CHAPTER 51: CHAPTER 51

The ballroom of the Velebrandt estate shimmered like a dream pulled from the pages of an ancient fairytale. Golden chandeliers bathed the hall in soft light, casting prismatic gleams across polished marble floors and the sparkling glasses of guests. Elegant figures twirled in rhythm—older noble couples reminiscing their youth in measured waltzes, while younger nobles in their twenties spun their chosen partners with proud, sweeping grace.

And among them, a pair stood out.

Lucien Caelum Velebrandt, heir of the Western Gate, danced in the soft embrace of melody with Eléa Fionelle Astermere, the light-pink-haired daughter of an S-Rank guildmaster. Her carefully braided hair glistened faintly under the ballroom’s enchantments, and her yellow eyes shimmered like summer stars.

Lucien, tall and striking, with a presence that had stolen the breath of every guest earlier that evening, now moved in modest tension. His back was straight, posture impeccable—yet his steps were slightly off beat. His heel caught the rhythm a breath too late, his turns a fraction too stiff. For anyone else, it would go unnoticed. But not for the girl who danced so close.

Astermere tilted her head up, noticing the subtle dissonance.

"You’re rather... earnest with your steps," she said with a teasing lilt, eyes glittering with restrained mirth.

Lucien, caught off-guard, flushed faintly. His usually cool gray and red eyes flickered down at her. "Forgive me," he murmured, his voice soft, formal. "I’m afraid I spent far more time with a blade than a ballroom tutor. General Knight Rex isn’t the type to offer dance lessons."

Astermere giggled, a high, lilting sound that melted into the music like an added harmony. "I figured as much. You carry yourself like a knight, not a prince." She raised an eyebrow, stepping closer. "And yet... it suits you. Still, if you keep fumbling like this, I might start to think I should lead instead."

Lucien blinked. "Lead?" he repeated, caught between surprise and curiosity.

With sudden confidence that surprised even herself, Astermere gave a tiny smirk. "Yes, lead. I am the older one here."

Lucien nearly tripped.

He blinked at her, face puzzled, as if his brain was processing the claim in delayed fragments. "You’re older...?"

Before he could clarify, Astermere had already taken his hand more firmly and pulled him with the fluid confidence of someone far more practiced on the floor. Lucien adjusted himself instinctively, the embarrassment replaced by fascination.

"I’ll teach you," she whispered, stepping with gentle force. "Watch my feet. Don’t think too hard. Just... follow me."

The roles reversed, and Lucien let her lead. He allowed his instincts to take over—not the instincts of battle or swordsmanship, but of trust. As they moved together, their synchronization improved. The awkwardness in Lucien’s steps dissolved slowly, replaced by the ease of a learner under good guidance.

"You’re surprisingly quick at adapting," she said as they turned.

"I have a good teacher," Lucien replied sincerely.

Their hands met with quiet familiarity, her fingers resting over his. Her touch was neither cold nor warm—it felt like calm, like the feeling of being understood without needing words.

As they danced, the world faded into softened colors. The music swelled around them, rich with violin-like strings and runic chimes from mana-fueled instruments. The clink of heels, the shuffle of capes, and the soft laughs of reminiscing nobles turned into the backdrop of a moment meant for two.

"You know," Astermere murmured, keeping her voice just between them, "you don’t have to try so hard to be perfect."

Lucien turned his head slightly, eyes focused.

"Everyone here wants something from you," she continued. "But I think... I think it’s enough to just be who you are."

Lucien said nothing for a moment. Then, slowly, a smile touched the corner of his lips.

"I’m still figuring that part out," he replied honestly.

They twirled one final time, her braid lifting like a ribbon in motion, their reflections dancing over the polished floor beneath their feet. As the music tapered off into a soft diminuendo, the world around them slowly came back into focus.

Lucien took a breath and bowed.

"Thank you for the lesson," he said.

Astermere curtsied in return. "You passed. Barely."

She chuckled.

Lucien, cheeks warming once again, looked away and nodded slightly. "Thank you for teaching me, Lady Astermere," he said with sincerity, dipping his head in a rare but sincere gesture of gratitude.

Astermere chuckled softly and returned the nod with a ladylike tilt of her head. Her expression softened, and it seemed as though she was about to leave him alone to return to her own space.

