“Masquerade ball?”

Celia unfolded the invitation she had received from Dietrich.

Just as he had said, the invitation neatly written in elegant handwriting stated that Celia was invited to attend the masquerade ball tomorrow night.

“Why me?”

“Because if you’re invited, they assume I’ll definitely follow.”

At Celia’s question, Dietrich shook his head and replied.

“If we don’t go, they’ll accuse us of rejecting the Emperor’s invitation and find some way to harm us. This invitation is a trap with no escape. It’s bad whether we go, and bad whether we don’t.”

Celia stared at the invitation with a sinking feeling.

No wonder that wicked Ileon, now Emperor, had been so quiet—apparently he’d been quietly plotting this sort of mischief behind the scenes.

“I won’t let you walk into the snake’s den alone. So don’t worry too much.”

Celia didn’t know what expression she was supposed to make when Dietrich said things like that.

“…Thank you. Even though it must be a bother for you.”

At Celia’s words, Dietrich shook his head in response.

“It couldn’t be a bother.”

There was truly a huge difference between someone who offered such words and someone who didn’t.

Celia sincerely felt grateful toward Dietrich.

Despite the distance they’d kept from each other these past few days, they had once again returned to where they started.

The harder she tried to forcefully push him away, the more he pulled her back in.

Celia suddenly realized why she had come to Dietrich’s room to ask something.

Remembering her place, Celia asked Dietrich.

“That thing you said about the Three Dukes being enemies. I’d like a more detailed explanation.”

Leaning sideways against the sofa, Dietrich looked like a lazy predator resting beneath sunlit trees.

Celia lowered herself near Dietrich and spoke.

“I’d appreciate it if you could be as specific as possible.”

“Of course.”

Dietrich answered without hesitation, adding:

“If that’s what you want.”

It was the night of the masquerade ball.

The vast banquet hall, carved from golden stone, was dazzlingly splendid.

On the domed ceiling hung multiple ornate chandeliers decorated with crystals, and in the center lay a marble staircase covered with a red carpet.

From one side came the sound of an orchestra playing.

Guests who had received invitations arrived with their faces concealed by masks.

The women all wore tightly-laced corsets and appeared in the most expensive, elaborate dresses they owned, emphasizing their slender waists.

The men, too, showed clear signs of desperate efforts to impress the new Emperor.

Many wore pristine, immaculate white uniforms, or arrived with neatly combed hair slicked back and polished uniforms shining.

With masks on, it was difficult to recognize anyone.

Yet, the thought of meeting the new Emperor filled people’s faces with excited anticipation.

“When will His Majesty arrive?”

“Indeed. Since he’s the guest of honor, he’ll probably appear last, won’t he?”

Noblewomen wearing white half-masks gently waved feather fans as they chatted.

“I wonder who His Majesty will choose for his first dance. Even with masks, there are so many beautiful young ladies here.”

“At least I hope it’s not Brillion’s angel. That woman is a man-eating witch.”

The noblewomen all nodded in unison.

A young nobleman nearby, overhearing their conversation, subtly joined in.

“There’s talk in the city that Brillion’s angel is actually the lover of His Grace, Duke Calypso…”

At the well-dressed young man’s remark, one noblewoman, a fervent admirer of Dietrich, strongly denied it.

“His Grace, Duke Calypso, would never do such a thing. He’s famously known for not even glancing at women.”

“…?”

The young man’s pale violet eyes, visible through his silver half-mask, narrowed slightly.

“…Hmm, I hope it’s just baseless rumor, then.”

After that, the nobleman exchanged a few more meaningless words with the women before returning to his place.

“Father, I heard Celia is here. Apparently, she’s doing quite well.”

The man addressed as father glared with dark eyes.

“So she’s thriving even without us. How slightly—no, greatly—insulting.”

“Exactly. If I’d known this would happen, I should’ve just pounced on her while she was sleeping.”

“Ahem. Vincent. There are listening ears. Be quiet.”

The man called Vincent clicked his tongue in annoyance.

“But Father, you did sneak into Celia’s room before.”

“That was… a long time ago.”

“Why act like that now, after we both had such a good time at that tavern? Don’t think I don’t know you. You only ever chose women with silver hair.”

Vincent smirked.

“There’s really nothing you can’t say to your father, is there?”

“Don’t act superior. Father, I’m your son. I know you better than anyone.”

Vincent slowly licked his lips, as if suppressing thirst.

“If only Mother and Gabriel hadn’t sent Celia to the palace when we were about to have fun in the southern resort, she’d be by my side now instead of being called a witch.”

“…”

“Isn’t that right, Father?”

Viscount Brillion swallowed hard.

He first saw Celia ten years ago, when he was drunk and took a narrow alley instead of his usual path.

Under the faint moonlight, his eyes met those of a young girl covered in dirt and dust.

