Once they had assumed their positions, Count Valrich tilted his head slightly, scrutinising her face with what looked like curiosity.

  “You seem unusually tense, my dy.”

  Estel avoided his gaze. Around them, the ballroom shimmered in soft candlelight and rustling silk, the orchestra guiding dozens of couples through the motions of a waltz that felt, to her, far too intimate.

  “…I’m not used to dancing with another man.”

  “Oh, is that so?” He gave an enigmatic chuckle. “Forgive my candour, but I’ve heard that the Crown Prince is no great dancer. I imagine the experience must have been quite the ordeal for you.”

  She remained quiet. Whether to defend Prince Adrien or concur with Valrich’s remark, she couldn’t decide fast enough—and the moment passed.

  “Please, allow me.”

  His hand found her waist with elegant ease—firm, but never forceful. As they glided across the polished floor, Estel followed his steps with mechanical precision, her mind gging behind her body.

  And then, just as the music dipped into a more intimate phrase, he leaned in—close enough to lower his voice beneath the swell of violins.

  “Are you aware of who the guest of honour is for tomorrow’s festival?”

  Estel stiffened, her gloved fingers tightening ever so slightly in his hand.

  “No,” she said at st. “I haven’t been informed.”

  “There’s a reason why the Margrave is keeping it a secret from you,” he whispered with a knowing look. “It’s the Second Prince.”

  Her steps faltered for the briefest moment before she masked it with a graceful pivot.

  “Prince Raphael?” she asked, keeping her voice even. “But His Highness rarely makes a public appearance, especially since Prince Adrien’s ascension. Why would he suddenly feel compelled to come all the way here?”

  “From what I’ve heard, the Crown Prince gave the order himself,” Count Valrich replied. “And if my sources are to be believed, Seraphina was the one who suggested it.”

  Estel’s stomach twisted.

  “Seraphina…”

  She bit her lip and exhaled slowly, forcing her thoughts into order.

  “Why would she do such a bizarre thing?”

  “Hmm, who knows?” He took a step back and spun her around. “Perhaps she needed the Second Prince away for a reason only beknown to herself. After all, with the Crown Prince mellowed and the King absent, it isn’t incorrect to say that the Second Prince is the sole figure left who can challenge her authority.”

  Estel mused over his words thoughtfully.

  “Be honest with me, Count. How many nobles truly support the engagement between Prince Adrien and Seraphina?’

  “That’s a difficult question to answer, my dy,” he said in a smooth, measured tone. “Not many are bold enough to risk their necks to speak out. I’m sure you are well aware that Lord Karolus is an unique exception, as with Lord Schaf.”

  He dropped his voice until it was barely more than a whisper. “But, with that said, the Crown Prince’s unusual behaviour around Seraphina has caught the attention of most nobles. There are fears being spread that he may be bewitched by the commoner girl. Either that, or he is going insane.”

  Though she kept her expression poised, her eyes narrowed. “Would you care to eborate about His Highness’ supposed insanity?”

  “I’ve heard a thing or two. Some say His Highness sometimes experiences bouts of memory loss after conversing with Miss Seraphina in private,” he revealed. “And during those times, he refuses to speak even when directly addressed—almost like a puppet without his master. Other rumours cim mysterious scars would appear on His Highness’ neck after spending the night together with Miss Seraphina, but His Highness has no knowledge of how he got them…”

  Estel suppressed the rising nausea. “Why hasn’t His Majesty said anything yet? Didn’t Prince Adrien say that Seraphina successfully treated the King?”

  “About that,” the Count muttered, pressing his lips into a thin line. “His Majesty is still confined to his chambers because he has not yet fully recovered from the side-effects of the potion, or at least…”

  The silence stretched—not long, but long enough to make Estel feel uneasy.

  “At least, that’s the official story,” he admitted at st. “It’s also the reason why Seraphina was able to convince the Church to select her as the new Saintess candidate. Once she obtains Lumina’s gift, she can use divine magic to improve her potion-making and cure the King completely.”

  “And what’s the unofficial story?” she prodded.

  Count Valrich offered a faint smile. “That His Majesty is already dead.”

  The warmth drained from her fingers, though her hand remained steady in his.

  “Personally, I don’t believe it myself,” he said. “I don’t think Seraphina is temerarious enough to cover up the death of the King—but a case of apoplexy, perchance. It would certainly expin why Seraphina is able to wield such great influence over His Highness, to the point where she can freely manipute his feelings.”

  “But do keep in mind, Lady Estel, that what I’ve said so far is purely conjecture,” Count Valrich added after a beat. “Something inexplicable is happening within the Crown Family, and everyone else is guarding their own interests in anticipation of a greater upheaval. It’s difficult even for me to ascertain the truth from fiction. I pray you exercise utmost caution when you meet with the Second Prince tomorrow.”

  “Count Valrich,” Estel said, hesitating, “why are you telling me all this?”

  The Count didn’t speak immediately. The final notes of the waltz drifted into silence, and with effortless grace, he guided her through the st sweeping turn, his hand firm and steady at her back.

  Then, as they came to a gentle stop near the edge of the ballroom floor, he slowly released her hand and offered a courteous bow.

  “Because the Second Prince is…” he murmured, more to himself than to her.

  When he straightened, there was the faintest hint of a smile on his lips. Not warm, not cold—just unreadable.

  “Because our interests align for now, Lady Estel. And I trust that you can bring Prince Raphael back to his senses.”

  “His senses…?”

  Before Estel could ask what he meant, a familiar voice broke in from the side.

  “Lady Estel! I finally found you!”

  Liselotte approached quickly, cradling a silver salver with two crystal goblets and a pte of delicate pastries. Her expression was bright, though tinged with nervous energy.

  “I brought the refreshments I promised! I’m so sorry it took a while—there was a queue, and then the steward spilled…well, never mind that. Here, Lady Estel, this is for you.”

  Estel blinked, momentarily thrown from the weight of the conversation.

  “Thank you, Lady Liselotte,” she said slowly, accepting one of the goblets with a steady hand. “Count Valrich, what do you…”

  She turned back towards the space beside her—but the Count was already gone.

  “M-my apologies, were you talking to the gentleman just now?” Liselotte asked, her brows knitting with concern.

  “Oh…no, it was nothing much.”

  She took a long sip of her drink, letting the coolness of the wine mask the unease still lingering in her chest. The orchestra began anew with a more spirited waltz, the music rising like a fresh tide of excitement as the crowd shifted in anticipation. A new dance. A new partner.

  Liselotte noticed him first. “Generalkapit?n, you’re back.”

  Estel tilted her head up to find Marcus standing a few steps away, his breath slightly uneven, a sheen of sweat glinting along his neck beneath the ballroom lights.

  “Lady Estel,” he began, offering his hand with a hesitant smile. “I sincerely apologise for my earlier discourtesy. Would you grant me this dance?”

  She gnced down at his hand—and for a fleeting moment, her fingers twitched with the instinct to accept. Yet, she found her gaze drifting past him instead, scanning the swirl of gowns and suits behind him.

  “Where did Alice go?” she asked, voice tight.

  “The witch?” He blinked, caught off guard. “She said she was going to retire to her chamber. Why?”

  “I…”

  Estel shook her head and drew back a step.

  “I’m sorry, Marcus. Please excuse me too, Lady Liselotte.”

  “W-wait, Estel—”

  “And,” she said, pausing mid-turn to gre back at him. “Don’t you dare call Alice a witch ever again.”

  Without waiting for the Captain’s reply, she turned on her heel and ran.