of ruined that for me and turned it into another chore."

Acier's breath hitched, her chest tightening. She swallowed an inaudible sigh as Sebastian twirled her again. "I can't read your thoughts", he continued, "but I'd like to think that dancing with one of those lecherous pigs would be enough to ruin the art for you."

Her heartbeat quickened as his gaze locked with hers. "You may have never spoken those words, but to me, my friend let out a silent cry. I wanted to help you. I like to think dancing with me isn't as repulsive to you."

Sebastian bit his lip. "I... hope I haven't overstepped."

Thump. Thump. Thump. Acier's chest fluttered, her neck flushing a faint rosy hue. Her soft response echoed in his mind. "It's not... not at all." A moment later, her voice came again, this time as a fragile whimper. "But I can't be grateful for something that will probably end with my friend having himself killed."

Sebastian noticed a slight sting in her lavender eyes—a clear sign she was fighting to keep her composure. He responded quickly, determined to stave off any tears.

"I won't die." He stepped inward as she stepped back, her gaze faltering.

"And how can you say that?!" Her demand rang sharp, though she softened as Sebastian imperceptibly rubbed the hand resting on her back.

"If worse comes to worst,... I'll join House Vermillion as a servant. I think I could make it into the medical ward."

Acier's lips parted slightly, caught off guard, as his words continued. "I've thought it through. No matter what kind of man your grandfather is, he can't kill someone from another royal house—even a lowly servant—without consequence."

"You think Nicklaus Silva would care about that?!" Her mental voice turned into a cry. "The worst 'consequence' he'd face for killing a nobody like you would be a slap on the wrist! Do you really think House Vermillion would shelter you and start a conflict with my House over you?!"

"But I'm not a nobody anymore", Sebastian countered. "I'm your dance partner, and everyone here will know it. Your grandfather can't kill me without sparking ill rumors—rumors that I defiled or desecrated you so he had me killed. Those whispers would ruin your reputation and sully your honor. I don't think your grandfather would risk that."

Acier went breathless as they repeated another series of steps. Sebastian carried on, his voice steady. "If I'm to be killed, it will be years from now, when this event is forgotten. It'll happen covertly, with no traces left. But by then, I'll be someone of renown—someone untouchable. I'll be alive and well, so don't worry."

Sebastian twirled Acier again, and her mental voice trembled. "You don't know that! That's all speculation—ideal speculation. My grandfather is crazy and obsessed with me. He might kill you as soon as this dance ends. And even if he doesn't, what if you can't match up to your inspirations? My dance partner was supposed to be Lux Kira, you know?"

Sebastian stiffened slightly. He hadn't known that.

Acier had to pull him forward when she stepped back for the next box step. Thankfully, she pulled it off gracefully, so the only one who noticed was Count Vardy. The Count clicked his tongue in worry and derision. What is that foolish boy freezing up for?

Acier continued mentally communicating with her partner. "Not only have you offended my mother and grandfather but a Prince of House Kira—and, by extension, likely the entire house. Your upcoming days, and life, will not be easy. There will be countless people pushing you down or plotting against you from the shadows. You might be outright denied a doctor's licence even if you pass the exam! Do you understand?!"

Sebastian locked eyes with her as she stepped into him. His response was calm. "I see. But I don't particularly care."

Her voice erupted like a volcano in his mind as she dug her nails into his hand and shoulder. "DON'T CARE? DON'T CARE?!" She repeated the words, hissing. "Sebastian, your life's on the line here! Why do you not care?!"

"So nothing has changed." Sebastian's reply caught her off guard. He twirled her again, circling the hall. "My upbringing could have left me for dead any day, if my parents took things too far and broke me."

Acier's eyes widened slightly as Sebastian carried on emotionlessly, like recounting the weather. "I've been close to death many times when I lived as a street rat. There were many times over the past year when I couldn't even look to tomorrow, because I didn't know if there would be a tomorrow. Forgive me for being crass, Acier, but your family and that golden clown don't scare me. It's simply death—something I've come to terms with as a possibility for a long time. Perhaps the only thing that would change is that the Prince or the Old Duke would arrange for me a slightly more painful death than expected. But it's death all the same."

Acier dug her fingernails deeper into his skin and cried in his mind. "How can you say something so terrible?! How can you be so casual about this?!"

"Because I don't care."

"Why?! Acier demanded. Why don't you care?! Why don't you cherish your life—"

"Because I don't like it!" Sebastian's mental voice bloomed, resounding in her mind. He averted his eyes, chewing on his lip, and twirled her again. His voice came a moment later, meeker and more nervous as he clarified. "It... didn't sit right with me—the idea of you dancing with anyone but me."

