Reina smirked, her disdain tucked neatly behind a veil of grace.
"Well… it's a pleasure to see you again," she said, offering a polite nod before turning smoothly toward another noble—an obvious attempt at escape.
Lucian chuckled, undeterred.
"Cold as ever," he said, voice laced with playful reproach. "We just had lunch a few hours ago, Reina. You could at least pretend to miss me."
He began to pace slowly, each step measured, arms moving in rhythm with his voice—more performer than man, more presence than person.
The very image of a speaker. A former Dark Lord.
Lucian spoke with deliberate undertones, his smile wide, eyes half-lidded, ensuring every nearby noble misread his words as something more intimate.
Reina noticed—of course she did. He was drawing attention again, spinning perception like a magician's flourish.
But she didn't shy away. Instead, she smiled sweetly.
"Oh, please. Did you really take my father's little speech seriously?" Her tone was light, but her eyes sharpened. "I hate to disappoint, but I'm not interested in you, Lucian."
Her laugh rang soft and polished, but there was steel beneath it—a flicker of vengeance from the time he'd humiliated her at the Golden Cutlery.
The surrounding nobles chuckled as well. A newcomer, bold enough to flirt with the Duke's daughter? Ridiculous. Hilarious. Almost charming in its arrogance.
Lucian laughed along, deliberately louder than the rest, exaggerating his gestures with dramatic flair.
"How absurd," he said with a grin. "You misread me, Lady Reina. I'm merely a close friend of your father."
He raised a hand and, as if summoned by magic, a waiter appeared beside him with a tray of wine. Despite being a stranger to most of the room, Lucian already moved with the authority of someone who belonged.
Not because of magic. Not even theatrics.
It was just the cut of his clothes. The confidence in his voice. The way he stood like the world already owed him its attention.
Lucian smiled to himself as he took a glass of wine.
Infiltrating this ball was easier than he expected.
But just as the social duel deepened, a new voice cut through the air…
A noble, no older than Reina or Lucian, stepped forward. His presence was immediately striking: regal robes of white and violet, a ceremonial rapier sheathed at his side, and the kind of posture that screamed privilege.
"Excuse me," he said, tone clipped, "this ball is in honor of Lady Reina of Greywood. I don't appreciate you flirting with her in public and stealing her attention."
His voice rang with authority—high, composed, and, worst of all, annoyingly handsome.
Lucian raised an eyebrow, immediately noting the obvious: this wasn't just some noble. This was someone important.
He gave a shallow bow, the motion elegant but irreverent.
"My apologies, my lord. Just a bit of friendly banter, nothing more."
He took a delicate sip of wine before placing the glass back on the waiter's tray, completely unfazed.
The young noble scoffed, eyes narrowing as murmurs rippled through the crowd. A few nobles chuckled, more entertained than alarmed by Lucian's audacity.
"Does he not realize who that is?" someone whispered, half-laughing, half-horrified.
One older noble nearly choked on a truffle canapé, muttering, "This boy's either blessed or brainless."
But before the tension could tip into disaster, Fey appeared at Lucian's side, gripping his arm with sudden urgency.
"Come on—now," Fey hissed, dragging Lucian away from the growing tension and out into the courtyard.
The night air outside was cooler, and while the party still echoed in the background, fewer eyes followed them here.
"What the hell are you doing?!" Fey spun around once they were alone. "You just called the third prince a mere lord!"
He started pacing, hands tugging through his hair.
Lucian blinked, then let out a soft laugh. "If you knew that, why'd you bail me out?"
Fey froze, mouth opening, then closing again.
"I... I don't know what came over me!" he groaned, throwing his hands over his face. "My father's going to kill me…"
He let out a muffled shout of despair into his palms as Lucian watched, amused.
Fey stared at Lucian in disbelief. How could he be so relaxed?
"Are you insane? How are you so calm? Agh, I never should've butted in!" Fey's voice was a mix of frustration and panic.
Lucian strolled up to him, casually patting him on the back.
"Well, you did just steal my spotlight," Lucian mused, voice light and teasing. "But you did it out of concern for me." He leaned in slightly, dropping his voice for dramatic effect, just to amuse himself. "So I won't make you suffer for ruining my plans."
Fey shot him a dry, unbothered look, his expression a mix of defeat and disbelief. He wasn't intimidated in the slightest.
"Are you kidding me?" Fey flicked his fingers, and a small parchment appeared in the air with a flick of his wrist. "I don't care if you're the son of a baron or a duke, you just disrespected the royal family!"
He held the parchment inches from Lucian's face, thrusting it toward him with an exasperated sigh. The words were clear: "The royal family must be regarded with their title, or you will be punished. Clause 15 of the Royal Codex."
Lucian glanced at the paper, his voice dripping with mock concern as he read the passage aloud, slowly.
"The royal family must be regarded with their title, or you will be punished, Clause 15 of the Royal Codex…" He paused dramatically, then looked up with a raised eyebrow. "Excuse me? What kind of law is that?"
But before Fey could explode from sheer anxiety—or Lucian could even begin to process what was happening—a voice rang out behind them.
It was the third prince.
He'd followed them out, hair flipping like something out of a romance novel. Behind him trailed a few noble girls, visibly swooning, their eyes practically heart-shaped.
"You two are clearly new here," the prince sighed, as if this entire affair were a mild inconvenience. His tone carried that infuriating blend of charm and entitlement.
Before Lucian could respond, Fey jumped in front of him, bowing so low he nearly hit the gravel.
"Please forgive us! We're new nobles—we only wanted to greet the flower of Greywood! Please don't revoke our titles!" he cried, voice trembling.
Lucian's jaw dropped.
"Revoke our titles?" Lucian blinked. "For getting a name wrong? What is this, etiquette by guillotine?"
But before he could spiral further, the third prince gave a short laugh. It was light—almost amused—but still carried the authority of someone used to being obeyed.
"I'll let it go this time," he said, voice cool but generous. "Consider it a gift, since we're the same age."
Then he turned on his heel and walked away, his silk cape fluttering dramatically behind him.
The girls following him gasped as if witnessing a divine act of mercy, one of them dramatically pretending to faint at the sheer compassion of the prince.