The carriage ride began in complete, absolute, painfully awkward silence, the sort of silence where even the horses seemed to reconsider their life choices before trotting forward, as if they didn't want to cut through the tension filling the air.
Denova sat on one side, hands delicately folded over her gown, trying very, very hard to look composed.
The duke sat on the other side, posture stiff and knightly, staring straight ahead like the interior of the carriage suddenly became the most fascinating thing in the empire.
Except… every two seconds, he stole a glance at her.
Quick ones.
Guilty ones.
The kind a schoolboy gives the crush he's pretending not to like, and Denova?
She wasn't doing much better. She kept pretending to admire the view outside the window, even though it was literally the same empty stretch of countryside they'd passed five times already. But looking directly at him made her stomach twist and her chest feel too tight, so the scenery was clearly the safer choice.
This was their first time attending a ball together.
Their first public appearance.
Their first night stepping out as a pair, even if neither of them knew what label to actually put on whatever this… thing between them was.
Naturally, they were both a complete mess.
The duke's knee bounced ever so slightly, betraying nerves he would sooner die than admit. His mind was racing with a single, terrible thought he absolutely did not want to face:
"What if other men see her?"
"What if they dare approach her?"
"What if someone breathes the same air she breathes?"
"I'm obviously mentally falling apart. I knew Denova is beautiful, but at a ball? Surrounded by nobles who loved gossip and pretty faces? I'm already picturing half the men dropping their wine goblets upon seeing her, proposing on the spot, or worse trying to flirt with her. My imagination was being ridiculous, but i couldn't stop it. I knew I'm exaggerating, but honestly? I didn't care. She was that beautiful."
Denova finally forced herself to peek at him, just to see how he was doing, and, of course he was already staring at her.
They both flinched like they'd been caught doing something scandalous.
Denova's cheeks warmed. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and gave him a tiny, shy smile, her fingers bunching lightly at the fabric of her gown.
"I'm… a little nervous, Your Grace," she admitted, her voice soft but genuine. "I just hope I don't mess anything up."
Then she let out this small, airy laugh as if she were trying to play off her own anxiety, make it cute instead of crippling.
The duke reacted instantly. He sat up straighter, his expression gentling in that quiet, protective way he had only with her.
"No," he said firmly but softly. "You won't mess up. Just be yourself. Everything will be fine."
Something about his voice, warm, steady, so much more reassuring than he probably realized. Settled her more effectively than any breathing exercise, etiquette lesson, or pep talk ever could.
Denova felt her shoulders loosen.
Her chest eased.
The tightness in her stomach unwound just a little.
For the first time all day, she finally managed to breathe properly.
And across from her, the duke watched her relax like it was the only thing he cared about in the world.
The palace gates came into view like something out of a fairy tale, tall, golden, impossibly grand, and guarded by men wearing so much armor Denova wondered if they even could move. Their helmets gleamed, and their spears sparkled.
As soon as the carriage rolled to a stop, the courtyard came alive.
Nobles turned immediately, necks stretching in perfect unison, like a flock of overly decorated geese in jeweled collars.
Word had gotten around quickly. "The cold Duke of Ashenveil was bringing a mysterious woman… a "ghost noblewoman" no one had ever seen."
Some nobles had been waiting hours just to witness this moment.
The duke stepped out first, calm, immaculate, commanding. He moved like he knew every pair of eyes belonged to him… and he simply didn't care. His posture was regal, his expression unreadable.
But everyone waited.
They waited for the woman inside.
They wanted to see if the rumors were true.
If she looked strange, unwell, cursed.
If she even existed at all.
Then the duke extended his hand into the carriage.
A hush rolled through the courtyard, thick and electric. Even the torches crackled quieter, as if trying not to miss the moment.
Denova took one steadying breath. Patricia's training yelled in her head.
"Back straight."
"Chin relaxed."
"Walk with grace."
" And for the love of the ancestors…do NOT trip!"
She placed her hand in the duke's and stepped out.
The palace lights kissed her gown instantly, wine fading softly into lilac, the colors melting together like dusk surrendering to night. The fabric flowed with every small movement, almost weightless, almost magic. Her hair fell in delicate waves, held by simple ornaments that made her look quietly elegant. And her makeup, soft, fresh, natural made her seem like she'd stepped from the moon, not a carriage.