Thump. Thump. Thump. Acier's heart pounded, each beat louder and harder than the last, threatening to escape her chest. Her eyes widened, locked on Sebastian, as his voice filled her mind once more.

"Just recently, I realized I'm a very selfish bastard. Over these past days since you left my side, I told myself I was doing this for you—to give something back after everything you've given me. You brought warmth, company, and joy to a lifeless existence. And I wanted to prove that I could return some of that, even if only a fraction of what you gave out."

"I wanted to prove to you that it's not only you who values and cherishes our friendship."

His words struck deep, but before she could react, he continued, his thoughts raw and unrelenting.

"But today, after seeing you again, after being starved of you for so long... I realized something. It's not just about doing things for you. I'm doing this for me."

Acier's breath hitched.

"I'm no different from those pigs who ogle you," he confessed, his mental tone heavy with disgust. "Just like them, I'm selfish and greedy. The thought of seeing you—imagining you—dancing with anyone else makes me want to curl into a ball and puke my guts out."

His ocean-blue eyes burned with a fierce intensity. "You've made a very greedy friend, Acier Silva. A very entitled friend. And you said you're fine with being used by me? Then I'm not going to stand on ceremony. I'll put you on the spot, again and again, forcing you to be my dance partner just to put my heart at ease."

His mental voice softened, carrying a vulnerability she rarely saw. "And I don't care if I die because of it. The only thing that matters is that you keep smiling—really smiling—because that's what brings me the most satisfaction. That's the one light in my life... a light worth dying for."

As the music swelled to its final crescendo, Sebastian lowered her into a dip. Time seemed to slow, the world fading into nothing but the two of them.

Acier trembled in his arms, her voice shaky and hoarse in his mind. "You..." She struggled to form the words, her emotions a tangled storm. "You're terrible, you know that? So unbearably terrible and self-centered."

For the first time all evening, Sebastian's smile was genuine, soft and unguarded. The same smile that had captivated her a month ago. "That's what you get for befriending broken goods, Princess Acier."

Her lips quivered before a radiant smile bloomed across her face—a smile so bright it outshone the ballroom lights. It was the smile Nicklaus Silva always craved but could never earn, because it was never meant for him, because he never deserved it.

Sebastian's chest tightened as he memorized that expression, savoring it as though it were his last breath. He loved that smile.

Across the room, Nicklaus's silver eyes dulled, his heart cracking as he watched his granddaughter shine in a way he knew wasn't meant for him.

The entire hall was transfixed, caught in the moment, as Sebastian fully dipped her. Bending his knees slightly to support her weight, he held her right hand in his left while his other arm supported her back. Acier reclined gracefully, her body perfectly straight as her long silver hair cascaded like a waterfall. Her arms clung to his shoulders, their connection unbroken.

Then the music ceased.

They stayed frozen in the pose for a heartbeat longer, both panting softly, before Sebastian pulled her upright. They stood facing one another, hands still intertwined. In perfect unison, Sebastian bowed deeply—his posture near a precise sixty degrees—while Acier executed an elegant curtsy, her silver gown flowing like liquid light.

The silence hung thick in the air.

And then, the applause began.

Clap! Clap! Clap!

The audience turned, their gazes darting between Nathaniel Silva and Count Vardy, who clapped in synchronized indifference.

Amara gawked at her husband, while Nicklaus fixed his son with a cold glare, hissing under his breath. "You were in on this!"

Nathaniel didn't respond. He didn't even bother turning toward his father or his wife, who was glaring daggers at him.

Clap! Clap! Clap!

The crowd's attention shifted to the grand table, where Ignatius and Amber Vermillion joined in, their applause deliberate and measured. Soon after, Benedictus, Anslem, Florian, and Aurelia followed suit.

If all those big names were clapping, how could anyone dare remain silent?

The hall erupted into a roar of applause.

"Wonderful! Simply wonderful!"

The audience, ever eager to curry favor, began competing to outdo one another with empty praise.

"Absolutely delightful! As expected of Princess Acier, and, uh..."

"Sebastian!" someone called out, hurriedly recalling the name Count Vardy had used earlier. The speaker forced a smile and an exaggerated nod.

"Yes, of course! As expected of House Silva. Even the low—um... no, no, such talent! Truly, the royal bloodline shines!"

Acier shot a wordless look at Sebastian, and with a (reluctant) sigh, he let go of her hand. He stepped back, retreating into the parting crowd to take his place beside Count Vardy, who acknowledged him with a subtle nod.

