Finally, Eri and I managed to settle at one of the tables, grateful to be released from the flurry of introductions Cece had orchestrated for her first official tea party. It was rare to see her so fully in her element—gliding from group to group, mingling with noble girls as though she were born to command the space. And in many ways, she was.

  There was something magnetic about the way Cece moved—confident yet never overbearing, exuding a quiet grace that clearly mirrored Aunt Regine. With every word she spoke and every elegant step she took, she made it abundantly clear: she wasn’t just attending this tea party—she was hosting it.

  My eyes naturally followed her as she wove through the tea garden. She had promised to join us shortly, with Ofelia still trailing dutifully behind her. But my attention remained fixed on Cece.

  Her dress bloomed with the vibrancy of a painted garden—a sleeveless, flowing gown yered in soft ivory chiffon, adorned with vivid floral prints in shades of coral pink, lic, and bursts of verdant green.

  Delicate butterflies and blossoms were embroidered along the skirt and bodice, as if nature had lovingly kissed every inch of the fabric. The front overy parted like petals in motion, revealing a gauzy white underskirt that swayed with every step, giving her the illusion of gliding through a meadow in full bloom. From behind, the embroidered pattern continued seamlessly, the colors fading gently toward the hem like sunlight slipping into dusk. The silhouette cinched around her waist in a fttering cross-wrap just beneath the bust, enhancing her natural poise and elegance.

  Her bright red hair was styled in cascading waves, half pulled back into a rose-shaped braided bun—soft yet sculpted. Nestled among the braids and curls were crystal petals that shimmered in the light like dewdrops. Each step sent them twinkling softly, as if fairy lights had woven themselves into her hair.

  A pair of delicate morning glory earrings brushed against her neck, and her gloves—ce-trimmed and translucent—mirrored the lic undertone of her gown.

  She carried only one accessory: her signature lic mini half-moon clutch, adorned with mini enamel butterflies that positioned aesthetically as if they were ready to take flight at any moment, and it was finished with gold hardware and a braided handle—an elegant touch that tied the entire look together.

  On her feet were dainty ankle-strap heels in soft ivory—the leather smooth and subtly glossy, catching the light with every graceful step. A single pearl button fastened each strap, while floral embossments curled along the sides like a secret flourish, echoing the blossoms in her gown and the garden in her hair.

  “Cece is really in her element,” Eri said suddenly, voicing the very thought that had just crossed my mind. The two of us trailed her with our eyes, watching as she moved gracefully from one group to the next.

  “True,” I nodded. “It’s amazing how she’s managing such a big event like this so effortlessly.”

  I was still trying to wrap my head around how a simple tea party had attracted so much attention—when Eri leaned in again, lowering her voice even further.

  “I overheard Aunt Regine talking to Mommy,” Eri leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Apparently, when word got out that Cece would be hosting her first official tea party, tons of noble families with daughters started asking if they could attend.”

  “Really?” My eyes widened.

  “Mm-hmm. Aunt Regine said some were personally invited, but others practically tried to buy their way in,” she added, her tone both amused and scandalized.

  I blinked. Wait, is this tea party really that big of a deal?

  Eri, clearly sensing my surprise, continued in a low voice, “Want to hear something even more shocking? Mommy said it’s because the tea party is happening on the same day as the Sword Tournament—where the First Prince is going to appear.” She gave a small shrug, waving over a nearby attendant. “I don’t really get what that means… or care enough to find out,” she said breezily. “Anyway, let’s get some cold tea and snacks.”

  As the attendants moved with practiced grace, we were served a beautiful arrangement of snacks and tea. At the Bourdelle Estate, even something as simple as pouring tea felt like a performance. I watched in fascination as they presented the cold-brewed tea with elegant precision, followed by delicate trays of pastries pced before each guest with care.

  I noticed something curious—my pte held a slice of fruit cake topped with just a tiny touch of cream, while Eri had been given her favorite: a generous serving of rich chocote cake. My eyes flicked up to the attendant, who responded with nothing more than a polite, knowing smile.

  Did Cece request this? Or maybe Aunt Regine? Lately, my mother had finally allowed me to enjoy sweets again—but only if they were on the “healthier” side. And by the looks of this fruit cake, someone had clearly paid attention to that rule. The level of detail in this tea party was honestly astonishing, down to the very cakes we were served.

  Once the table was set and the attendants took a step back, Eri and I began to nibble on our treats.

  “So, what else did you hear?” I asked casually, lifting my teacup.

  Eri tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Hmm... let’s see…”

  Then her eyes sparkled mischievously. “Oh—this one’s good, but we need to be careful.” She leaned in a little, gncing left and right to make sure no one was within earshot.

  I gave a solemn nod, setting my teacup down and inching closer across the table.

  She mirrored the movement, her voice dropping to the tiniest whisper. “Apparently, the Empress is pnning an official event at the royal pace… and she’s going to invite young dies too.”

  “Ohh…” I breathed, just a soft gasp, but I shot Eri a look—wide-eyed, sharp, knowing.

  She gave me a small nod in return, the corners of her mouth twitching upward. Exactly, her expression seemed to say.

  Cece’s tea party had become the hottest ticket of the season. It just so happened to fall on the same day as the Sword Tournament—an event the First Prince himself was rumored to attend—and suddenly, noble families were tripping over themselves to secure an invitation.

  And now, as if drawn by the scent of blooming roses, the Empress had announced her own soiree at the royal pace. A gathering exclusively for young noble dies.

  I couldn’t help it—I let out a quiet ugh.

  All of this, born from Cece’s little whim. Her wish for a “dreamy, fated encounter,” spun with ribbons and rose petals, had somehow bloomed into something far more… consequential. What began as harmless fantasy now rippled with undertones of political ambition. The nobility had seized the moment, draping it in expectations and specution.

  This was no longer just a tea party. It had become a stage.

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