The one who appeared was Ileon Gredrick.

Ileon had made an entrance wearing, unusually, a half-mask crafted from black snake leather.

He wore a blue uniform, which coincidentally made it seem as though the dress code had been coordinated in advance, since Celia Brillion was wearing a sky-blue dress.

“I forgot to send an invitation to Duke Calypso, the Royal Knight Captain.”

Referring to himself as “I” came as naturally as flowing water.

Dietrich Calypso regarded Ileon with a dry gaze.

Celia Brillion felt the same.

“What exactly were you thinking, inviting me?”

In response to Celia’s question, Ileon curled his lips into a lopsided smile.

“There’s no need to be so wary of me. After all, I haven’t done anything to you—*yet*.”

At Ileon’s words, Dietrich wrapped his arm around Celia’s and spoke.

“His Majesty the new Emperor seems blind to how uncomfortable my lover is.”

“Lover… So you’re acknowledging the rumors as truth?”

A faint smile flickered across Ileon’s lips.

“Admirable courage, but please stop monopolizing her. It’s unlike you.”

“…….”

Dietrich stared coldly at Ileon.

Instead of reprimanding him for insolence, Ileon merely crinkled his eyes in amusement.

“Or perhaps there’s some secret between just the two of you? Something only you know… say, for instance…”

Ileon pretended to adjust his clothing, then whispered in a voice barely audible—only to them.

“Like how both of you are survivors of a certain kingdom that fell ten years ago?”

Before Celia could respond, Ileon stepped back and walked into the ballroom ahead of them.

Celia, startled, grabbed hold of Dietrich’s sleeve.

“Just now!”

Her pupils trembled like stormy waves.

Dietrich lowered his head to meet her eyes.

In a gentle voice meant to reassure her, he said,

“It’s all right.”

“…….”

“Don’t worry. No one here can harm you.”

He gently patted her back with his large hand.

The knights present sensed that something unusual was going on between the two.

Even masked, their striking appearances made it obvious to anyone that they looked like lovers.

And not just any lovers—ones who deeply cherished each other.

“His Majesty, the radiant sun of Abelon, now makes his entrance!”

The ballroom erupted in commotion at Ileon’s appearance.

His ash-gray hair was tied up, revealing a smooth, unobstructed forehead.

Having shed his usual saintly demeanor, Ileon now wore a uniform tinged with blue—matching the color of his eyes—and looked every bit the absolute ruler capable of subjugating everything beneath his feet.

From the moment he stepped in, every movement drew involuntary admiration.

Though wearing a mask in keeping with the masquerade theme, his presence still stood apart.

Every person in the hall turned their gaze toward Ileon.

No one dared to look away until he had walked across the red carpet and ascended the dais at the central staircase.

Even the orchestra stopped playing, transfixed by Ileon.

Seated casually on the golden throne atop the dais, Ileon accepted a glass handed to him by an aide and spoke.

“Tonight, think of nothing. Eat and drink your fill. Dance as much as you wish.”

With those few words, Ileon raised his glass.

He offered no explanation whatsoever about how he had come to be emperor.

“Long live the radiant sun!”

“Long live His Majesty the Emperor!”

The crowd erupted in cheers, raising their glasses in unison with Ileon.

Deep reverence for a powerful ruler, and awe toward one who wielded overwhelming authority.

Before such a perfect emperor, no one dared mention the death of the former royal family.

Just by appearing, Ileon had firmly rooted the idea in everyone’s minds: the royal family *is* Ileon.

“…Does Your Majesty not plan to dance?”

To his aide’s question, Ileon replied in a slow, deliberate voice.

“Not at the moment. Though perhaps later, I might feel inclined.”

At Ileon’s words, the young noblewomen’s eyes sharpened like hawks spotting prey.

Whoever received the first dance from Ileon tonight would see their status soar immeasurably.

“His Majesty has always been kind to women.”

Though he rarely appeared at important banquets, Ileon had never been the one to initiate a dance.

When a woman mustered the courage to ask him, he would always smile warmly and accept.

Many young noblewomen adored him for his gentle demeanor.

One marquis’s daughter, who had danced with Ileon before, kept stealing glances at him.

Ileon, meanwhile, seemed indifferent to everyone in the ballroom, idly stroking his empty glass with one hand resting on his chin.

Besides the marquis’s daughter, many others had their eyes set on Ileon.

The ball had officially begun, yet no one was dancing.

All the noblewomen’s gazes were fixed solely on Ileon.

