Azael exhaled slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing. Arista turned to him, one brow raised.
"You didn't need to step in," he said quietly. Though he said that, in truth he was relieved that this woman came. If not then Azael might have gotten more and more annoyed by that man.
"Didn't I?" She crossed her arms. "You were holding your own. I'll give you that. But Cedric's not worth your breath. He's all bark. He always does things like this."
"And you're sure I'll be at the Academy?" Azael asked, a hint of amusement in his voice.
Arista's gaze softened, just for a moment. "You're an Ignivar. You don't get to hide forever." She paused, then added, "Besides, I want to see what you're made of now."
Before he could reply, she walked away, her gown trailing like fire. Azael watched her go, his eyes focused on her swaying hips while his mind spun. The Academy. Three months. A chance to prove himself or crash spectacularly. It was a new challenge for him.
'There are many attractive ladies present here tonight.' He thought while observing the hall.
He looked at Arista. Despite not showing it affectionately, they did think of him as family, even if a little distant.
He glanced at the drink table, then at the crowd. Aeliana was watching from across the hall, her red eyes unreadable. She gave a slight nod, before turning back to her conversation.
Azael picked up his wine glass again, the liquid catching the light like blood. Three months, he thought. Enough time to break this body… or remake it. He felt a little excited about the Academy.
Maybe he could meet more beautiful women who did not belong to his family, so he could enjoy his time with them.
As he took a sip, a faint tremor ran through his hand.
The confrontation with Cedric had been a sharp injection of reality. It reminded Azael that in this world, reputation was important, and his reputaion was too much bad.
He was too weak. In his past world, Ethan was someone who did whatever he wanted. Here, Azael couldn't act like that. Not until he became strong like before.
He finished the wine, the smooth crimson liquid doing little to calm the tremor of resolve still running through his veins.
Three months. Eternum Academy. The words settled in his mind, replacing the lingering image of the Bleeding Hollow.
The orchestra struck up a new piece, a waltz, its rhythm filling the hall. Couples gracefully swept across the marble floor.
Azael watched the dancers for a moment. He didn't know why, but a strange, faint memory stirred within him. A shadow of movement, the echo of steps his current body somehow knew.
Body memory, he mused. The original Azael was weak, but he was a noble. He must have learned the basic steps, even if he never had the confidence to use them.
He needed to test it. Not just his physical stamina, but this strange, involuntary knowledge residing in his body. And he needed to choose a partner.
His gaze swept over the Ignivar women. Duchess Aeliana was still surrounded by a formidable circle of nobles, her expression too cold and distant for such a request. Liana was laughing with a group of young gentlemen, her natural mischief making her a bright.
But Arista, she stood near the balcony railing, observing the floor with an air of detached elegance. Azael couldn't help but get memorize by her beauty.
He continued to stared at her for a while.
Despite her sharp nature, she was the most casually accessible of the three. And, more importantly, a dance with the celebrated heir would instantly solidify his presence in the room, defying Cedric's mockery.
Well he was using Cedric as an excused. In truth He just wanted to dance with her.
Taking a deep breath, Azael straightened his spine and walked toward her.
Arista noticed him approaching immediately. Her crimson gown flared slightly as she turned, her violet eyes sharp and assessing, watching his steady, purposeful advance. A flicker of curiosity appeared in her usual composure.
He stopped directly in front of her, managing a polite, practiced smile that felt foreign on his face. He executed a slight, respectful bow. A movement the warrior Ethan should never have known, yet Azael's body performed flawlessly.
'Am doing it right? Well I hope so.' He thought.
He extended his hand, palm up, toward her.
"Lady Arista," he said, his voice calm and clear, cutting through the hall's noise. "Would you grant your little brother this dance?"
The air around them stilled. Arista's composure finally fractured, giving way to a shocked expression. Her lips parted slightly, her eyes widening just as Aeliana's had when he called her "Mother."
Azael waited patiently. He knew this was unprecedented. The old Azael wouldn't have dared.
She looked around the hall, noting the curious glances that were already turning into stares. Rejecting him publicly would not only embarrass Azael, but also the Ignivar name she worked so hard to uphold.
She let out a soft, almost inaudible sigh. A surrender. Indicating she don't mind dacing with him.
A genuine smirk, sharp and sudden, curved her lips. She placed her hand lightly in his. "You truly are full of surprises tonight, little brother. Lead the way."
Together, they walked onto the crowded dance floor. Azael gently placed his free hand on her back, resting just above the small, sharp dip of her waistline. Her hand settled on his shoulder.
'Oh God! She's really beautiful.' Azael looked at her face carefully for the first time.
Her violet amethyst eyes. Just like their father. Her silk yet fiery red hairs. Her tanned skin or say olive skin tone only enhanced her beauty.
The music swelled, and they began to move.
For the first few moments, Azael felt himself relying entirely on body memory. His feet knew the count, his posture was perfect, his lead firm. It was automatic, like breathing.
But then, the dance took over.
Arista was moving beautifully; she was flowing. She was strong, confident, and utterly graceful. She held the control, her movements dictating the pace and intimacy of the dance.
Azael found himself being smoothly pulled into her orbit, their bodies moving closer than was necessary for the formality of the dance. Which he didn't mind at all. Rather he was enjoying it.