For a brief moment, gazes lingered on Sebastian, but the attention quickly shifted back to Acier Silva. She approached the lectern with the grace expected of her, her silver gown glimmering in the light.

Nathaniel Silva swept an indifferent gaze over his daughter before pulling an ancient parchment from his coat pocket and unfurling it.

"We are gathered here today," he began, his voice cutting through the applause, "on the 31st of August in the year 1600, to judge the worthiness of Acier Silva of House Silva to join the ranks of nobility."

His piercing eyes scanned the room as he addressed the crowd. "I ask the distinguished members of the nobility: do you hold hope that Acier Silva will uphold the values of this kingdom?"

"We do!" The audience responded in unison, bowing and curtsying.

Nathaniel turned to the Pope and Archbishop, who rose politely from their seats.

"I ask the distinguished members of the clergy: do you have faith that Acier Silva will never betray the noble cause and will live by noblesse oblige?"

Pope Benedictus and Archbishop Anslem Veritas placed their right hands over their hearts, nodding with kind smiles. "By the Lord's grace and protection, we do!"

Nathaniel's gaze swept across the hall. It landed on Sebastian, whose eyes widened in alarm. The murmurs in the room quieted as many spectators followed Nathaniel's line of sight.

Ignoring the tension, Nathaniel continued with cool authority. "I ask Acier Silva's dance partner: do you believe she has demonstrated elegance and holds love in her heart for this kingdom and its people?"

Sebastian straightened, bowing deeply at a precise ninety degrees. "My Lord, I do!"

Acier's eyes widened, a flicker of emotion lighting up her expression.

Nathaniel turned back to the grand table, addressing Amber and Ignatius Vermillion. "I seek the blessing of luck and good fortune on behalf of Acier Silva from the distinguished guests of House Vermillion."

The couple exchanged a glance before smiling faintly and inclining their heads in a wordless gesture of approval.

Acier's eyes stung with gratitude as she turned back to her father, who folded the parchment and pocketed it. He walked around the lectern, his movements measured and deliberate, until he stood before her.

"Do you, Acier Silva, swear to never betray or let down the trust everyone here has placed in you?"

Acier curtsied deeply. "I do!"

"And do you swear to always carry yourself with dignity and valor, to embody what the leaves of the clover represent, and to aspire to serve this kingdom and its people with all that you are and all that you'll be?" His voice rang with icy authority.

"I do!" she repeated firmly.

Nathaniel gave a curt nod. Raising his arm, silver mana materialized in his hand, coalescing into a pristine longsword.

He tapped the blade lightly against her right shoulder. "With the power and authority vested in me as Duke of the Clover Kingdom..."

The sword lifted, tapping her left shoulder. "...as well as the 18th Head of House Silva..."

Raising the blade to his chest, he lifted it skyward with both hands. "I validate your coming of age and bestow upon you three badges of honor. You are hereby recognized as a noble lady, granted the official rank of Princess of this kingdom, and appointed heiress of this House. Do you accept?"

"I do!" Acier's voice rang with strength.

The sword in Nathaniel's hands glistened before dissolving into thousands of motes of silver light.

Folding his arms behind his back, he nodded sharply. "Good. You may rise, Princess Acier."

Her eyes glistened as she lifted her head, dipping low in gratitude and lifting the hem of her dress in a graceful gesture. "Thank you, My Lord."

Nathaniel nodded once more, turning to face the crowd. "The official ceremony is complete. I hope you'll stay, as dinner will be served shortly."

The crowd responded with bows and curtsies, murmuring reassurances like, We wouldn't dream of leaving and We'd be honored to stay. They began filtering toward their designated tables, their seating dictated by their social standing and ties to House Silva. Naturally, those closest to the grand table were either well-acquainted with the Silvas or perched high on the social ladder.

Sebastian scanned the room stiffly, already inching toward the exit. Bold words or not, he thought, I'm not suicidal. His heart hammered as he plotted his escape. Time to get out of Silva territory, lay low for a few days, and pray this all blows over.

But fate had other plans. A heavy hand clapped his back, and Count Vardy's hiss cut through his thoughts. "Where are you going, boy?"

Sebastian bit his lip, his voice filtering through the mind ring. I need to leave. I'm not welcome here!

The Count's expression didn't change, but his calm, practiced mental tone replied as if such exchanges were routine. It is precisely because you're not welcome that you must stay.