Silence.
Absolute silence.
The nobles didn't gasp, they froze.
Because this wasn't some tragic, pale ghost girl.
This wasn't a rumor.
This wasn't someone pitiful or fragile.
Denova looked confident, radiant, alive, and when she slipped her arm through the duke's, she looked like she belonged beside him.
Denova whispered, "It's… different when it actually happens. Patricia's training feels like a warm-up compared to all these eyes."
The duke turned to her, and then unbelievably he smiled. A real, warm smile that lit his features and softened his entire aura. It was like watching winter melt.
The nobles collectively lost their sanity.
Someone dropped their fan.
Someone else made a strangled noise.
The duke had never smiled at anyone in public.
Above them, hidden on a dimly lit balcony, Lady Seraphine watched with her heart lodged painfully in her throat.
From here, she saw everything clearly, the shimmer of Denova's gown, the innocent softness of her makeup, the quiet glow that seemed to pull every gaze toward her.
Too effortless.
Much too effortless.
Seraphine's fingers tightened around the railing until it hurt. Her breath trembled as she whispered to herself, barely audible.
"Why… why does it have to be her?"
Her voice cracked, the words slipping out before she could bite them back.
"I tried," she whispered again, a tiny, breaking sound. "I tried so hard to be enough."
A tear fell onto her glove, warm and startling. Another followed, and she quickly wiped her cheek, shaking her head as if she could deny the emotion spilling out.
"It should've been me," she choked softly. "Just once… could it not have been me?"
She stepped away from the railing, swallowing down a sob.
Her shoulders trembled.
Her chest tightened.
Then quickly, desperately she turned and fled inside, before the rest of her tears could fall where anyone might see.
Inside the gilded hall, a palace knight struck the marble floor with his spear and announced. "Duke Elarion Ashenveil and Viscountess Denova Ravenscroft!"
A wave of shocked whispers spread through the ballroom. Denova who rarely appeared in society, who many thought avoided people, who was said to be a mourning recluse was now walking beside the empire's most powerful duke, glowing like moonlight.
As they approached the emperor, empress, and birthday celebrant, Prince Altheron Vencrest, everyone watched with interest.
The prince greeted her politely, but when Denova lifted her eyes to him, just politely, just briefly....he felt something inside him stutter.
Time did that cliché thing, everything seems to slowed down.
The hall blurred.
Voices faded.
He saw only her.
The empress noticed immediately mothers always know. The prince tried to be subtle, but it was hopeless. Every time the duke turned away, the prince's eyes drifted back to Denova, curious, captivated, confused by the intensity of his own reaction. He attempted conversations with others.
He tried asking about wines, politics, weather.
No use.
His attention kept returning to her like instinct.
Denova barely survived 10 minutes of the noble swarm. They descended on her like bees chasing fresh honey smiling too wide, asking too many questions, offering compliments so sweet she nearly got cavities, and she knew all of it had nothing to do with her.
They were trying to get closer to the duke.
Her head spun.
Her cheeks hurt from all the polite smiling.
Her soul was somewhere in a corner crying.
The duke stayed beside her, calm but protective, making sure no one boxed her in or touched her without permission.
But eventually, she tugged his sleeve gently.
"Your Grace… may I excuse myself for a moment? I need a little fresh air before I turn into a statue."
His brows pulled slightly, concern written in every line of his face.
He looked ready to follow her instantly.
But Denova gave him a small smile.
"Duty calls for you. I'll be alright."
Her sincerity disarmed him. So with a reluctant nod, he let her go.
But the moment she turned. "Kael," the duke murmured.
A knight stepped out from the shadows like a cat with suspicious hobbies.
"Follow her."
Prince Altheron noticed Denova slipping away almost immediately, and before he could stop himself, before he could even give himself a logical reason, his feet were already moving. He told himself it wasn't improper. He just wanted to understand the fascination, the strange magnetic pull he felt. Maybe if he talked to her, the feeling would go away.
Denova stood near a moonlit flower bed, admiring the petals glowing under the soft silver light. She refused to go deeper into the garden Patricia had warned her that lovers often sneaked off into the shaded corners to "do things no decent lady should witness accidentally."
