In the 379th year of the Empire, at the end of Frostmoon, the Imperial Capital Sacrifice welcomed the first light snowfall of winter. Glittering snowflakes, like feathers shaken loose by angels, silently adorned the grand heart of the Empire. Yet more striking than the season's first snow was the Duke Windsor's Mansion atop the city's highest point, Velvet Hill. Tonight, its lights blazed like a sea of stars fallen to earth. A grand celebration that had drawn the attention of the Empire's entire upper crust was underway: Miss Elisa Von Windsor's eighteenth-birthday Coming-of-Age Ceremony.
The enormous black iron gates, gilded with gold, had long stood open. Along the drive, lined with deep red carpet, Windsor family guards in immaculate new uniforms stood at attention, their expressions stern. Lavish carriages emblazoned with the crests of the great families, guided by well-trained servants, flowed slowly into the estate like a silent, splendid river. When the doors opened, out stepped the Empire's most powerful figures: generals in uniforms laden with medals, Great Mages whose sleeves were embroidered with mysterious runes, jeweled noblewomen, and the young heirs who would decide the Empire's future. The air mingled the fragrance of expensive perfumes with the crisp chill after the snowfall—and with the invisible, suffocating scent of power.
The carriage from Count Strauss's Mansion was not the most eye-catching in the procession, but when Leon stepped out, somewhat stiffly, under the icy gaze of Aunt Margaret, he still drew plenty of glances, both open and covert. Those looks were like tangible needles, pricking him with scrutiny, curiosity, contempt, and perhaps even a hint of schadenfreude. He wore a dark blue velvet suit tailored especially for the occasion, its collar and cuffs embroidered with the silver bear crest of Hohenzollern. It lent some color to his naturally pale face, but the unmistakable tension and unease in his eyes still gave him away.
"Stand up straight, Leon." Aunt Margaret's voice came from beside him. It was quiet, yet carried unquestionable authority. "Remember who you are. Tonight, you represent more than just yourself."
Leon drew a deep breath of the icy air and forced himself to wear the slightly arrogant smile he had practiced countless times, doing his best to look like a "normal" young nobleman rather than a prisoner on his way to the gallows. He followed close behind his aunt as they entered the main hall of Windsor Manor, a place that looked more like a palace.
Even to Leon, with his modern memories, the sight inside the main hall was staggering. The murals across the nearly ten-meter-high domed ceiling depicted the creation myth, and an enormous crystal chandelier refracted the light into countless dazzling showers. The air was filled with the lilting strains of the orchestra, the bright clink of silverware, and the hum of a thousand people talking in low voices, like a swarm of bees. Silks rustled, glasses clinked, and the Empire's power and wealth were on full display.
As soon as Aunt Margaret appeared, several prominent figures came over to exchange greetings. Leon was drawn into the conversation and subjected to an assortment of ambiguous greetings and appraising looks.
"So this is young Master Leon of the Hohenzollern family? Quite the handsome young man." An old nobleman with a head of silver hair and a Soros Family falcon crest smiled as he spoke, though there was no warmth in his shrewd eyes.
"Countess Margaret, your nephew is one of tonight's highlights, isn't he?" A noblewoman wearing the scales crest of the Minister of Justice's Grey Family hid her mouth behind her fan. A trace of teasing colored her voice.
Leon could only nod mechanically, smile, and repeat the same empty pleasantries until his facial muscles felt ready to seize up. From the corner of his eye, he kept scanning the hall, searching for a familiar face while watching out for trouble—like Eleanor Soros's murderous glare or Victor Windsor's cold appraisal.
At last, in the center of the crowd, he spotted the Windsor family's inner circle, surrounded by well-wishers. Old Duke Windsor, Albert, was absent, but the couples William Windsor and Charles Windsor were both there. Victor Windsor stood behind his parents in a crisply tailored knight's uniform, like a guardian deity, his keen eyes sweeping the hall. When he saw Leon, his expression turned noticeably colder. And Elisa...
Elisa had yet to make her formal entrance. According to custom, she would be presented to all the guests by her father, Charles Windsor, when the banquet reached its climax.
Time dragged by torturously. Leon felt like a display piece in a shop window, subjected to the scrutiny and judgment of all kinds of people. He saw the oily-haired second son of Marquis Metternich—the one he had clashed with—laughing and chatting with a group of young wastrels, their gazes fixed on him with undisguised malice. He also saw William, the eldest son of Marquis Gilbert, renowned for his sternness. William gave him only a slight nod before turning his attention elsewhere. And then—good heavens—even the reclusive Eldest Princess Elinor Augustus had come! She sat in a specially reserved lounge with several duchesses, elegantly sipping tea. Yet Leon could sense her seemingly casual gaze occasionally passing over him, like a hawk sizing up its prey.