Sebastian stiffened, confused, as the Count subtly gestured toward the room. Several guests were glaring daggers in his direction, their intentions clear. Vardy's voice remained steady in his mind. If you leave now, you'll appear weak and cowardly to those who'd love to see you hanging from a noose. Boldly remaining denies them the illusion of power over you. Stand tall and meet their eyes—there's only so much a mere Count like me can do.

Sebastian's jaw tightened. And that's exactly why I need to disappear, he shot back, frustration lacing his words. Their power isn't an illusion. If they want me dead, I can't protect myself. Evading them is my only option—

You won't even make it to Kikka, Vardy interrupted with a mental snort. The capital is crawling with spies from every household. With curfew nearing and security tightening, you'll stick out like a sore thumb. Even if the spies don't catch you, the Magic Knights or royal guards will haul you in for breaking lockdown. Once that happens, all these people who want you dead will have the perfect excuse to see you executed.

Sebastian froze, his frustration giving way to resignation. His eyebrows twitched before he sighed inwardly and turned to join Vardy at his table. Or at least, he tried. A sharp jab from Vardy's cane stopped him in his tracks.

"What are you doing, boy?" Vardy's sharp eyes bore into him.

Sebastian furrowed his brows. "Didn't you say to stick with you?"

A sly smile crept across Vardy's face. Tapping his temple, he chuckled, his voice dripping with amusement. "Ah, that's right. I seem to have forgotten to mention something... important."

A foreboding chill coiled in Sebastian's gut. He forced a polite smile. "What might that be, Count Vardy?"

The Count beamed like the morning sun, gesturing grandly with his cane. "Naturally, the honoree's dance partner is also a guest of honor."

Sebastian turned mechanically, his body stiff with dread. His gaze landed on Acier, who waved him over with a soft smile, tapping the empty chair beside her.

Vardy's voice hummed in his ears, smug and amused. You won't be eating with me—you'll be eating with them.

Thousands of eyes bore into Sebastian's frame. He swallowed hard, maintaining his frozen smile as he bowed deeply and began his stiff march to the grand table. Every step felt heavier, each gaze sharper than the last.

When he reached the table, he bowed again, addressing the group with forced politeness. The reactions were a mixed bag: Pope Benedictus, Archbishop Veritas, Acier, and Lady Vermillion greeted him warmly, while Lord Vermillion, Princess Aurelia, and Prince Florian were more reserved. Lord Silva acknowledged him with a curt nod, but Lady Amara's glare felt like ice piercing his skin before she looked away.

As Sebastian took his seat beside Acier, he couldn't help but notice a flicker of some dark emotion in her eyes. Not demanding I hang myself immediately? That's mercy enough, he thought, settling stiffly into his chair.

The table's arrangement was precise. Lord Silva and Lady Amara sat at one end, with Amara on Nathaniel's right and Acier on his left. Sebastian followed, seated next to Acier, with the Pope and Archbishop beside him. On Amara's right side sat Amber, Ignatius, Florian, and Aurelia. At the far end of the table were two conspicuously empty seats, meant for Lux and the old Duke, Nicklaus Silva.

Nathaniel's silver eyes lingered on the vacant chairs, the frost in them deepening as his frown darkened.

—

Nicklaus Silva stormed through the wide hallways of the Silva estate, his face dark and thunderous. He had removed himself from the ballroom of his own accord, fully aware of his temper. I'll ruin her special day if I stay, he thought bitterly. And bring shame upon myself in the process.

Knowing himself better than anyone, Nicklaus had slipped away when no one was watching, navigating toward the wing that overlooked the private garden. He had hoped the familiar sight would soothe his turbulent thoughts.

It didn't.

The fracture in his heart only deepened, festering like an open wound. His fists clenched at his sides, nails digging into his palms, nearly drawing blood. His lips were raw from his relentless chewing. All he could see, over and over again, was her—his precious gem—smiling that radiant smile that was meant for him.

But she had given it to someone else.

And not just anyone. Some lowly, no-name bastard.

Rage surged through him, so intense it almost stole his breath. A grotesque cocktail of emotions churned in his chest: the sting of betrayal from his granddaughter and an unquenchable fury toward him.

Sebastian.

Nicklaus would never forget that name. His dark visage promised blood—not just the boy's.

"Old thing."

The eerily mocking voice behind him made him freeze mid-stride. Turning, his cold, silver eyes met the piercing gaze of Lux, the ostentatious blonde prince. Lux approached with a stormy expression to rival Nicklaus's own.

"What is it, boy?" Nicklaus snapped, his tone laced with disdain. He offered Lux no respect—and the young prince was more than happy to return the sentiment.

Lux didn't bother with pleasantries. Grabbing Nicklaus by the collar, he yanked the older man down until they were eye to eye.