A noble young man who boldly asked a noblewoman to dance was completely ignored.

He drowned his bitterness by continuously pouring wine down his throat.

“Your Majesty.”

The marquis’s daughter cautiously summoned her courage and addressed Ileon.

Ileon, who had been staring at his empty glass, lifted his gaze toward her.

Feeling those sharp, hawk-like eyes lock onto her, the marquis’s daughter’s mouth went dry as she barely managed to speak.

“I-if you don’t mind… would you honor me with the first dance…?”

“The first dance?”

Ileon lifted one corner of his lips.

“Your courage in asking me is admirable, but I must decline.”

“…….”

Beneath her red half-mask, the marquis’s daughter’s cheeks flushed as red as a ripe tomato.

Traditionally, men were the ones to request a dance.

While it wasn’t unheard of for women to initiate, it was exceedingly rare.

Refusing such a request was considered impolite, so men typically accepted, if only to protect the woman’s reputation.

Before becoming emperor, Ileon had never once refused a woman’s invitation to dance—so many had assumed he would accept again today. They were mistaken.

After Ileon’s rejection, the noblewomen, hearts aching, reluctantly began selecting the next best-looking men to dance with.

The orchestra resumed playing classical music, and the ballroom atmosphere gradually warmed.

In the rising heat, couples who felt a mutual spark began slipping outside to the terrace or into shadowed corners for intimate closeness.

Ileon rose from his seat just as a sudden commotion stirred near the quiet entrance of the hall.

“Duke Calypso!”

“The angel of Brillion!”

Exclamations burst from the crowd.

Indeed, their appearances were too radiant to be hidden by mere masks.

A faint smile curled Ileon’s lips.

From the entrance, two people walked in—figures who seemed to glow even when standing still.

Tall and broad-shouldered, Dietrich looked striking in his black uniform.

Beside him, escorted by Dietrich, Celia wore a light, sky-blue dress that didn’t emphasize her figure, yet she looked as breathtaking as a masterpiece stepped out from a painting.

“Look at her. Celia’s grown even more beautiful without us noticing.”

“Truly, she’s a girl worth raising. Anyone would desire her.”

Vincent Brillion and Viscount Brillion scanned Celia with greedy eyes.

At that moment, Dietrich, who had been looking ahead, suddenly fixed his gaze on two men standing near the left wall.

“Why does Duke Calypso seem to be glaring at us? We’re standing far away.”

“…Must be your imagination. Hrmph. Everyone’s wearing masks, after all.”

Yet Dietrich’s sharp, blade-like gaze was unmistakably directed at them.

The two men, sensing a chilling hostility, quickly averted their eyes.

Only then did Dietrich turn his gaze away and continue forward.

With every step Celia and Dietrich took, gasps of admiration echoed through the hall.

Ileon descended the central staircase with elegant strides.

Approaching them, he smiled toward Celia.

“…Celia Brillion.”

Celia, whose hand had been held by Dietrich, turned her gaze to Ileon.

She stared at him with a cold expression.

Her bright green eyes swirled with resentment and hatred directed at Ileon.

An unfathomable darkness, bottomless and deep.

Contrasting sharply with his beautiful exterior, that darkness intrigued Ileon.

He bowed slightly toward Celia and extended one hand.

His palm was smooth, untouched by labor, without a single callus.

Celia silently stared down at Ileon’s hand, extended before her.

“I would be honored if you would grant me the privilege of sharing the first dance with you.”

At Ileon’s words, the violinist playing music accidentally let go of the bow, producing a jarring screech.

Everyone in the ballroom gasped in shock.

It was astonishing enough that Celia had entered escorted by Dietrich—but now, Ileon had personally requested the first dance from her.

“…What on earth is happening?”

“She’s truly blessed. Her talent for captivating men is insane. Beautiful as she is, could she really be a witch, as the rumors say?”

Noblewomen whispered behind her back.

“Unless she’s a fool, she won’t refuse the Emperor’s invitation.”

“How could she? What an immense honor.”

Celia glanced between Ileon’s outstretched hand and his piercing eyes beneath the black snake mask.

This was a test stage prepared for her.

He had deliberately spoken as if revealing everything, trying to unsettle her into hastily accepting his dance request.

Ileon must have been certain—absolutely certain—that she would never refuse.

Meeting Ileon’s calm, amused smile with cold eyes, Celia hesitated, as if about to take his hand.

Then, in one swift motion, she pulled her hand back.

“I decline Your Majesty’s invitation to dance.”