The first dance's final notes faded away. Charles Windsor gallantly kissed the back of his daughter's hand and led her to the edge of the dance floor. Applause rose once more, warm and sustained, for the striking father and daughter. Yet it seemed to signal the close of a prologue. At once, every gaze turned toward the figure who had remained rigidly at the edge of the crowd, as if a pack of well-trained hounds had caught a scent—Leon von Hohenzollern. Their curiosity and anticipation were impossible to hide.
What was coming had been inevitable.
Leon felt as if his blood had frozen in that instant, leaving his limbs cold. The hall was warm as spring, yet he felt as though he were standing in an ice cellar. Aunt Margaret's icy gaze pricked his back like a needle, silently urging him on. He knew he had to take this step.
He drew a deep breath. The air seemed full of needles, stabbing at his lungs. He forced his leaden legs to move and pasted on a smile he had practiced countless times, though it still looked stiff and insincere. Then he walked toward the figure at the center of the dance floor, as though she had been formed from moonlight.
Every step felt like treading on the edge of a blade. He could hear his heart pounding wildly in his chest, almost hard enough to break through his ribs. The whispers and meaningful glances around him were like countless magnifying glasses, enlarging every tiny hint of awkwardness until it was impossible to miss.
"Look, he's going over..."
"Hmph. He can barely walk straight."
"I wonder if Miss Windsor will embarrass him?"
"This should be entertaining..."
The voices buzzed around Leon like flies, making him dizzy. At last, he reached Eliza. He was so close that he could clearly see the delicate embroidery of stars on her gown and smell the familiar, cool fragrance about her—a scent that only made him more nervous now.
He stopped and, following the etiquette he remembered, bowed slightly and held out his right hand. Summoning all his strength to keep his voice from shaking, he said, "Miss Eliza, I wonder if I might have the honor of asking you for the next dance?"
Eliza raised her amethyst eyes and looked at him, perfectly calm. There was no dislike in her gaze, no expectation, not even the faintest ripple of emotion. She looked at him as if he were a piece of furniture. She gave a slight nod of assent, then gently rested her cool left hand, covered by a long white velvet glove, in the palm of Leon's outstretched right hand, already damp with sweat.
The moment their fingertips touched, Leon felt as if a faint electric current had passed through him. His body gave the slightest shudder. He hurriedly placed his left hand near Eliza's waist, barely touching it. Through the thin, expensive fabric, he could feel the slenderness of her waist and a trace of chill that kept others at a distance.
Just then, the prelude to the second dance began. It was a classic court waltz, its tempo graceful and unhurried—the sort of dance every young noble was expected to learn from childhood. The original Leon might have been a layabout, but he had put in a fair amount of "effort" learning to dance, if only to look the part at various balls. His muscles remembered the steps.
As the music began, Leon took a deep breath and tried to call upon the original Leon's memories. He took his first step.
But there was a serious disconnect between his brain's instructions and his body's execution. His intense nervousness was like a thick layer of glue, gumming up his nerves. He thought, "Forward, back, turn," but his leg muscles moved like rusty gears, stiff and sluggish.
On his very first step, he felt his foot catch. He didn't actually fall, but his movements had already lost their proper fluidity.
Eliza's brow furrowed almost imperceptibly, then quickly smoothed. Relying on her superb dancing skills and extraordinary sense of balance, she subtly guided Leon and managed to keep them in rhythm.
Alarm bells went off in Leon's mind, and he grew even more flustered. He desperately tried to recall the steps, his eyes unconsciously dropping to check where he was placing his feet. To anyone watching, this only made him look more hopelessly clumsy.
"Relax, Lord Leon." Eliza's cool voice reached his ear. She spoke so softly that only the two of them could hear. There was no emotion in her tone; it sounded more like a mechanical reminder.
But the reminder only made things worse. Leon tried even harder to control his body, and ended up making it worse.
Then disaster struck.
During a simple right turn, Leon should have guided Eliza into a spin while stepping backward himself. But his shift in balance came half a beat too late, and his feet tangled—
"Smack!"
The heel of his left shoe came down squarely on the toe of Eliza's delicate crystal high heel!
Even through the shoes and gloves, the sensation and sound rang in Leon's ears like a thunderclap.
Eliza's body stiffened slightly. Even her composure couldn't prevent an involuntary, stifled gasp at the unexpected stomp. For an instant, a trace of pain—and... resignation?—flashed in her amethyst eyes.
Leon was terrified out of his mind. He hurriedly lifted his foot and stammered an apology under his breath. "I-I'm sorry, Eliza! I didn't mean to!"
His voice wavered with panic, making it sound particularly jarring against the lilting music. The nearby guests had clearly seen what happened, and stifled laughter and whispers surged through the crowd like a tide.
"Pfft... just as expected..."
"I knew it..."
"Miss Windsor is so gracious."
"He's disgraced the whole Hohenzollern family!"
