The carriage with the Darava sigil caught every gaze on the road. The capital was flourishing — banners flying, flowers blooming — after all, the royal Lunar Ball would be held in a week.
But peace never lasts. Once the so-called heroine Eliza receives the "blessing of the moon," the real chaos begins. The royal banquet? A joke. It should be renamed to "Who's the Most Powerful Young Heir in the Capital." What a show.
"Son?"
Ah, shit.
My gracious mother sits across from me, glowing like the forest goddess she is, while my mind's busy narrating political drama.
Honestly, for now, the prettiest woman I've seen is Lady Geisel — my mother. Green hair that shimmers like leaves under sunlight, soft pastel eyes that used to be mine before the red tint of Darava's blood crept in.
I remember reading about her and Father — Lady Geisel of Drucken and Lord Lancel of Darava — their love story was practically front-page gossip material.
Two of the five great dukedoms entangled in romance? Of course it caused a storm.
She coughed delicately, bringing me back to reality.
"Sorry, Mother, I was…"
"Are you worried?"
"Worried?"
"Because Lady Moonheart will be trying her dress today with us?"
What?!
"Pardon?"
"Argos didn't tell you?"
My eyebrow twitched. "N-No."
Of course. The one girl Yurio — the old Yurio — was obsessed with. The one who also happens to have my damn pendant.
"You'll have to face her sooner or later. Better now than at the ball. Make peace among the nobles, Yurio."
"Yes, Mother. I understand."
"Good. I hope you mean that."
"Certainly."
I do understand, though. The noble factions is a mess right now — all thanks to Crown Prince Fenris Emberheart choosing a baron's illegitimate daughter over every high-ranking lady in the capital. And to make things worse, the Duke's heir — me — was also hopelessly infatuated with the same girl. No wonder the capital's boiling.
The carriage jolted to a stop, and I nearly cursed out loud. Damn these ancient suspensions — my 32-year-old spine - oh - 16 year old. But still!! Can't handle this!
Meanwhile, Lady Geisel sits untouched, elegant as a portrait.
We arrive at Flora Boutique — the most prominent in the capital. Getting an appointment here is like catching a fairy with your bare hands, but of course, for the Daravas, it's just Tuesday.
The staff bow deeply as we enter. The owner herself, Madam Ariel, greets us.
"My, my! Lady Geisel, it's such a pleasure to have you again!"
"It's been too long, Ariel."
Ah, they're close. Figures.
Soon, a sea of catalogues floods the table — every suit Mother had chosen over the week.
Let me just say this: Mother really picked a lot. Enough to suffocate a dragon in silk.
But damn… she has taste.
The past Yurio might've been obsessed with drama, but at least he knew fashion. Low-cut necks, backless silks, chokers in satin — my heaven. Past me would've looked ridiculous in them, but this me? I'd look cunty.
The blood of Darava demands confidence, not modesty. So I chose something that screamed fresh air and defiance — a white, loose low V-cut silk shirt, black pants stitched with red ruby embroidery, and a sheer coat that shimmered black and crimson under the light. My hair tied loosely in a front ponytail, letting the breeze flirt with my neck.
Mother gasped — and I swear she nearly clapped. Even the staff blushed.
"Yurio… you look just as handsome as your father in these," she said softly.
I smirked. Finally, someone gets it.
(Though I seriously doubt Father ever wore something this scandalous.)
"Would you like to see some jewellery to match, young master?" Madam Ariel offered.
"Yes, please."
As I stepped inside the jewellery room, I heard the familiar sound of commotion. My gut told me exactly who it was. A little peek through the door.
Eliza Moonheart. The illegitimate daughter of Baron Moonheart — pale skin, pastel pink hair, violet eyes. The capital's so-called beauty. Twenty one, newly debuted, beloved by every noble gossip column.
And flanked by the Fenris Emberheart — the Great Wolf himself. Silver-grey hair, sharp green eyes, and enough arrogance to light the whole capital on fire. Twenty one years old, all muscle and menace.
And circling them like a damn shadow — Zinac Camazotz. A 19 year old 'Assassin-turned-heir' of the Camazotz Dukedom, raven-black hair, red eyes, and the aura of a flying rat. His family deals with death; I can smell it.
Together, they tower around Eliza like overprotective walls.
And there I stand, 5'7 and painfully aware of how short I must look next to those two trees.
Mother's too busy picking jewellery to notice the incoming royal circus.
But they did notice us.