The Grand Ballroom of Eichenwald Palace, shortly before the main characters’ entrance
The hall blazed with light and rang with the murmur of hundreds of voices. The air was thick with the mingled scents of expensive perfumes, melting wax, and raw anticipation. Through this glittering, seething crowd, the heirs of the most powerful houses moved like sleek predators circling in a coral reef made of crystal and silk.
Near the enormous marble champagne fountain stood three young men.
Kaito Tsubame
had already secured a flute of sparkling wine and was observing the room with a faint, amused smile.
Approaching him came
Ren Jinja
(“Temple”), heir to the duchy renowned for its ancient libraries and scholar-mages. Ren was dressed in severe charcoal-gray robes; his black hair was smoothed back impeccably, and instead of a glass he carried a small volume bound in dark velvet.
“Tsubame,” Ren greeted with a small nod, his gaze calm and piercing. “I see you’ve already claimed an observation post. Caught anything interesting in all this… clamor?”
“So far, only anticipation, Jinja,” Kaito replied, taking a leisurely sip. “All these powdered peacocks are chirping about the same three things: ‘miracle,’ ‘power,’ ‘broken engagement.’ No substance. I hope your learned colleagues sent you here with something more useful?”
“My ‘learned colleagues,’ as you call them, have not found a single scroll describing a being that matches the accounts of this ‘Keeper,’” Ren answered quietly. “Not in any Bestiarium Mystica. Either it is an extraordinarily ancient race we have forgotten… or something entirely new. In either case, her appearance is rewriting our textbooks on magic.”
“Oh, how romantic,” a third voice purred, sweet and mocking. It belonged to
Akira Hanasaku
(“Blooming Cherry”), heir to the wealthiest and most hedonistic duchy in the realm. He wore a blindingly white doublet embroidered with silver petals. “You two always go looking for complications. I, on the other hand, have heard she is simply dazzlingly beautiful. And rumor has it she spent the entire night alone with our dear Randel in the gardens last evening. Now
that
, gentlemen, is real magic, wouldn’t you agree?”
Kaito gave a short, derisive snort.
“Hanasaku, for you everything comes down to beauty and scandal. I’m waiting for her to demonstrate that famous ‘power.’ A casual wave of the hand, perhaps, and your beloved fountain freezes solid.”
“I would be most grateful,” Akira drawled, flicking open an ivory fan with languid grace. “This champagne is disgustingly warm. As for scandal… isn’t it delicious? Old Lord Linne must have suffered an apoplectic fit when he learned his precious daughter was discarded for some forest fairy. I would pay good money to see his face.”
“Do not underestimate the Linnes,” Ren said darkly. “Their steel and their wounded pride make a dangerous combination. This broken betrothal could ignite a war rather than a celebration.”
“War is so tedious and messy,” Akira sighed theatrically. “A new star at court, however… that is infinitely more entertaining. They say she wears a mask. What do you think, Kaito? Hiding scars? Or perhaps her beauty is so blinding that mere mortals risk blindness if they look upon her unprotected?”
“I think you read far too many romance novels, Hanasaku,” Kaito smirked. “More likely the mask is part of the performance. Pure mystification. Designed precisely so people like you will speculate and spread the tale across the entire continent.”
“And you feel no curiosity at all, Jinja?” Akira turned to Ren. “A creature straight out of legend, walking among us? Is that not the greatest enigma one could possibly imagine?”
Ren was silent for a moment, fingers tracing the spine of his book.
“Curiosity? Yes. But also apprehension. A power not described in any of our books, a power that obeys none of the known laws… that is an unpredictable variable. And as history teaches us, unpredictability is the mother of all catastrophes.”
“Oh—look!” Hikari, Kaito’s younger sister, touched her brother’s arm lightly. “Duke Taivin and Lady Roxana are stepping onto the gallery. That means… soon it will be them.”
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
All four of them, as if on cue, turned their heads toward the grand staircase. The light banter and mockery vanished in an instant, replaced by taut, electric expectation.
The performance was about to begin.
And each of these brilliant young nobles was already waiting for the perfect moment to study the new star rising on the political horizon — and to decide what role she might be persuaded, forced, or tempted to play in their own private games.
***
The Grand Ballroom, the banquet begins.
From the grand staircase descended Taivin and Roxana Eichenwald, moving with the effortless grace of royalty.