"What was the meaning of that?!" Lux's voice thundered through the hallway, his fury palpable. But his confidence wavered as pain shot through his wrist.

Nicklaus had seized him, his iron grip reinforced with mana. A faint crack sounded before Lux wrenched his arm free, stumbling back and clutching his wrist.

Damn it, sometimes I forget this conniving bastard was a captain, Lux thought, gritting his teeth as golden motes of light magic swirled around his wrist, mending the fracture. Snorting, he crossed his arms, his expression hardening.

Nicklaus sneered, crossing his own arms in response. "Do you think I'd be out here, boy, if I knew what was going on? That's exactly what I'm going to find out."

"Oh, really?" Lux arched a brow, his tone dripping with mockery. "Don't bother."

Nicklaus stiffened, narrowing his eyes. "What do you mean by that?"

Lux shrugged, his nonchalance a stark contrast to the venom in his voice. "I mean don't waste your time. It won't matter. I'm done."

Before Nicklaus could respond, Lux jabbed a finger into the older man's chest, forcing him to take a step back.

"Ten years," Lux hissed, his voice low and dangerous. "Ten long, miserable years of following you and your son, of letting you string me along in your petty games. And for what? For the day I've waited for most to turn into a complete farce."

He spat in Nicklaus's face.

"I'd rather let my brother take the throne than trust either of you again. I'm done. I'll be satisfied with being Lord Kira."

With that, Lux turned sharply, his jacket swishing as he began to walk away.

"Wait!"

The prince froze, glancing coldly over his shoulder.

Nicklaus raised a hand in placation, his tone softening. "Just give me a little time. I'll sort this out. The deal still stands—the throne... and she..."

Nicklaus faltered, his lips pressing into a thin line as self-loathing flickered in his eyes. But then his resolve hardened.

"...will all be yours."

Lux tilted his head, his expression unreadable. After a long pause, he spoke with finality. "I'll give you a month, old man. Not a day more."

With that, the prince strode away, leaving Nicklaus alone in the empty hallway.

The silence stretched as Nicklaus's eyes followed Lux's retreating figure. A cruel, cold light flickered in the depths of his silver pupils, unbeknownst to the prince.

—

"So, Sebastian, was it?" Amara Silva's voice rang through the grand hall, carrying a sweetness that barely veiled the sharp edge beneath. Her pink eyes locked onto him, her smile devoid of any warmth. "I'm quite curious how you managed to enter this hall. I don't recall seeing your name among the list of invitees."

Sebastian looked up from the whole roast beef he had been elegantly slicing, his movements precise, as dictated by the etiquette lessons he'd painstakingly memorized. He met Amara's gaze with calm composure, though the charged silence around him was impossible to ignore.

The murmurs of other honored guests at the long dining table had ceased. Across the vast hall, conversations and lighthearted laughter dwindled as nobles and dignitaries turned their attention to the scene unfolding before them.

But Sebastian paid no heed to the growing scrutiny. Sitting upright, he dabbed his mouth with a handkerchief, ignoring the scrutiny of countless stares, and began to respond politely.

"I—"

"I invited him."

Acier Silva's voice cut through the tension like a blade. Every eye in the room shifted to her, including her mother's, as she smiled softly, disarmingly.

Amara's brow creased, her expression darkening. "What is the meaning of this, Acier? How could you do such a thing on your own—"

"Whatever do you mean, Mother?" Acier interrupted again, her tone light but her smile razor-sharp. "This is my celebration. Even if I had invited an entire caravan, I'd be well within my rights. One friend is hardly cause for concern."

Amara's jaw tightened, her face flushing with barely restrained anger. "Don't take that tone with me, Acier. There is a protocol to these events. A superior must be informed—"

"I did inform someone," Acier replied smoothly, cutting her off once more. Her calm demeanor only heightened the awkwardness spreading among the gathered nobility.

The crowd exchanged uneasy glances. Nobles thrived on rumors and drama, but few were willing to risk being the outlet for Amara's potential wrath. If she turned her fury on them for this apparent slight, they wouldn't even have the luxury of tears.

Amara flushed a deeper shade of red, lips pressing into a thin line as she prepared to demand specifics. But then her father-in-law's words echoed in her mind, and she hesitated.

Her gaze shifted to her left, toward her husband, her eyes boring accusation. It was you.

All eyes followed.

Nathaniel Silva, the Silva Patriarch, continued his meal with cool indifference, barely sparing anyone a glance. At last, he spoke, his tone icy and cutting, carrying effortlessly through the hall.

