“Greetings, Your Highness.”

“Hello.“

“It’s been a while since the engagement ceremony, Your Grace. Have you been well?”

A soft, honeyed voice interrupted his thoughts, directed squarely at Ruben. It was Cleta Harpers, the eldest daughter of the Marquis of Harpers and a renowned socialite. Ruben snapped out of his reverie and returned her greeting.

“It has been a while, Lady Cleta.”

At that, Helia’s gaze turned toward them. Despite her sharp look, Cleta continued speaking undeterred.

“You’re still as elusive as ever, Your Grace.”

“My apologies for the lack of visits.“

“Not at all. I hope we see more of each other from now on.

Ruben immediately recognized the layered meaning behind her words. The Harpers family had recently declared their intent to join the revolutionaries. Cleta was undoubtedly aware, making her remark a subtle confirmation of her alignment with their cause.

Instead of a verbal response, Ruben gave her a simple nod. Smiling demurely, Cleta lifted her dress slightly to curtsy before moving on. Watching her retreat, Helia made no effort to lower her voice as she muttered.

“You seem to get along well.“

“Not particularly.“

“Oh, really? Anyone watching might think the two of you are rather close.”

Ruben endured Helia’s taunt silently this time. It didn’t offend him—if anything, he felt relieved she had no inkling of the truth.

This dense, foolish woman. Unaware that a blade was inching closer to her throat, she instead provoked her adversaries. Helia Bailey was the kind to invite ruin upon herself. It was hardly surprising; he’d long known this about her.

So why did it irritate him so much more today?

Just then, the string instruments ceased, replaced by the piercing sound of trumpets. Conversations halted, and all eyes turned in the same direction.

“Their Majesties, the King and Queen, are entering!”

With the steward’s booming announcement, Xeroth and his Queen, Esna, appeared side by side. The actual start of the Harvest Festival had arrived, and all attention was focused on them.

Xeroth ascended the platform slowly while Esna took her seat in the prepared chair behind him. The king looked uncharacteristically giddy, grinning like a mischievous child.

“I hope everyone considers it an honor to attend the largest Harvest Festival in the kingdom’s history!”

From the very first words, nonsense spilled from Xeroth’s mouth. Keeping his expression neutral, Ruben silently clicked his tongue. Indeed, many of the nobles present had similar thoughts—especially those forced to pay exorbitant taxes. Was this lack of tact hereditary, or simply the arrogance of someone who’d never needed to care about appearances? Ruben decided it wasn’t worth pondering.

The speech droned on, Xeroth boasting about the effort he’d poured into organizing the event. Unable to bear listening, Ruben chose to tune him out entirely. The self-congratulatory prattle was nothing more than noise.

When Ruben glanced at Helia, she appeared genuinely delighted, almost excited. He couldn’t fathom what pleased her so much. Perhaps it was her familial bond with Xeroth, but Ruben could never grasp such sentiments.

Finding discomfort wherever he looked, Ruben tilted his head back to stare at the ceiling. Yet even that proved unbearable—the chandeliers, adorned with an excess of crystals, sparkled so brightly they were blinding. Everything about the venue was overly extravagant, like a flame burning brightest just before extinguishing.

Meanwhile, Xeroth’s speech was nearing its conclusion. Holding a glass of champagne aloft, the king excitedly proclaimed, “Now, everyone, enjoy yourselves to the fullest!”

As the final words left his mouth, the music resumed this time with a lively waltz.

Attendees wasted no time inviting one another to dance. Ruben, however, remained rooted to his spot. As much as he wanted to leave, he couldn’t abandon Helia when he was supposed to escort her.

Moreover, hadn’t he resolved to fulfill his role as her fiancé without issue for just this one day? If nothing else, following through on his decisions was a core virtue of the Effenberg family.

With one hand clasped behind his back and the other placed over his chest, Ruben bowed respectfully toward Helia.

“Would you honor me with this dance?”

It was a straightforward invitation, devoid of flowery flattery like “dancing with you would be my greatest joy.“ If anything, it was quintessentially Ruben Effenberg.

For a moment, Helia thought absentmindedly, so this is how Ruben usually asks someone to dance. Was she now enjoying what others had taken for granted?

Contrary to her expectations of an immediate answer, Helia remained silent. Yet Ruben held his position, unwavering until her slightly husky voice finally broke through.

“Of course.”

