Ravon did not respond immediately when the princess called his name.
He simply stood there for a brief moment, his back still turned to her, as though weighing whether the interruption was worth his time.
Then, with the same composed indifference he carried into every room, he turned and began walking toward her without a word.
Princess Emily did not wait for him to speak.
She fell into step beside him almost instantly, her movements graceful but just a touch too eager, as though she had been waiting for this moment far longer than she would ever admit aloud.
They walked side by side through the palace corridor, the polished floors reflecting their figures as servants quietly moved out of their path.
Ravon's gaze remained forward.
Calm. Uninterested. Detached.
Beside him, however, Emily's thoughts were anything but composed.
She stole a glance at him, her fingers tightening slightly against the folds of her gown as a faint flush rose to her cheeks.
To anyone watching, she appeared poised and elegant.
But inside, her thoughts raced in a completely different direction.
He is walking with me.
The realization alone sent a quiet thrill through her chest.
Of all the people in the palace, Ravon was the one who never lingered, never entertained idle conversations, never allowed himself to be drawn into unnecessary company, and yet here he was, matching her pace and walking without any complaint.
She straightened subtly, her chin lifting just a fraction.
This is how it should be, she thought, a small, satisfied smile threatening to form. Walking beside him… being seen beside him...and be always with him… this is only natural.
Her eyes softened as she looked at him again, this time more openly.
If only he would look at her.
If only he would say something first.
But Ravon did not.
His silence stretched between them, not awkward, not strained, but firm and impenetrable, like a wall that refused to yield.
Emily swallowed her anticipation and guided them toward a quieter section of the palace, one reserved for private conversations. When they reached a small sitting area near a tall arched window, she finally stopped.
"Please," she said gently, gesturing toward the chairs. "Sit."
Ravon complied without hesitation, taking his seat with measured ease.
Emily followed, lowering herself gracefully into the chair opposite him.
A servant approached immediately, placing a small table between them with a pot of tea and two delicate cups before retreating just as quietly.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Emily reached for the teapot, her hands steady despite the tension beneath her calm expression, and poured tea into both cups.
"I wished to speak with you about the royal ball," she began, her tone soft but carefully controlled.
Ravon inclined his head slightly.
"Go on."
Emily pushed one of the cups toward him.
"This year's ball will be… different," she said, choosing her words with care. "With delegates from the north and other regions attending, it will be more than a celebration. It will be a statement."
Ravon's fingers rested lightly against the edge of the table.
"I am aware."
Emily smiled faintly.
"Then you also understand the importance of appearances."
His gaze remained steady.
"I do."
She took a slow breath.
"And so," she continued, her voice lowering just slightly, "I would like you to be my dance partner for the evening."
The words hung between them.
For a brief moment, there was silence.
Emily watched him closely, her heart tightening in quiet anticipation.
Then Ravon spoke.
"I already have a partner."
The response was immediate.
Flat. Final.
Emily blinked.
Her eye lids going "blink" "blink".
For a second, she thought she had misheard him.
"…What?" she asked softly.
"I have already chosen someone," Ravon repeated calmly.
The faint color in her cheeks drained almost instantly.
"That is not possible," she said, her composure slipping just enough to reveal the sharp edge beneath. "You have not been seen with anyone." or what did she miss?.....she thought quickly.
Ravon did not respond.
Emily leaned forward slightly, her eyes narrowing.
"Who is she?"
Silence.
Her fingers tightened around her cup.
"You expect me to believe that you, of all people, have suddenly decided to attend the royal ball with an unknown woman?" she pressed, her voice rising just a fraction.
Ravon's gaze did not waver.
"I do not owe you an explanation."
The words struck harder than any insult.
Emily's expression hardened.
"You would refuse me?" she asked, her voice quieter now but far more dangerous. "You understand what that implies, do you not?"
Ravon rose to his feet.
"If there is nothing else," he said calmly, "I will take my leave."
Emily stood abruptly as well, her chair scraping lightly against the floor.