"It is as she said. This is her ceremony, and she is free to invite whomever she pleases. She requested a nameless invitation from me, and I granted it."

Gasps and hushed murmurs rippled through the room, the nobility exchanging wide-eyed glances. At the head of the table, Sebastian blinked, startled, his gaze flickering to Nathaniel.

But it was short-lived, as Amara turned her full attention back to him.

"Well then, Sebastian," she said, her voice saccharine yet sharp, "I'm curious to know what kind of person you are. I don't recall my daughter having any friends, especially male ones. So you can imagine my surprise when she introduced you as such."

Her smile was thin and dark, her tone dripping with unamused sarcasm. Sebastian stiffened slightly but inhaled deeply, steadying himself.

"I—"

"We met during my trips to Kikka, Mother."

Acier's voice once again came to his rescue. She spoke with practiced ease, ignoring the sidelong glance Sebastian shot her.

"I was curious about what a fellow Silva House member was doing outside the capital, running a stall of all things. Naturally, I approached him. We spoke a few times, became acquainted, and eventually befriended one another. That's why I invited him here today."

Her explanation only fanned the flames of the nobles' curiosity. Another wave of hushed whispers rippled through the room.

"A noble lady having a male friend? How scandalous!"

"But she wasn't a noble lady then—there's no impropriety."

"Perhaps, but she is one now. It's highly inappropriate!"

"Have some courtesy; she's only been acknowledged as such for minutes!"

"It's still shocking that she invited him at all. This ceremony was a mere formality—she was destined to pass!"

"Forget that—what did she mean about him running a stall? Is he a street rat?"

"Impossible. The Princess wouldn't associate with such riff raff."

"Then what could she mean?"

"Be quiet and listen. It'll become clear soon enough."

The room buzzed with barely contained speculation, but Acier remained serene, her calm demeanor a stark contrast to the chaos her words had sparked.

Amara brought her gloved hand to her mouth, her expression one of utter disbelief, as if the very foundation of her world had shifted. She stared at Sebastian, her voice trembling with incredulity.

"Running a stall? Surely, I must have misheard! You must mean a store at the very least. Right?"

Acier shook her head, her serene smile unwavering. "No, Mother. Sebastian is a doctor in training who runs a small clinic stall in Castle Town. He provides free charitable services there. You should stop by sometime—it's actually quite popular."

"Hm, I think I've heard of that," a noble whispered to their companion.

"Really? What was it about?"

"I can't quite recall. It didn't seem important at the time."

A warm chuckle broke through the growing murmurs, drawing every gaze to the opposite end of the grand table. Pope Benedictus, seated at the far end, was smiling fondly at Sebastian.

"So, that was you?" the Pope said, rubbing his shaven, wrinkled face thoughtfully.

The hall fell silent as he continued, his voice kind yet commanding. "I've received reports from the cathedrals in Castle Town that their workload in the marketplace has lightened considerably. They mentioned a kind young man treating the homeless and less fortunate there."

He paused, glancing at Acier with a knowing smile. "They also mentioned he was often accompanied by a hooded lady. That must have been you, Princess?"

Acier nodded softly, her expression calm, though her mother's widened eyes betrayed her shock. Gasps rippled through the room as the nobles exchanged incredulous looks.

Pope Benedictus smiled broadly and returned his attention to Sebastian. "We debated whether to reach out to you or leave you to your work, as you seemed to prefer operating quietly. Now that I've met you, I must say, well done, child. This is the essence of noblesse oblige. May the Lord's light shine brightly upon you."

Sebastian shot to his feet, bowing deeply to the Pope. "You honor me, Your Holiness. I was merely trying to attract more customers. I am unworthy of your praise."

The Pope shook his head with a gentle laugh. "Helping others does not require purity of heart, only that most of your intentions are upright. You've more than earned this praise, child. Accept it."

Archbishop Anslem, seated nearby, nodded in agreement, his kind smile adding to the credibility of the Pope's words. Sebastian froze for a moment, overwhelmed, before catching Acier's approving smile from across the table. He nodded subtly and sat back down.

Whatever jeers the nobility—or Amara herself—had been preparing to unleash died in their throats. To contradict the Pope would be unthinkable, even for her.

Amara forced her lips into a smile, though her face burned with embarrassment. Inside, however, she was screaming. The idea of her daughter sneaking away from the castle to spend time with a boy running a clinic stall—a stall!—was enough to make her head spin.

It was fortunate, perhaps, that Amara wouldn't live long enough to discover her granddaughter would one day work, even briefly, as a waitress to spy on a peasant—a magicless one at that. Surely, that revelation would have brought her to an early grave.