But then Lucien’s voice, quiet yet curious, caught her mid-step. "Earlier... Did I mishear when you said you were older than me?"

She turned slightly, one hand poised on her hip, and gave him a faint smile. "No, young Lord Velebrandt. You didn’t mishear. I’m twenty-six years old."

For a heartbeat, Lucien’s crimson and silver eyes widened, though he recovered quickly, concealing his surprise behind the noble mask he had been raised to wear. "You truly look incredibly young for someone of that age," he replied, his voice honest but composed.

Astermere giggled behind a gloved hand. "You’re funny. And charming." She offered him a subtle bow, one graceful and rich in courtly elegance. "Now if you’ll excuse me, I do believe I need a drink."

She turned, her soft pink braids swaying behind her as she disappeared into the crowd, leaving Lucien alone near the edge of the ballroom. A curious thought brewed in the back of his mind, trying to piece together why a woman twice his age would interact with such subtle intimacy. He shook his head slightly.

"What... was that about?" he murmured under his breath.

Before the thought could root itself deeper, a presence approached him. A girl with wavy blue hair cascading to her shoulders stopped just a few steps in front of him. Her eyes, a pale icy blue, flicked up to meet his gaze before quickly darting away again, as if flustered.

"L-Lord Velebrandt," she said, bowing in perfect form. "Would you honor me with a dance?"

She asked it formally, hands clasped demurely in front of her dress, but the faint pink hue dusting her cheeks betrayed her nerves.

Lucien, trained in courtesy despite his preference for solitude, offered a slight bow in return. "Of course, Lady...?"

"Seralyn Kaldmere," she whispered quickly.

"Lady Kaldmere," Lucien repeated, offering his hand with practiced grace.

As their fingers touched, the girl stole a glance at his face, and then quickly looked away again, as though afraid of getting lost in his mismatched eyes.

The two glided onto the floor once more. This time, Lucien’s steps were smoother, his shoulders less tense. Though his movements still lacked polish, the confidence in his posture had grown.

"You’ve improved since your last dance," Seralyn said softly, her voice barely rising above the music.

Lucien gave a soft laugh, his eyes narrowing gently in amusement. "I had a patient teacher."

At the edge of the ballroom, near the refreshment tables, stood a group of older men. One of them, a portly noble with a finely embroidered vest and a meticulously waxed mustache, nudged another with his elbow.

"That’s my daughter there. Seralyn. Lovely form, isn’t it? Polished manners. And she had the courage to ask Lord Velebrandt herself. That’s breeding."

Another noble scoffed, a tall man with a hawkish nose and dark gloves. "Courage, perhaps. But she lacks the charm of my Althea. You wait. Lucien will remember her."

"Althea? Please," said a third, shaking his head. "She couldn’t even maintain eye contact during dinner."

The first noble’s face turned slightly red. "Are you questioning my parenting?"

"Only your delusions, Hugo," the second replied with a smirk.

The whispered argument simmered between them, each man defending the virtues of their daughters while trying not to make a scene. Several of them began subtly gesturing toward their respective daughters, urging them on with slight nods or flicks of the hand.

Back on the floor, Lucien danced politely, answering Seralyn’s nervous questions with grace:

"Lord Velebrandt, do you... already have someone you admire?"

Lucien tilted his head slightly, considering. "Admire? There are many I respect."

She flushed, quickly retreating from her own question. "I-I meant more like... someone you think of when you’re alone?"

Lucien paused, unsure how to answer. "Not particularly. But perhaps I simply haven’t met such a person yet."

The girl smiled at that, clearly encouraged.

"Uhmm, your mismatch eyes are... very striking," she said after a moment. "Like two moons, glowing brightly in the sky."

Lucien blinked, then gave a faint chuckle. "Thank you. You’re very poetic."

Time past the music gently began to slow, signaling the end of the current dance. Lucien released her hands and offered a short bow. "You were a wonderful partner, Lady Kaldmere."

"Thank you, Lord Velebrandt!" she said a little too loudly before blushing once again and stepping back into the crowd.

Lucien, with his glass of juice once more in hand, retreated to a quieter corner, gazing at the shifting currents of nobles, whispers, and unspoken ambitions swirling around him.