Chapter 84
As expected, Diane—who always thought Nerys was the cutest girl in the world—felt a deep sense of camaraderie in that moment.
Yes, I’ve made that same face! I know that feeling too! That look Nerys made when something unexpectedly delighted her, despite always acting like the smartest person in the room!
She always claimed she’d eat anything and never refused food, but whenever she got something she truly liked, she’d make that expression.
She tried to hide it, but if you watched closely, you’d see—she was definitely enjoying it. And that, Diane thought, was what made her adorable.
Affection like that usually came from a place of warmth. Diane called that warm affection “love.”
That same warmth she felt from her family. That kind of absolute pull that made even someone’s flaws feel precious and endearing—so much so you’d just find yourself gazing at them.
Diane felt relieved. There were limits to even the best kind of affection. And right now, that terrifyingly infamous duke had no reason to fake anything.
Bran whispered to Diane.
“Hold on. Student Council’s here.”
Sure enough, the music began to fade. Diane and Bran, along with the other dancing couples, stopped in place.
Princess Izet had just entered the ballroom with Valentin Elandria in tow, wearing a lavish silver gown. It exposed her shoulders like an imperial ceremonial dress, with a cinched waist and voluminous sleeves and skirt that rippled like waves.
The fabric shimmered faintly—likely woven with silver thread. Her ash-gray hair was braided and secured tightly at the back of her head. Her expression was solemn and dignified.
Now that the Crown Prince had graduated, Izet was the highest-ranking imperial present. According to imperial etiquette, only those with the rank of Highness or above could wear garments threaded with silver or gold.
Her regal attire and unflinching gaze commanded respect, revealing the full majesty of the Bistor royal family. Nobles stepped aside, clearing her path, bowing deeply with reverence.
Nerys, too, watched her stride confidently across the ballroom.
Those seated stood in accordance with custom, bowing as the princess passed. Since she was standing behind the tall Cledwyn, Nerys could glance freely at Izet—and at Valentin, who followed behind, glowing with satisfaction.
She’s probably thinking: “These are the people I’ll rule one day.”
Nerys could guess what was going through Valentin’s mind. As she aged, Valentin was beginning to resemble more and more the final, arrogant version of herself from Nerys’s past life. Which, of course, made sense.
But this time, things wouldn’t play out the same way.
Never.
* * *
Once the formal opening ceremony ended, the main event of the graduation ball—Part Two—began.
Most students who had come to the ball already had a partner lined up. The older the student, the clearer their social group, and the more likely they’d already paired off.
Even friend groups of three or four danced together in twos, forming pairs among themselves.
The ball alternated between slow and fast songs. The first official piece played was always a cotillion—a group dance performed in sets of four couples—but the order afterward followed no strict rules.
Slow dances were usually for romantic pairs, while faster songs were casual enough to dance to with friends. Diane joined Bran on the floor for the slow ones and returned to the table for the upbeat ones.
After a few songs, Diane tilted her head and asked,
“You two aren’t dancing? Still have that much to talk about?”
Though she said “you two,” her eyes were clearly on Nerys. Caught off guard, Nerys blinked—she hadn’t even realized how many songs had passed while she and Cledwyn chatted.
Their conversation hadn’t been particularly deep. Given how public their table was, most of it had been casual, everyday talk.
How things were going at the ducal castle. How certain people around Nerys were doing.
To outsiders, it might’ve seemed like idle chit-chat. But for them, those coded exchanges conveyed far more.
They were quietly, skillfully updating each other on the state of Maindulante and Elandria affairs.
“Hmm… dance?”
She could, since it was a ball… but she wasn’t especially interested. As Nerys frowned slightly, Cledwyn reached out his hand.
“You should dance at least once.”
“Well, sure.”
There was no real reason to refuse. Nerys took his hand and stood.
She’d noticed earlier, when stepping down from the carriage, but once again she felt how warm his hand was—noticeably so.
As the two stepped onto the dance floor, eyes followed them.
Zuuung, zung. The deep hum of a cello vibrated through the air, seizing every inch of the ballroom.
Cledwyn stepped lightly into the rhythm.
One hand on her shoulder, the other clasping her hand.
It was the standard posture for a formal dance, but Nerys couldn’t shake the feeling that they were far too close.
She knew it was a ridiculous thought.
Everyone else on the floor was dancing the same way. So why did it feel like there was an entire world between her and Cledwyn?