She bit her lip and forced her voice into a semblance of calm. "A doctor, hmm? I trust you have your license?"

"He doesn't," Acier interjected, her smile darkening ever so slightly.

Amara stiffened as her daughter continued, her tone growing sharper.

"Sebastian could pass the licensing exam whenever he pleases. But he chooses to study further to ensure he achieves top marks when he does."

Acier leaned forward slightly, her gaze steady. "Also, Mother, Sebastian is fourteen—just like me. He has yet to receive his grimoire, so please refrain from making any low remarks about him working without a license when he can't even cast a spell yet."

Once again, Amara found herself silenced, her face flushing deep red as her daughter's words struck home. Across the hall, the gathered nobility watched the exchange with barely concealed amusement.

Many of them couldn't help but think the scene resembled a daughter introducing her suitor to her disapproving mother.

"If Lady Amara starts asking about his income, his house, his ability to provide, or—heavens forbid—his feelings for her daughter, we'll know for sure," one noble whispered, suppressing a laugh.

Another muttered, "Are we at a coming-of-age ceremony, or did we unknowingly walk into a Silva family dinner party meant to test Acier Silva's lover?"

Those who had hoped to court Acier themselves felt a pang of despair as they watched her deftly answer for Sebastian, almost as though she were his partner.

Amara took a deep breath, her gaze steady but laced with frustration as she addressed her daughter.

"I believe your... colleague has a mouth and can speak for himself."

Acier's lips curled into a dark smile. "And I believe my friend," she stressed the word, her voice echoing through the hall with deliberate defiance, "is here as a guest and didn't come expecting to be interrogated for merely existing."

Her deliberate disregard for decorum sent a ripple of murmurs through the room. Acier's stance made it clear: if Sebastian was willing to put his life on the line just to dance with her, she would risk her honor to publicly recognize him as her friend.

Amara's eyes narrowed, but she managed a forced smile as she shifted her focus to Sebastian.

"Which branch family do you come from, Sebastian? We are evidently not acquainted. I would like to meet your parents—"

"Not possible," Acier interrupted sharply, her tone like ice.

Amara's composure faltered, her teeth grinding audibly as she hoarsely demanded, "And may I ask why?"

"Because you can't meet the dead," Acier replied, her voice low and dark.

The hall fell deathly silent. The bluntness of her words startled the room as all eyes turned to Sebastian, their expressions a mixture of shock and incredulity.

Sebastian's gaze remained fixed on Acier, something heavy and complex flickering in his eyes, as he watched her in silence. Nôv(el)B\\jnn

Acier twirled a strand of hair nonchalantly, her tone calm but cutting as she elaborated, "Sebastian doesn't have a family. He's an orphan."

Under the table, Nathaniel Silva lightly rolled his ankle, an almost imperceptible motion, as he listened to his daughter's declaration.

"And," Acier continued, her voice steady and unyielding, "he is far removed from any family ties and doesn't even bear the Silva name."

The nobles' collective gaze bore into Sebastian, their judgment palpable.

So, he's the lowliest of bastards!

For those who had felt a pang of jealousy at the sight of Acier's closeness with Sebastian, relief washed over them. Clearly, they had misunderstood—there was no way Princess Acier Silva would stoop to such a level. They were simply friends.

But then, Acier rose gracefully from her chair, drawing all eyes to her. She looked down at her father.

"My Lord, my appetite and mood are spoiled. May I retreat to my quarters for the evening?"

Nathaniel met her gaze indifferently and gave a small nod. "You may."

Acier beamed, and a few opportunistic men prepared to rise, ready to offer themselves as escorts. But their hope shattered like glass as Acier turned to Sebastian, curtsied, and said, "Would you be so kind as to escort me to my room?"

A collective silence swept the hall as those men froze, their expressions cracking like stone statues.

Sebastian rose hastily, bowing deeply. "It would be my honor, Princess."

He turned to Nathaniel, bowing once more, and then to the rest of the grand table, followed by Count Vardy's table, and the rest of the guests in sequence, each gesture precise and respectful. Finally, he turned back to Acier, only to stiffen when she slipped her arm through his, linking them together.

Sebastian quickly composed himself, guiding her out of the ballroom. The twin doors swung open as the retainers bowed, and the two walked side by side through the long hallways.

They moved in comfortable silence, their footsteps echoing softly as they turned corner after corner. After several minutes, they arrived at Acier's private wing.

Unlinking their arms, they stood for a moment, facing each other.

