CHAPTER 73: BANQUET

A week later, an official reception was held at the imperial palace to celebrate the victory of the Eidelman Empire.

The banquet hall was lit by thousands of candles and crystal chandeliers, reflecting off the marble floors and gold inlays on the walls. The air was filled with the scent of expensive perfumes mixed with the aroma of exquisite dishes and wine, and the music of the orchestra echoed throughout the spacious hall, creating a festive atmosphere.

As expected, when I arrived at the palace, the celebration was already in full swing. I took a deep breath before going inside.

Well, in the end, it was nothing special. I would just attend the event for a little while and then leave immediately. In fact, I had much more important things to do at home than attend such events.

I wasn’t here for fun; it was just a formality that I was forced to perform as one of the "loyal subjects" of this empire.

When I entered the hall, the servant at the entrance announced my name along with the other people who entered with me. His voice, amplified by the echo of the huge space, carried throughout the hall: "Lady Grace Weinstein, second daughter of the Weinstein family!"

As expected, as soon as my name was announced in the hall, a considerable number of eyes immediately turned to me. Heads turned as if I were an exotic exhibit in a museum, not just a guest.

Of course, these glances could hardly be called joyful at my arrival. Rather, they were filled with curiosity — the kind that borders on suspicion — or hidden hostility masked by polite smiles.

As I passed by the other guests, their reaction to me was quite restrained.

At least, I didn’t hear any insults or ridicule directed at me. No one whispered loudly or pointed fingers at me. Instead, people simply looked away or nodded with false politeness.

This difference in people’s reactions was quite noticeable compared to how things were three years ago.

Back then, many people didn’t even hide their true feelings toward me. They would mock and insult me directly, calling me a "fallen aristocrat" or a "lady of easy virtue."

However, given my reputation at the time, which was as bad as it could possibly be, this was not surprising. Now... of course, all these people could no longer openly belittle me.

One of the obvious reasons for this, of course, was my powerful patron, Duke Dickens, who played a significant role in this. His family, one of the most influential in the empire, had protected me like a shield from arrows for the past few years.

Since most people now knew that I was connected to this family, many of them were afraid to contradict me — not only to avoid offending me personally, but also to avoid getting into trouble with the duchy. Duke Dickens was clearly not someone to be angered.

So, it could be said that my public reputation had improved significantly in recent times.

People no longer treated me with open hostility, but neither did they treat me with sympathy. Rather, they had a neutral attitude, tinged with a hint of wariness, which did not bother me much. After all, I had never sought friendship among the aristocracy.

Well, in any case, when I entered the hall, I did not expect to find any interesting company in the form of noble dignitaries. I thought I would spend the evening mostly alone, watching the proceedings from the shadows.

Standing in an inconspicuous part of the banquet hall, while everyone around me was having fun and chatting animatedly — laughter mixed with toasts to the empire and the war hero — I just drank a glass of wine.

Since I didn’t have much else to do, I began to observe the guests attending the event.

The hall was full: ladies in dresses adorned with jewels, gentlemen in medals, diplomats from different countries wearing masks of politeness. And pretty quickly, my gaze fell on the main character of the evening.

Roger Dickens was on the opposite side of the banquet hall, but because of his scarlet hair, which attracted attention like a beacon in the night, I could recognize him even from here. Those fiery curls made him stand out in any crowd.

Nevertheless, I could hardly see the guy himself. He was surrounded by so many people — officers, nobles, admirers — that I could barely see even the top of his head. They crowded around him like moths to a flame.

Well, it’s no surprise that this guy was now basking in the limelight. After all, he was the celebrated hero of this war, his name on everyone’s lips.

I took another sip of wine, feeling its tart taste slide down my throat. I set the glass down on a passing footman’s tray and looked away, focusing on another part of the hall.

So, I thought I could just spend the evening alone with a glass of wine and then quietly slip away. However, after some time had passed — perhaps half an hour, while I watched the merry guests and listened to speeches about the greatness of the empire — my field of vision was suddenly blocked by three women.

They appeared out of nowhere, elegant in their silk dresses, with smiles that seemed too forced. Because they stood directly in front of me, I could no longer see Roger or the other guests.

I frowned, as I had no idea what they could want from me.

However, one of the women standing in the center — a tall blonde with a sharp gaze and a pearl necklace — soon smiled at me warmly:

"Lady Weinstein, what a pleasure to see you here tonight! We are so glad you could join the celebration."

I frowned even more involuntarily.

"Excuse me, but who are you...?"

"What? Don’t you remember me?" The woman, dressed in a brightly colored dress, pouted her lips in feigned offense. Her voice was sweet as honey but clearly fake. "We met six months ago at the anniversary celebration of the empire’s independence. Don’t you remember?"

Ah, right. The banquet in honor of the empire’s independence. It was one of those mandatory state holidays that I had to attend.

I had indeed been there six months ago, though not out of any great desire to do so. I remember that evening as an endless series of conversations about politics, which I found completely uninteresting.

And if I looked closely, this woman’s features also seemed familiar to me... of course, she was one of the few people who spoke to me back then.

"Madame Blanchett...?"

Her name involuntarily popped into my memory: Louise Blanchett, the wife of some minor official from the Ministry of Finance. She approached me with a glass of champagne and began chatting incessantly about fashion, the weather, and palace gossip.

"Yes, that’s right," the woman smiled satisfactorily. "Lady Weinstein, do you remember what a good time we had back then?"

"Um... maybe," I replied evasively.

If "a good time" meant that this woman talked incessantly and I was simply forced to listen to her, then perhaps it was.

In any case, we never met again after that event, and of course, I didn’t think about her either. I was surprised why this grateful lady approached me again today.

"Lady Weinstein, it’s so rare to see you at events like this," she continued, her voice becoming even more cloyingly insistent. "I’m really glad we were able to meet today."

"You wanted to meet me?" I frowned, feeling my suspicions grow. After all, this room was full of guests, so why me?

"Of course!" The aristocrat stretched her lips into a snow-white smile, revealing her perfect teeth. "Lady Weinstein, you know, the world of high society is quite complicated, so we should stick together to help each other. The more acquaintances you have, the better."

"So you want to help me in this way?" I asked, trying to keep my tone neutral.

"Of course. I believe that a noble lady of your status should have more acquaintances. Although, I suppose you don’t really have a problem with that..."

When the woman said this, a silly, contemptuous smile froze on her face.

Her two companions who were with her responded in kind. They exchanged glances, their eyes flashing with malice, like cats cornering a mouse.

I just sighed deeply, feeling my irritation gradually turning into anger.

Well, that’s what I meant when I said that people’s attitude toward me had changed. Instead of open aggression, it had now become passive, simply disguised as friendliness.

Three years ago, I was called a "fallen woman of the empire" to my face. Now it was all these hypocritical smiles and hints, which were probably no better.

Nevertheless, I decided to restrain my emotions and just smiled, responding to this woman in the same manner.

"Madam, you are right," I replied calmly, looking her straight in the eye. "If you really want to be friends with me, I think it would be easier for you to do so through your husband. Quentin Blanchett, right?"

After I said that, the woman’s eyes flashed with anger. Her smile faltered, turning into a grimace, and her cheeks flushed under a thick layer of powder.