Chapter 8.2

A young man approached the sisters.

“It’s been a while, Miss Rensier.”

“Good evening, Mr. Julsen.”

He was the nephew of Lady Julsen, a friend of Rosaline’s mother.

Recognizing him, Rosaline extended her hand. As he bent to kiss the back of her hand, he gestured toward Aria.

“And this is…?”

“My sister, Aria Rensier.”

“A pleasure to meet you. I’m Philip Julsen.”

Aria simply stared at him, blankly. Rosaline raised her fan to cover her mouth, whispering low enough that no one else would hear.

“Sister, you’re supposed to offer your hand.”

Only then did Aria extend her hand to him. When Philip kissed the back of it, Rosaline noticed the slight twitch in her sister’s brow.

That brought back a memory. Her own first official banquet.

In the Empire, nobles over the age of sixteen are announced by their own names when entering the ballroom.

Before that, it’s always the name of a parent or guardian, such as “Rosaline Rensier, daughter of Chémel Rensier.”

That day had been the first time Rosaline was introduced by her name alone.

And once a woman is presented by her own name, any man is free to ask her for a dance, unless she’s already married or engaged.

When Rosaline had just turned sixteen, countless men extended their hands to her.

“Miss Rosaline Rensier, may I have this dance?”

Every one of them had been a stranger.

Under normal circumstances, her chaperone or her mother would have intervened, politely declining on her behalf. But after Aria had fallen ill, the Countess had withdrawn entirely from high society.

And Lady Julsen, the woman the Countess had entrusted her daughter to, was too busy chatting with someone else.

In the end, it had been Synox who rescued her, pulling her away from where she’d fled to the wall in an attempt to escape the barrage of dance requests.

“I’ve been told that, at your first ball after turning sixteen, you’re not allowed to leave unless you’ve danced at least once.”

It was true, but Synox was the kind of man who didn’t have to concern himself with such formalities.

He was the heir to the Tower. A mage.

No one dared speak to him of etiquette.

The fact that a man who rarely even replied to invitations had shown up at that ball at all, it had been an extraordinary coincidence.

But for Rosaline, that coincidence had become a stroke of luck.

And even now, she hadn’t been able to forget that night. The heat that seeped through their gloves when he took her hand, the sculpted lines of his face as he looked down at her. That ocean-deep gaze, dark and blue like the twilight tide. It had haunted her dreams more than once.

It was then that Aria leaned in and whispered to her sister.

“Must I always greet men like that?”

She must have waited for Philip to step away to fetch drinks before asking.

It was a question nearly identical to one Rosaline herself had once wondered as a child. She smiled quietly. She took Aria’s hand, the one that had dropped her fan at some point, and gently helped her open it again.

“First, when you speak privately like this, cover your mouth.”

“Oh– right.”

“And offering your hand is standard etiquette… but if you stay by Mother’s side, you can avoid it most of the time.”

Unlike the first banquet Rosaline had ever attended, tonight their mother was present. She was serving as Aria’s chaperone.

Rosaline glanced around the ballroom to find her. Thankfully, the Countess wasn’t far off.

She led Aria toward her.

“Mother, could you stay by Aria’s side?”

“Oh, of course. Naturally.”

The Countess winked.

“Don’t worry about us. Go enjoy yourself with your friends.”

Rosaline returned her mother’s cheerful smile.

“Yes.”

The Countess had no idea that her younger daughter didn’t have anyone close enough to be called a friend.

It wasn’t that Rosaline lacked opportunities to make friends.

“I heard your sister’s been ill? You must’ve gone through a lot. No wonder you’re so mature, Miss Rensier.”

But Rosaline couldn’t bring herself to form friendships by enduring comments like that.

Even if others saw her as rude for it, it simply wasn’t possible.

“Miss Rensier, you’re so… sensitive.”

As she recalled a remark Lady Julsen had once made, Rosaline turned to slip toward the edge of the room, only to spot a familiar face.

Alec had noticed her too. He politely excused himself from those around him and walked over.

“I didn’t expect to see you here tonight, Miss Rensier.”

“I came with my sister.”

Truthfully, if Aria hadn’t attended, Rosaline wouldn’t have come at all.

“It’s her first official banquet.”

“I see.”

Alec glanced briefly toward Aria and Countess Rensier, then returned his gaze to Rosaline.

Just then, someone else recognized Alec and approached the two.

“Sir Alec, it’s been too long.”

Imperial mages were all granted knighthood by default, and it seemed Alec was addressed as “Sir” within the palace as well.

“My apologies, excuse me for a moment.”

Alec gave Rosaline a nod before turning to greet the man.

“Good evening, Baron Rendol. You’re looking well as always.”

“And you, Sir Alec. Your presence grows more distinguished every time I see you.”

He turned to Rosaline.

“And this is…?”

“Miss Rosaline Rensier.”

“A pleasure to meet you.”

The man, Baron Rendol, apparently, extended his hand to her without hesitation.

“You must be the younger Miss Rensier. This is the first time I’ve had the honor of seeing you up close. You’re even more beautiful than I imagined.”

Rosaline’s expression stiffened slightly.

Compliments on her looks never sat well with her, even though she knew such praise was practically a currency in society.

It was exhausting having to return the same compliment to someone who picked apart her features just to find something nice to say. And even if their gaze started out warm, she hated how easily it could turn into a blade, dissecting her flaws the moment something between them went wrong.

To survive in high society, one had to learn to enjoy even that, but Rosaline never could.

“Thank you.”

Baron Rendol seemed caught off guard by her flat response but didn’t comment on it.

Just then, whispers stirred from the direction of the entrance.

“Oh my, what’s he doing at an event like this?”

“It’s been ages since I last saw him.”

Baron Rendol also turned his gaze that way.

“Isn’t that Lord Aphlenta?”

Synox is here?

Rosaline’s head whipped toward the source of the commotion.

And to her surprise, it really was Synox.

He was scanning the ballroom as if looking for someone, and then, his gaze found hers.
His ice-blue eyes and her violet ones met from across the room.

It had to be a coincidence, and yet, they couldn’t look away from each other.

The glittering lights of the ballroom shimmered like enchantments, as if summoned by magic.

In that moment, Alec gently tugged at Rosaline’s hand.

“Shall we slip out while we have the chance?”

The spell broke, fractured by that quiet suggestion.

Rosaline turned away from the piercing blue gaze that had been fixed on her. She thought she could still feel that chill, like cold water brushing the nape of her neck and ankles, but taking a step wasn’t hard.

Because while every light in the room shone on Synox, where she stood was shrouded in shadow.

With her back to the man who never looked away, Rosaline walked out of the ballroom.