"Thank you for coming and being my partner," Acier said softly, her voice carrying a rare warmth.

Sebastian shook his head. "Don't thank me. That sounds too distant. We're friends. We do these things because we want to, not because we expect gratitude. You told me that."

Acier blinked, a small smile spreading across her lips. "Not the exact words I used, but close enough," she chuckled.

She turned to her door, pushing it open slightly before glancing back at him awkwardly. "You should get going. If we're alone for too long..."

"Strange rumors will start," Sebastian finished for her, a knowing smile tugging at his lips.

Acier smiled wryly in return.

"Goodnight, Acier."

Her eyes stung, tears welling up despite her efforts to hold them back. Her voice trembled. "Goodbye—"

Sebastian silenced her with a gentle finger pressed to her lips, shaking his head. "Don't say that. This isn't goodbye. We'll meet again, somehow, someway, very soon. Understand?"

Acier froze, her cheeks flushing as she nodded quickly. "Mmm-hmm."

Sebastian smiled, wiping her tears gently before stepping back. Acier slipped into her room, the door closing softly behind her.

Sebastian lingered for a moment, his gaze fixed on the door before he turned and walked away.

As he strode through the halls, he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small black box. Flipping it open, he revealed a simple brass ring with a delicate engraving. He stared at it for a moment before closing the box and tucking it back into his coat.

The timing never feels right, he thought, his steps echoing faintly. Giving it to her now would only hurt her and complicate things, and leaving it among the other presents isn't an option either. They'd vet everything before it even reaches her.

If it got out he gave her a ring, he'd be on the chopping block immediately. This was something he could only give her personally, and he preferred it that way.

A faint smile crossed his lips as he resolved silently. We'll meet again, Acier. When the time is right, I'll give you this and tell you everything.

—

Minutes passed as Acier changed out of her dress into a simple nightgown, humming softly to herself. She climbed into her bed, pulling the covers over herself before reaching for her pillow to adjust it under her head.

She paused abruptly.

Her fingers brushed against something.

Frowning, she sat up and reached under her pillow, retrieving the unexpected item—a bouquet wrapped carefully in plastic.

Acier froze, her eyes widening as she realized what it was.

A bouquet of flowers.

A bouquet of her favorite flowers.

A bouquet of hyacinths.

A bouquet of blue hyacinths.

Her heart skipped a beat. She knew precisely what blue hyacinths represented. They were her favorite flower for a reason.

Her trembling hands clutched the bouquet tightly. Then, she noticed a small tag tied to the side. Carefully, she turned it over, reading the short message written there.

Happy Birthday, Acier – Sebastian.

Her breath hitched.

Acier sat there in silence, her mind swirling with thoughts. Her cheeks flushed a deep crimson as memories of the day replayed in her mind—Sebastian's words, his actions, his presence.

Her heart raced.

And then it hit her, like a lightning strike:

Sebastian was in love with her.

Her grip on the bouquet tightened, her head spinning as her face burned.

But the thought didn't unsettle her.

In fact, she realized with growing clarity that she rather liked it.

No—she liked it a lot.

—

Sebastian wouldn't face any threats to his life anytime soon. That was because the entire kingdom's attention had shifted to something far more momentous—so significant, in fact, that Acier's coming-of-age ceremony was completely overshadowed and forgotten.

Early the next morning, the noble realm woke to the tolling of the grand bell of Saint Luminous Basilica.

The bell rang weekly to summon citizens for Sunday mass.

But it wasn't Sunday.

There were only three occasions when the bell rang outside its regular schedule: twice to announce the appointment of a new Pope or Monarch, twice to signify their stepping down from their position, or thrice to declare their passing.

The bell rang three times.

The Pope was in perfect health.

The king was not.

A grand projection lit up the skies over the kingdom, revealing Pope Benedictus clad in full Papal regalia. Smaller projections spread across the Clover Kingdom, ensuring that every corner of the noble and forsaken realms could witness the announcement.

With his eyes closed in prayer and his voice heavy with sorrow, the Pope spoke:

"Dear citizens, I regret to inform you that His Majesty, Octavian Kira Clover XII, has passed away. Let us hold a moment of silence."

The entire kingdom froze in collective shock.

A monarch had fallen.

There was no crown prince.

The implications were undeniable: a bloody succession war was inevitable, a conflict to determine the next ruler of the throne.

But it wasn't the only threat the nation would face.

In the days to come the people of the Clover Kingdom would bear witness to its greatest crisis since the rebellion of the 20th Wizard King, Edward Avalaché.

Author's Notes:

[1] Time for things to start picking up slightly.

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