Though filthy and ragged, her appearance couldn’t be hidden by the grime.

The Viscount took the street-wandering child home and had her bathed.

His wife and children shook their heads in disbelief at the Viscount’s unusual behavior.

“You brought in a street beggar? Have you finally gone mad?”

They clicked their tongues and looked at him with pity.

Right after, a maid arrived, her face flushed, reporting that the bath was finished.

“M-Master.”

The maid, unusually flustered, seemed odd. The Viscount and his family, who had been arguing, turned their heads toward the child who had just finished bathing.

Long, silvery hair, skin pale and translucent, long eyelashes, and emerald-green eyes as if real gems had been embedded.

The girl smiled sweetly at the Brillion family staring at her in shock.

Her eyes curved upward gently, and a dimple formed on her snow-white cheek.

Immediately afterward, the Viscount formally adopted Celia into the family.

His eldest son, Vincent, made no effort to hide his lustful intentions toward Celia.

Outwardly, he played the role of a caring older brother to his unrelated younger sister, but beneath the surface, he was utterly despicable.

“But Father, why did you bring that one along?”

Vincent gestured with his chin toward a man in a black mask, standing isolated in a corner of the hall.

Though dressed in a decent-quality suit, the man looked pitiful—thin and hunched over like a turtle.

He was Kane, the second son of the Brillion family.

“This is a rare opportunity. When else would Kane ever step into the Imperial Palace’s banquet hall? The Emperor himself sent the invitation.”

“…Hmph. I just hope that creepy fellow doesn’t cause any trouble.”

Instead of tightening a corset, Celia wore a flowing dress that didn’t emphasize her figure.

As Celia moved, the sky-blue dress fluttered like flower petals in the wind.

Dietrich looked at Celia, wearing a white half-mask, with an expression of disapproval.

Beneath his black half-mask, his crimson eyes showed discomfort.

“Why? Is something wrong?”

“Anyone will recognize you at a glance.”

“…Huh?”

“It’s like Brillion’s angel has grown wings. The pack of dogs will swarm you.”

“But no one can see my face. How would they know?”

“There isn’t a single person who wouldn’t figure out you’re Celia.”

At that, Celia narrowed her eyes and carefully scanned Dietrich’s appearance.

Though wearing a black uniform, his toned physique was impossible to hide.

Each time Dietrich inhaled and exhaled, the pectoral muscles beneath his uniform buttons swelled and relaxed tautly.

“You’re in no position to talk to me like that.”

“I’m at least fine.”

“How can that be? You’re fine, but I’m not?”

When Celia bristled, Dietrich cast his gaze toward the window and murmured softly.

“Too… noticeable… I mean.”

“?”

Dietrich’s voice was too low, and only a few words reached Celia’s ears, fragmented and unclear.

Seeing that Celia didn’t understand, Dietrich didn’t repeat himself but changed the subject.

“I heard today that your blood-related family members are attending the ball.”

“It’s fine. They’re not really my family anyway.”

“Then that’s fortunate.”

Dietrich extended one hand toward Celia.

“Shall we go?”

Celia took Dietrich’s arm and entered the ballroom.

The knights at the entrance, checking invitations one by one, immediately recognized Dietrich despite his mask.

His sharply squared shoulders, the solid muscles visible even beneath the black uniform—muscles so firm they looked like stone—and the crimson eyes, blood-red, peering through the black mask.

The knights stared blankly at each other, speechless.

Dietrich did not possess an invitation to attend the ball.

To be precise, Ileon, the new Emperor, had sent invitations to everyone—including palace officials—but had deliberately excluded Dietrich.

Though technically, by the rules, they should not allow him into the ballroom without an invitation, the man before them was Dietrich.

To knights who valued strength, Dietrich, a Swordmaster, was someone worthy of reverence.

After a moment of hesitation, the knights finally shifted their gaze to the woman Dietrich was escorting.

The woman’s green eyes, visible through the white half-mask, were strikingly beautiful.

Her long silver hair, reaching her waist, shimmered brightly, reflecting the moonlight above.

Her soft, red lips looked as if biting into them would release sweet juice.

“…”

The knights realized the woman Dietrich was escorting was Celia.

“N-No invitation… then…”

Before the knight could finish speaking, Celia pulled out the invitation from her sleeve and handed it over.

Their fingertips brushed ever so slightly as the invitation changed hands.

The knight’s Adam’s apple bobbed repeatedly.

Truly, just like the rumors said—she seemed capable of stealing one’s very mind.

“A knight should not forget his duty.”

At Dietrich’s low voice, the knight snapped back to his senses.

The invitation was for one person, yet there were two.

As the knights stood flustered, not knowing what to do, Ileon’s languid voice echoed from behind them.

“Just let them in.”