When Ruben straightened, Helia looked even more thrilled than before. Silently, he extended his hand. Helia gently placed her own atop his, and Ruben, bending slightly, brought it to his lips for a soft kiss. Helia felt as though heat might erupt from her fingertips.

Ruben clasped her hand firmly to lead her onto the floor, and their hands fit perfectly. Hers was small and delicate compared to his.

It was strange. He had held this hand countless times in the past, and they had danced together as recently as a short while ago. Yet, inexplicably, he felt tense, like a boy holding a girl’s hand for the first time. His heart resonated as though it had been waiting for this very moment.

Nonsense. Ruben shook off his thoughts. His heart’s tension and unsteady beat were indeed because the person before him was dangerous. There was no other explanation he could accept for his body’s inexplicable reactions to her. He forced himself to repeat inwardly: Your fiancée is a royal family member. Helia Bailey is a cruel and vicious woman. Only then did the furious pounding in his chest subside to a more manageable rhythm.

Guiding Helia by the hand, Ruben led her to the hall’s center. Slowly, the two began to dance. The waltz performed by the orchestra was lively and ideally suited to the festive atmosphere of the evening. Helia followed his steps effortlessly, moving with a grace that seemed far smoother and closer to him than during their first dance.

Helia chuckled softly, a low, breathy sound that caused Ruben’s expression to twitch imperceptibly.

“Why are you laughing?“ he asked.

Helia gazed at him intently.

Do you really not know? Why I’m happy right now? Why I’m enjoying this? Why is my heart fluttering?

It’s simply because I’m here with you. Can’t you sense it? Can’t you feel how I’m holding onto you as if you’re my lifeline? Can’t you realize what it means to me that you asked me for the first dance of the ball? I’m clasping both your hands as though they’re my salvation, overwhelmed by the brilliance in your eyes that’s almost too bright to bear?

But these thoughts were words that could never be spoken aloud. Honesty? The idea was laughable. That was a virtue Helia Bailey could never afford to possess. Her life had been built upon lies and betrayal. That was her identity—her entirety.

Even knowing this, she couldn’t help but feel greedy. Was it because Ruben was so radiant? Was it because his unchanging light was simply too beautiful? If only that pure light could shine her way, might this foolish heart of hers find the strength to end this charade and step off the stage?

But the play had already begun, and she had to see her role through to its conclusion.

And so, in the end, all she could offer was a weak excuse.

“It’s just… because I’m enjoying myself,“ Helia said, smiling slowly and deliberately. She tilted her head slightly upward, lowered her eyes, and curled one corner of her lips higher than the other in a subtle smirk—a touch of arrogance befitting her persona as “Helia Bailey.“ That was all she could do.

Watching her, Ruben turned his head abruptly as though expecting that response. Still, even as he looked away, his attention was inexplicably drawn to her. Her gaze, her smile, and the delicate gestures of her hands consumed his thoughts. The warmth of her hand against his waist felt hot, and the way she leaned in ever so slightly left his body tense and taut. Ruben found himself baffled and uneasy at his physical response.

He closed his eyes tightly before opening them again, trying to reset his mind. Yet his focus repeatedly fell to their clasped hands, drawn as if by some invisible force. And as he continued to watch, he felt a strange weight settle in his chest.

It was odd. Why did the person standing so vividly before him feel like she might vanish? Like a piercing flame, her striking red hair seemed to waver, threatening to fade into the twilight. Her hand in his felt like it could crumble into dust, her golden eyes like the sun scattering into grains of sand. For a moment, he felt an impulse to tighten his grip, to hold her so close that she could never slip away. A desperate thirst rose within him—a craving to seize her, to run away with her right then and there.

“Ridiculous,“ Ruben muttered inwardly, shaking himself free from his thoughts. It had been an intense, almost overwhelming sensation, and he could not understand how such thoughts had crossed his mind, even fleetingly. She was right in front of him, her hand tangible and real. And even if she were to disappear, wouldn’t that be a relief? She was, after all, someone he should be thankful to see gone. Perhaps the dazzling chandeliers above had blinded him, muddling his judgment. With that thought, he firmly locked his wayward emotions away.

The waltz concluded with a lively finish. Ruben and Helia gracefully stepped apart, their hands releasing each other as they exchanged polite bows—Ruben with a hand over his chest, Helia lifting her skirt in a flawless curtsy.

“Thank you,“ Ruben said.