Leon's face turned a deep red, and sweat slid down his temple. He tried to get back into the rhythm, but his mind was in disarray, and his steps grew even more confused.
The rest of the dance was a public ordeal for Leon. He was like a puppet on strings, stiff and completely out of rhythm, barely moving at all without Eliza's extraordinary guidance. Even so, he stepped on her feet another two or three times. None of the later missteps were as forceful as the first, but each one felt like another vicious stab to his fragile pride.
He could see Eliza's lips pressed into a faint line and feel the barely perceptible tension in her body. Yet she said nothing and showed no displeasure. With her remarkable control, she simply kept guiding her clumsy partner through the difficult turns around the dance floor. Her silent tolerance made Leon feel more ashamed than any reprimand could have.
He also saw Victor Windsor at the edge of the dance floor, glaring as if his eyes were about to shoot fire. His fists clenched with a crackle; if they hadn't been at such a formal occasion, he would probably have rushed over already. Leon saw Eleanor Soros, too. She had her arm linked with that of a young nobleman, her emerald eyes filled with undisguised mockery and delight. The triumphant smile at the corner of her mouth stung like a knife. He didn't even dare look toward Aunt Margaret. He knew he would find nothing but an icy stare that promised death.
That waltz lasted only three or four minutes, but to Leon, it seemed to go on for a century. When the final note finally faded, he released Eliza almost immediately, as if dropping a red-hot coal. He stumbled half a step backward, his forehead slick with cold sweat and his breathing ragged, as though he had just fought for his life.
Applause rose once more, but this time it was charged with complicated meaning. Some praised Eliza's grace and dancing skills, while others mocked Leon's ridiculous performance. More than anything, though, the crowd seemed satisfied to have witnessed such a spectacle.
Leon stood frozen, at a loss, wishing he could dig a hole and disappear into it.
Just then, the master of ceremonies' voice came at the perfect moment. It briefly rescued Leon from his unbearable embarrassment, only to push him into another trial. "Next, may Lord Leon von Hohenzollern offer Miss Eliza Windsor his coming-of-age wishes and gift!"
Every gaze turned to him again—hotter than before!
Leon's heart clenched. He had ruined the dance. He couldn't let the gift go wrong too! He took a deep breath, forced himself to calm down, and reached with trembling hands into his inner coat pocket. He pulled out the exquisite jewelry box he had prepared, wrapped in deep blue velvet.
He stepped forward, faced Eliza, and bowed once more, presenting the box to her in both hands. He spoke as steadily as he could. "Miss Eliza, congratulations on coming of age. This is the gift I prepared for you. I hope... I hope you like it."
His voice still trembled slightly, but it was much steadier than it had been during the dance.
Eliza looked at him calmly, then at the jewelry box, before reaching out with both hands to take it. Her movements were graceful and composed, in stark contrast to Leon's disheveled state.
She gently opened the lid.
In an instant, a deep, midnight-blue gleam, speckled with what looked like stars, caught her eye. The Starlight Sapphire brooch lay quietly on its black velvet cushion, shining with a mysterious and noble luster.
The people nearby let out a low murmur of admiration. The brooch's beauty and value were beyond question.
Eliza's gaze lingered on the brooch for a few seconds. Something faint—something like surprise—seemed to flicker in her amethyst eyes, but it vanished almost at once. She closed the lid, raised her head, and looked at Leon. In her cool, emotionless voice, she delivered the most formal words she had spoken to him all evening:
"Thank you for the gift, Lord Leon. It's beautiful."
There was no excessive praise or overwhelming delight, just a polite, measured expression of thanks. Yet beside his disastrous dancing, that restrained gratitude seemed like a different kind of tolerance—or perhaps indifference born of not caring enough to judge.
Leon felt a jumble of emotions. He was relieved that the gift hadn't gone wrong, but also overwhelmed by a deep sense of helplessness. He knew his performance that evening had cemented his reputation as a "good-for-nothing." The expensive brooch might silence some people, but it certainly wouldn't change the way they saw him.
He managed a faint smile, stepped back, and retreated into the shadows of the crowd. He felt like a clown who had just finished a botched performance, exhausted in both body and mind.
The ball continued and the music began again. Everyone seemed to quickly forget the little mishap and return to the joys of the feast. But Leon knew that stories of his clumsy performance would provide the nobles of the Imperial Capital with gossip for a long time to come.
He could only taste the bitter drink brewed from nervousness and clumsiness, licking his wounds in an unnoticed corner while waiting for the next "trial," whenever it might come. Beneath the splendor of the Coming-of-Age Ceremony lay his inexpressible embarrassment and the pain of growing up. Eliza, the cool, moonlike heroine, continued to turn across the dance floor, but her partner had changed to her protective older brother, Victor Windsor. The siblings danced together in perfect harmony, making Leon's earlier performance look even more like a clumsy, glaring farce.
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