The Duke was clad in severe midnight velvet trimmed with silver; his posture radiated unshakable authority. Roxana, in a gown the color of a blood moon, a delicate diadem glimmering in her dark hair, looked every inch the living embodiment of cold, calculating beauty.
Taivin raised his massive crystal goblet. The murmur of the hall died instantly.
“Friends, allies, honored guests!” His voice, accustomed to commanding regiments, effortlessly filled every corner of the vast space. “We are gathered here tonight to celebrate the greatest miracle of our time — the return of my son and heir, Randel, from the very jaws of death! This evening is our thanks to fate and to the powers that have watched over our house! Let us drink to his health, and to the future of Eichenwald!”
Cheers and approving cries rang out; goblets lifted high. But the moment the formal toast concluded, the attention of the crowd began to wander again. Eyes drifted toward the doors, the galleries, searching for the two whose absence was more conspicuous than any presence: *the Heir* and *her*.
While most of the guests returned to gossip and superficial chatter, Roxana, like a master chess player, began to move across the board. She glided through the hall, her crimson lips curved in a perfect smile, while her mind worked at relentless speed.
She approached a small group where Hikari Tsubame was quietly listening to her new acquaintance,
Aoi Midori
(“Green Forest”), heiress to the forested duchy whose borders touched the Eternal Woods.
“Lady Hikari, Lady Aoi,” Roxana greeted them with a graceful nod, her voice sweet as honey. “I trust your journey was pleasant. Lady Aoi, I imagine the sight of our modest forests must have seemed rather… familiar to you.”
Aoi — a young woman with grave green eyes and simple yet costly robes of forest-green silk — answered with a slight bow.
“Your forests are full of power, Lady Roxana. Ancient… and awakened. One can feel it in the air. It is quite different from the woods of my own domain.”
Roxana caught the subtle implication at once.
“Awakened?” she repeated, tilting her head. “An interesting choice of word. Perhaps it is the echo of our guest’s presence. They say beings of magic can influence the world around them merely by existing.”
“Precisely,” Aoi replied, meeting Roxana’s gaze with sudden directness. “My rangers report unusual activity along the borders. The beasts have grown calmer. The ancient trees… it is as though they are stretching their shoulders after a long sleep. Such a power — one capable of soothing wild nature — is either the greatest blessing… or the gravest threat. Depending on whose hands wield it.”
“Oh, don’t be so grim, my dear!” Akira Hanasaku swept into the conversation, carrying two fresh flutes of sparkling wine. He offered one to Roxana with an exaggerated, theatrical bow. “In your beautiful hands, Lady Roxana, any power would become a blessing. And I must say, your sense of drama is positively inspiring. Where is your mysterious guest? And your brother? We are all *perishing* of curiosity!”
Roxana accepted the glass with a faint, knowing smile.
“All things in their proper time, Lord Akira. The heir is escorting our guest. I am certain they will appear when they deem the moment right. After all—” she paused deliberately, letting the words sink in “—when one *is* the living embodiment of power, one does not obey the schedule of banquets. One dictates it.”
At that moment Ren Jinja joined the circle, having watched everything silently from his earlier vantage point.
“Dictating schedules is one thing,” he said quietly. “Dictating new laws of magic is quite another. Lady Roxana, your family has taken on an enormous responsibility by sheltering… whoever she may be. I trust you are fully aware of the consequences.”
Roxana turned to him, and her gaze sharpened to a razor’s edge.
“We are always aware of consequences, Lord Ren. We understood them when northern nomads pressed us from one side and greedy neighbors from the other. Sometimes, to survive, it is not enough to study history. One must *make* it. Even if that means inviting the greatest enigma of the age into one’s home.”
Her words were a challenge laid bare.
Every person in the circle understood it instantly — dreamy Hikari, pragmatic Aoi, cynical Akira, scholarly Ren. The Eichenwalds had not merely accepted the Keeper. They had placed their highest wager on her.
Now it fell to everyone else to decide: join the game, watch from the sidelines, or try to flip the entire table.
And hanging in the air, unspoken yet louder than any toast, was the single most important question:
Where were the two for whom this whole extravagant evening had been orchestrated?
And what kind of force would finally step into view — a benevolent goddess, or an uncontrollable force of nature?
The banquet was in full swing.
But the true performance had not yet begun.