Chapter 7.2

“This year’s New Year’s ball is especially magnificent, Your Highness.”

“It’s said all of this was organized under your authority, Princess.”

As Esha entered the grand ballroom, nobles rushed forward, eager to greet her.

When Portia had been alive, these nobles hadn’t spared Esha so much as a glance, but now that Portia was gone and Esha stood as the sole surviving royal aside from the Emperor, they were eager to forge ties with her. Better late than never.

“Oh, and this must be Prince Johannes.”

“He’s grown so much since we last saw him at the engagement ceremony.”

“He’s already every bit the gentleman now.”

The nobles’ gazes drifted to Johan, standing quietly at Esha’s side.

He inclined his head in a stiff, silent bow, his face expressionless. But Esha could tell from the tension in his posture that he was nervous.

“You there, wait a moment.”

She stopped a passing servant carrying a tray and took a slice of cake, handing it to Johan along with a fork.

“Oh my, how thoughtful. You truly must’ve inherited His Majesty’s warm temperament, Princess.”

Warm temperament? Esha nearly laughed aloud at the absurdity, biting her tongue to hold back her scoff.

“By the way,” said a noble, “did you see the article in this week’s paper? About the dispute over Combatpool Harbor?”

At the mention of the port, Esha’s eyes flicked to Johan.

Combatpool Harbor had originally belonged to Atlan before it was seized by Elendor in the Conquest War. Recently, it had fallen partially under the control of a large pirate fleet.

The dispute lay between those who argued that Atlan should take responsibility for reclaiming the harbor—since it had been theirs to begin with—and those who believed the burden fell on Elendor, as they had been the ones to take it.

The former were mostly citizens of Elendor; the latter, of Atlan.

“Of course it’s Atlan’s responsibility,” barked the Countess of Padrone. “Where do you think those pirates came from? They’re Atlanians.”

Her husband had recently invested heavily in maritime trade using Combatpool Harbor, only to suffer devastating losses after the pirate attacks.

“I heard most of them were exiles from Atlan.”

“And what of it? Blood never lies.”

The nobles’ conversation began to grow more heated.

All around, their voices agreed that Atlanians were ignorant, and their royal family corrupt. At times, the nobles seemed to forget entirely that Johan was the prince of that very nation.

Johan quietly prodded the corner of his cake with his fork. He had no appetite for it.

Part of him longed to escape this room that very instant but the reason he stayed was the steady, cautious weight of Esha’s hand holding his.

Just as she prepared to step in and squash the heated exchange, someone shouted in Atlanian.

{Johan!}

A young lady in a yellow dress began to approach from across the room.

She looked to be about Johan’s age, with freckles scattered across the bridge of her nose and eyes round and bright like glass beads.

A few seconds later, Johan’s eyes widened, recognition settling into his expression.

“Ah, forgive me, Your Highness,” she said in flawless Elendorian, bowing to Esha.

She was the daughter of the Duchess of Iris, who had once been the close friend of Bianca, Johan’s mother. Before Johan had come to Elendor, they had often played together at the royal palace as childhood companions.

A flicker of warmth crossed Johan’s gaze.

“…Daphne.”

The nobles, who had moments ago been speaking ill of Atlan, fell silent, watching the two of them with piqued interest.

Esha raised a brow, studying Daphne.

She thought she remembered Johan had mentioned it before.

An older friend that he had by three years, someone who had been at his side since they were very young. She was also one of the few nobles of Atlan whom Edmund had invited to the New Year’s celebration.

‘So the Duchess of Iris truly has taken ill, and the daughter came in her place.’

When Esha said nothing, the others began to watch her, waiting for a reaction.

But she let Johan go without protest.

After all, Duchess Iris was among the high-ranking nobles Edmund had instructed her to treat with special care. And, more than that, Esha still felt the sting of guilt from having coldly refused Johan’s request to return to his homeland.

But hours later, that choice would come back to fill her with fury.

Esha’s corset was drawn painfully tight, so she was leaning against a wall to catch her breath, when an unfamiliar girl approached her.

“Um, Your Highness, I think you should come to the balcony…”

Esha frowned at the younger lady, and a sense of dread came over her.

She crossed the ballroom, making her way toward the balconies, her steps carrying her almost unconsciously to the farthest one.

She was soon out of breath, whether from the corset or the anxiety, she couldn’t tell.

The wine-colored balcony door stood slightly ajar, letting the cool night air seep in. Esha stood against the door, peeking one eye through the narrow gap.

There, two figures stood locked in an embrace, as if performing some intimate scene from a play.

Over the woman’s shoulder, she saw it. An all-too-familiar head of black hair.