As if no one else existed.
One hand on the partner’s waist, the other holding their hand.
Cledwyn shifted naturally into the dance hold and gazed into Nerys’s eyes.
His eyes had grown darker in hue.
When he had her dress made, he’d chosen amethyst embellishments—thinking it was the stone closest to the color of her eyes. But seeing them now…
They weren’t like gemstones at all. Those wide, glistening eyes shifted in depth and hue with every glance, glowing like living jewels.
Different thoughts filled their heads, but their movements flowed together like water—graceful and flawless, as if painted in a perfect picture.
At the exact moment Nerys and Cledwyn glided through a turn, Alecto—who had just entered the dance floor—flushed with anger.
“Hey, Albert Lischem! Hold me properly. I almost fell!”
Albert, who had come to dance with Alecto at Megara’s request, was flustered. He had been following textbook posture.
“What did I do?”
“Just—whatever!”
Before Alecto could come up with another complaint, she saw Megara enter the floor, hand in hand with Colin, wearing a dazzling smile.
Seeing the direction Megara naturally moved in as she danced, Alecto gave a crooked grin. Albert was seriously contemplating how to politely excuse himself from the dance.
Shrrring! Shiiing! A high note from the violins rang out joyfully. All pairs on the floor spun in perfect time with the music.
Nerys and Cledwyn moved in flawless, elegant circles. The kind of motion taught in dance manuals, the ideal form and range—enough to leave onlookers spellbound.
But just before their arc was completed, it was shattered.
“Ah!”
Thud. Megara slammed hard into Cledwyn’s back and let out a small cry.
Both pairs—Cledwyn and Nerys, Megara and Colin—froze mid-dance.
“Ow… I’m so sorry, Your Grace,”
Megara whimpered, rubbing the arm that had collided with Cledwyn’s back. She looked up at him with glistening eyes, ready to cry.
Long, delicate lashes and dewy pupils. Seeing that up close, Nerys suddenly felt a chill. An old memory crept in.
The day Megara seduced Crown Prince Abelus had been the day Nerys married him.
During the wedding celebration, Abelus had only danced with Nerys once—and even then, he’d worn a sour expression. Megara had approached him boldly, despite Natasha watching them like a hawk. But in Nerys’s memory, the victor of that moment was indisputable.
And at the time, Megara had been engaged—to none other than the fool now standing dazed at her side, Colin Ganielo.
Everything overlapped. Only now, it wasn’t Abelus standing in that place—it was Cledwyn.
You again.
The words surged up to the back of Nerys’s throat. She didn’t even know what to call the emotion rising inside her. Anger was a given. But this—this was deeper. More violent.
And you… what will you say this time?
Nerys could hear, as if whispered again in her ear, every tender thing Abelus had said to Megara—while married to her. Right in front of her eyes.
– “You’re more beautiful than anyone, Maggie. I’m sorry, Maggie. It’s my fault I didn’t prove my love enough. I’ll do anything for you, Maggie. You’re my only true love. No one else matters.”
…She couldn’t breathe.
What would this man say?
Could she expect a different answer this time?
Then again—had anyone ever resisted Megara?
Nerys and Cledwyn weren’t even lovers bound by duty. So even if he did show interest in Megara now, Nerys had no right to interfere.
But the silence before his response dragged on far too long.
Something strange and overwhelming surged within Nerys, and she couldn’t even look at him.
Megara’s expression was pitiful enough to move any man with a working pair of eyes.
And yet—Cledwyn replied, utterly cold.
“All right.”
Not Are you okay? Not Is it serious? Not even the usual polite small talk of the noble society.
Just All right. As if Megara should be sorry. His tone was final, unwavering.
Without meaning to, Nerys looked up at him.
He wasn’t even looking at Megara anymore.
His gray eyes were on Nerys—and only Nerys.
“You look a bit pale. Were you startled? Maybe something sweet would help. Or should we go out for some fresh air?”
You’re the one who got hit—why are you worried about her? And in that voice?
Megara’s face twisted.
Ironically, it was Cledwyn’s eyes—gazing at her and her alone—that made it hardest for Nerys to breathe.
What was this feeling?
Something she had never experienced before.
It resembled sorrow, yet didn’t fit within that category. It wasn’t negative.
Her whole world—everything in it—was trembling.
She needed a moment before she could answer.
“…Let’s… get some air. That sounds good.”
Why.
Why did you…?