"If you disappoint me," she said, her voice trembling with restrained anger, "you will regret it."
Ravon did not react.
He turned and walked away without another word.
The moment he disappeared from sight, the fragile composure Emily had maintained shattered completely.
Her hand shot out, grabbing the teacup from the table.
And in the next instant,
She hurled it to the ground.
The porcelain shattered violently, fragments scattering across the polished floor as the remaining tea spilled outward in a dark stain.
Her chest rose and fell sharply.
"How dare he," she whispered, her voice shaking with fury. "How dare he refuse me…"
Her lady-in-waiting rushed forward immediately, bowing her head deeply.
"Your Highness...."
Emily turned sharply toward her, her eyes blazing.
"Was I not clear?" she demanded, her voice cutting through the air like a blade. "Was I not supposed to be the one he chooses?"
The lady-in-waiting lowered herself further, her posture trembling.
"What would Your Highness have me do?" she asked carefully.
Emily's lips pressed into a thin line.
"Find her," she said coldly. "Whoever she is, whatever she is, I want to know everything."
The lady-in-waiting nodded quickly.
"Yes, Your Highness."
"Every detail," Emily added, her voice dropping into something quieter, more dangerous. "I want nothing hidden from me."
"It will be done."
With that, the lady-in-waiting withdrew.
Emily remained standing in the empty room, her gaze fixed on the shattered porcelain at her feet.
Her fingers curled slowly into a fist.
"No one refuses me," she whispered.
...
Back at the estate, the late afternoon had settled into a quiet calm.
Neria hovered near the dining hall, her thoughts still tangled with fear and confusion.
Her hand....
No, what remained of it....
was worse.
The fading had spread further up her wrist, the edges of her form flickering faintly as though she were barely holding herself together.
"I do not understand what is happening to me," she murmured, her voice unsteady.
And yet, despite everything, her attention snapped toward the entrance the moment she felt a familiar presence return.
Ravon.
Relief flickered through her.
"You are back," she said instinctively, drifting toward him. "You did not die in that cursed forest."
The words left her before she could stop them, and she paused, shaking her head slightly.
"Not that I thought you would," she added quickly. "You seem… annoyingly hard to kill."
Servants moved quickly as he entered, bowing as they prepared the evening meal.
Neria hovered nearby, watching him carefully.
Her fear had not faded.
If anything, it had deepened.
But so had something else.
Curiosity.
Ravon stepped into the dining room and paused.
"The table," he said calmly.
The servants straightened immediately.
"Yes, my lord?"
"Prepare it for two."
The room fell silent for a brief moment.
Neria blinked.
"…Two?"
The servants exchanged quick glances but did not question him.
"Yes, my lord."
They moved swiftly, adjusting the arrangement, placing an additional setting across from his usual seat.
Neria watched the entire process with growing confusion.
"Who is coming?" she asked, drifting closer to the table. "Do you have guests now? Did I miss something?"
He neither acknowledged her question nor spared her a glance, as though the confusion lingering in her voice did not exist at all, and instead he simply turned away from the table with the same quiet composure and began walking out of the dining hall.
Neria blinked in mild irritation and drifted after him without hesitation,.....well he couldn't hear her, her fading form trailing behind him like a restless shadow that refused to be dismissed.
"Are you seriously not going to hint me?" she asked, folding her arms as she floated alongside him. "You say prepare a table for two and then just walk away like that? Who does that?"
Ravon continued down the corridor, his steps measured and unhurried, completely unaffected by her presence or her voice.
Neria narrowed her eyes.
"Fine," she muttered. "Be mysterious. I did not expect anything less from you at this point."
He entered his private chambers without pause.
Neria followed through the door out of habit, only to freeze almost immediately when she realized where he was heading.
"…Wait," she said slowly.
Ravon had already begun removing his outer coat, his movements precise and effortless as he set it aside.
Neria's eyes widened.
"Oh no."
She spun around instantly, facing the wall with exaggerated urgency.