Just as Leon was about to buckle under the invisible pressure, the orchestra abruptly changed its tune, shifting from gentle courtly music to a solemn, expectant processional. The hall's lights dimmed slightly as well, drawing everyone's attention to the top of the grand curved staircase leading to the inner hall.
The conversation gradually died away. A ceremonial hush fell over the hall.
The head of the Windsor family, William Windsor, walked slowly to the top of the stairs. Beside him were the parents of tonight's true star, Charles Windsor and Marjorie Windsor. Charles wore formal marquis's attire, his expression solemn, with a trace of barely concealed excitement. Lady Marjorie wore a lavish silver-white gown, her eyes slightly reddened as she clung to her husband's arm.
William Windsor cleared his throat and spoke in a clear voice imbued with magic, carrying throughout the hall. "Honored guests, thank you for joining us tonight to witness an important and joyous occasion for the Windsor family. Now, please welcome my niece, tonight's star—Elisa Von Windsor!"
Every gaze, every expectation, every trace of curiosity focused on the staircase above.
The first thing to appear was a pair of fair, delicate ankles in crystal high heels. Then the moon-white hem of a gown flowed into view like spilling moonlight. At last, Elisa appeared at the top of the stairs.
For an instant, it seemed the entire hall drew a silent breath.
She wore an evening gown woven from moonlight spider silk by the Empire's finest tailor. Intricate constellations and curling vines, embroidered in fine silver thread and pale purple Magic Crystals, shimmered with a soft, mysterious glow beneath the lights. Her long Moonlight Silver hair was simply gathered at the back of her head with a purple crystal tiara. A few loose strands fell beside her cheeks, making her already cool, peerless beauty seem even less mortal. She wore little jewelry, only a delicate necklace of teardrop-shaped moonstones at her slender throat, its glow complementing her amethyst eyes.
Her chin slightly raised, she calmly surveyed the dark mass of people below. There was no shyness or nervousness in her expression, only an innate, icy composure and distance. She descended the deep red-carpeted stairs one step at a time, as graceful as a moon goddess stepping out of myth. Her father, Charles Windsor, held out his arm, and she lightly took it. Father and daughter entered the center of the hall beneath the gaze of the crowd.
Applause surged like a tide, mingled with sincere praise and complicated murmurs.
"Absolutely beautiful..."
"Truly the Windsor family's pearl!"
"Her bearing... simply incredible."
"Too bad she has to marry..." The rest was too faint to hear, but its meaning was unmistakable.
Standing at the edge of the crowd, Leon watched the radiant young woman, his heart pounding beyond his control. Elisa was breathtakingly beautiful, yet seemed impossibly far away. He looked down at the velvet box in his hand containing the "Starlight Sapphire" brooch. For the first time, he understood with perfect clarity the gulf between himself and this stage, between himself and this young woman.
Speeches, well-wishes, the opening dance... One by one, the formalities proceeded. Elisa was like a perfect work of art, responding gracefully to every guest who came to congratulate her. Her manners were flawless, but that icy distance remained. By custom, her father, Charles Windsor, led the opening dance. As father and daughter danced across the center of the ballroom, the scene was touching and heartwarming.
Leon knew his turn would come soon. As her "fiancé," he was expected to ask Elisa for the second dance and present her with a Coming-of-Age Ceremony gift in front of everyone once the music ended. This would be the greatest test of the night.
His palms began to sweat, and he could almost hear his heart pounding like a drum. He instinctively reached for the bracelet in his pocket, hoping for a moment of cool comfort, but found nothing. Tonight, he had been forced to take off that "ornament."
The music gradually drew to a close. Charles Windsor courteously escorted his daughter to the edge of the dance floor. Countless gazes, charged with every kind of emotion, instantly converged on Leon.
It was his turn.
Leon took a deep breath. Under Aunt Margaret's silent gaze, he forced his leaden legs to move and walked step by step toward his fiancée, cool as an iceberg beneath the brilliant lights. The whole hall's attention locked onto him like a spotlight. A "performance" that would decide his dignity, his family's honor, and perhaps even his future was about to begin. Could Leon von Hohenzollern, the Empire's greatest joke, make it through the night? The answer lay in every step he took, every expression he wore, and every word he spoke from here on. At the heart of the storm, silence reigned—but the suffocating tension was already in the air.
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