"This is enough fresh air," Denova murmured to herself. "Though… I should've brought a shawl. Brilliant, absolutely brilliant."
Her voice was soft in the quiet night.
Prince Altheron heard it.
He stepped forward gently.
Denova startled slightly when she noticed him.
"Your Highness! I apologize if I'm standing somewhere I shouldn't. I only needed a moment outside."
He shook his head with a reassuring smile.
The kind that made his eyes soften.
"Not at all. I simply noticed you looked cold. If you don't mind…"
He removed his royal cloak and draped it around her shoulders.
Denova panicked.
"I—I can't possibly—Your Highness, I'm fine, truly—"
He gave a small laugh, effortlessly charming.
"Your hands are trembling. That's not 'fine,' Viscountess. It's winter, and you aren't dressed for cold air. Think of me as a gentleman offering warmth, nothing more."
His tone was gentle, teasing enough to ease her tension.
She exhaled and smiled, an actual, sincere smile.
"Then… thank you, Your Highness."
She looked up at the sky.
"The moon is beautiful tonight. It feels brighter somehow."
The prince didn't look up.
"It is," he murmured, watching her instead.
"You appreciate nature. If you ever have time, I'd like to show you the gardens at my palace. They're just as beautiful."
Denova blinked in surprise.
Patricia had warned her the prince was cold and emotionless, but this man was warm, easy, and comfortable to talk to.
"That would be lovely," she replied softly. "The duke's manor has wonderful gardens too, but… I'd like to see yours one day."
The prince smiled.
Unbeknownst to them, two figures watched from afar, the empress and Lady Seraphine.
Seraphine's face crumpled with hurt. Unable to stay any longer, she turned and rushed back to the ballroom, her heartbeat loud in her ears.
Inside the ballroom, Seraphine spotted the duke speaking with a nobleman. Her emotions spilled over her control. She marched straight toward him.
"Your Grace!" she blurted loudly. "I saw your partner...laughing with another man in the garden! She's shameless—"
The duke turned to her slowly, expression freezing over like winter spreading across glass.
"It is discourteous to interrupt," he said, voice sharp as a blade. "And even more discourteous to speak nonsense."
Seraphine shook her head desperately.
"It's true! She was flirting with some man in the garden! She's an orphan with no manners, she hides away, she's strange, how do you even know what kind of person she is? Duke believe-"
"Enough."
The word cracked through the air like thunder.
"You embarrass yourself," the duke said, eyes cold enough to burn.
"And you insult someone you do not know. Do you think I choose blindly? Last I checked, maturity includes knowing when to hold your tongue. I pity your father."
A chorus of gasps rippled through the ballroom.
Seraphine stood frozen in the center of the ballroom, eyes shining with raw humiliation. Her lips trembled, her breath unsteady. All she could feel was the sting of the duke's icy dismissal echoing through her bones.
The silence lasted only a heartbeat.
Then like a spark hitting dry leaves the entire royal ball exploded.
"Lady Seraphine is right! I saw that woman in the garden as well!" one noblewoman hissed.
"Nonsense," another snapped. "The viscountess was simply getting air. Are you all blind or jealous?"
"Jealous?" Seraphine choked out, voice shaking. "I spoke the truth! She-she was alone with the prince!"
"And what of it?" a lord retorted. "The duke allows her freedom. Unlike some people."
Seraphine flinched, her face twisting.
"How dare you!"
More voices rose.
"That ghost noblewoman appeared out of nowhere, who knows her intentions?"
"She carries herself better than half the noble daughters here!"
"The duke smiled at her! Smiled!"
"It must be witchcraft!"
"No, just grace, and something you clearly lack."
Gasps.
Shouts.
Accusations.
The ballroom, once elegant and pristine fractured into clusters of nobles arguing with the kind of venom usually reserved for war councils.
Seraphine's hands balled into fists.
"I was only trying to protect him," she cried, voice cracking. "I've known the duke for years!"
A baron laughed sharply.
"Known him, yes. But has he ever looked at you the way he looked at her?"
Seraphine's breath stuttered. Her face drained of color.
But it was enough.
Enough to unravel her pride.
Enough to twist the entire room into chaos.
All because of one woman who walked out of a carriage glowing like she belonged to the world, and one duke who for the first time in years allowed himself to soften.