"No, no, no, I am not doing this again," she said quickly, waving her hands in front of her face despite the fact that they barely held form anymore. "I have standards. I may be a ghost, but I still have standards."
Behind her, she could hear the faint rustle of fabric and the quiet sound of water being drawn.
Her face heated instinctively.
"This is inappropriate," she continued, her voice rising slightly as she floated closer to the wall. "You should have at least warned me. Not that you can hear me, but still, basic decency exists."
She squeezed her eyes shut tightly.
"I am not looking. I am absolutely not looking."
A brief pause followed.
Then, despite herself....
"…Okay, maybe just a quick....no."
She shook her head firmly.
"Self-control, Neria. You are better than this."
Time passed slowly, filled only with the faint echo of water and the quiet stillness of the room.
For once, she remained exactly where she was, facing away, resisting the urge to turn around even out of curiosity.
Eventually, the sounds faded.
Ravon stepped back into the main chamber, fully dressed once again, his expression as calm and unreadable as ever, as though nothing of significance had occurred.
Neria let out a quiet breath of relief and turned back cautiously.
"Good," she said, nodding to herself. "Dignity preserved."
He walked past her without a glance and returned to the dining hall.
The table had been set as instructed.
Two plates.
Two sets of cutlery.
Two glasses.
Everything perfectly arranged.
Neria hovered near the opposite seat, her confusion returning immediately.
"You are really committing to this, aren't you?" she said, tilting her head. "I still do not know who you are expecting, but I hope they appreciate the effort because I definitely would."
Ravon took his seat.
The servants stepped forward, placing the meal before him before quietly withdrawing once more, leaving the room in silence.
He picked up his fork.
Neria drifted closer, leaning slightly over the table as she examined the food with interest.
"I still cannot eat," she muttered, her voice softer now, tinged with frustration. "Which is honestly unfair, because that looks really good."
Her gaze dropped to her hand again.
Or what remained of it.
The fading had crept further.
Her fingers flickered weakly, unstable, as though they could disappear entirely at any moment.
Her expression dimmed.
"I am disappearing," she said quietly, more to herself than anyone else. "And I do not even know why."
She looked back up at him.
"You would not happen to know anything about that, would you?" she added absentmindedly. "You seem like the type who knows strange things."
Ravon continued eating.
Slow. Controlled. Silent.
Neria sighed and rested her chin in her palm....or what passed for it.
"You know, for someone who lives in a house full of secrets, you are really bad at sharing information," she continued, her tone slipping back into something more familiar. "At least pretend to be helpful."
She leaned back slightly, watching him with a mixture of curiosity and frustration.
"I mean, look at you. You torture witches in underground chambers, lie to the king, walk into cursed forests like it is a casual stroll, and now you are setting dinner for an invisible guest you are not even acknowledging."
She tilted her head.
"Honestly, if I were alive, I would think you were insane."
The words lingered in the air.
Ravon's hand stopped.
The fork hovered just above the plate.
For a brief second, the room fell completely still.
Neria blinked.
"…Did you just...."
The fork lowered.
And then....
He dropped it.
The soft clink against the plate echoed louder than it should have.
Neria froze.
Slowly..
Deliberately...
Ravon lifted his gaze.
And looked directly at her.
Not past her.
Not through her.
At her.
The air shifted.
Neria's entire form flickered violently, her already unstable presence trembling as shock crashed through her.
Her thoughts scattered.
Her voice caught in her throat.
His eyes held hers with a cold, unwavering intensity that made it impossible to look away.
Every instinct in her screamed that something had just changed.
Something irreversible.
Ravon's expression did not soften.
If anything, it grew sharper.
More defined.
More real.
And then he spoke.
"Keep quiet," he said, his voice low and firm, carrying a quiet authority that left no room for argument. "And eat, if you are hungry."
The words struck her like a physical force.
Neria's eyes widened, her entire being going completely still as the meaning settled in.
He could hear her?
He could see her?
He had always.....
Her thoughts stopped completely.
And for the first time since her death....
Neria was dumbstrucked.