The grand hall of the palace shimmered with the light of a hundred candles. Tables overflowed with exquisite dishes, and the guests wore smiles as sharp as daggers. It was a night of celebration — or, as Celestine knew well, of silent warfare.
The Duchess d'Arnoir entered with elegance.
She wore a gown of scarlet silk, embroidered with silver threads that gleamed beneath the torchlight. Her silver hair was styled in a delicate bun, adorned with a single black rose.
Every gaze turned toward her — some admiring, others full of disdain.
"Let the performance begin," she thought.
Lira, always at her side, leaned in and whispered:
— "Milady… the prince is here. And he seems… displeased."
Celestine's lips curved into a faint smile.
— "Perfect. Then I'll know where I stand."
---
⚜️ The Encounter
From a distance, Leonhardt watched.
He wore his ceremonial uniform, the navy-blue cape catching the glimmer of royal jewels. His icy blue eyes met hers — for just a second — but it was enough to send ripples through the air.
She walked toward him, holding his gaze.
— "Your Highness," she greeted calmly. "It seems a night worthy of a king."
— "I am not king yet, Duchess," he replied, his tone cold but measured. "And I'm not sure I should feel comfortable with your presence here."
Celestine tilted her head slightly.
— "Oh, but I came only to celebrate the peace of the empire… and to show that the House d'Arnoir is no enemy to anyone."
Leonhardt crossed his arms.
— "And yet, you remain the woman everyone fears."
She smiled faintly.
— "Perhaps because truth is far more frightening than lies."
For a moment, silence hung between them — as if her words had struck somewhere deep.
Emilia, standing nearby, watched with an unreadable expression. Not jealousy, not suspicion… but curiosity.
The tension was broken by a smooth, melodic voice.
— "My, my… what an interesting reunion."
Damien Corvus approached, wearing that calm, dangerous smile that seemed to feed on chaos.
— "Your Highness. Duchess. Allow me to propose a toast — to those who dare defy destiny."
He raised his glass. Celestine's eyes narrowed slightly, while Leonhardt's jaw tightened.
Damien continued:
— "Some say destiny is a prison. Others call it a choice. But I believe destiny is a game… and we are merely the pieces."
All eyes in the room were fixed on the trio. Every word spoken now could alter the balance of the court.
Celestine raised her own glass.
— "Then let us play, Lord Corvus. But remember — not every piece is willing to fall."
A wave of murmurs spread among the guests.
Leonhardt set down his glass, his gaze hard.
— "You truly fear nothing, do you, Celestine?"
She met his eyes, calm and unwavering.
— "Fear? I've already lost everything once. Fear is a luxury for those who still have something to lose."
For a brief moment, silence claimed the hall again.
Leonhardt looked away, troubled by the weight of her words.
---
🌑 Damien's Proposal
Later, when the banquet ended, Celestine stepped into the moonlit gardens. The cold air brushed her skin, carrying the scent of sleeping flowers.
But she wasn't alone.
As always, Damien emerged from the shadows.
— "You stole the night, Celestine," he said with a soft laugh. "But beware — the brighter you shine, the more dangerous the eyes that follow you."
— "Including yours, I suppose," she replied without turning.
— "More than anyone's." Damien stepped closer, his voice low and alluring. "There's something about you that doesn't belong to this world. A light that doesn't belong to this time."
She froze.
— "What do you mean by that?"
— "Merely an observation, my dear duchess," he said, his tone sweet as poison. "But if I were you… I wouldn't let the prince decide your fate. He may be the heir to the throne — but you could be the hand that moves it."
He extended a hand, revealing a silver ring that gleamed beneath the moonlight.
— "A partnership. Together, we could change this empire."
Celestine stared at the ring. Accepting it would mean dancing with danger — but refusing could mean standing alone in a deadly game.
— "I'll think about it," she said at last. "But don't forget, Damien — I am not your piece."
He smiled darkly.
— "Not yet."
As he disappeared into the night, a gust of wind swept through the garden, carrying away the black rose from her hair. It fell silently onto the marble floor.
Celestine looked up at the star-strewn sky, the weight of foreboding settling in her chest.
The night had ended… but as Damien had said, the true game was only beginning.