Chapter 299: Under a Thousand Watching Eyes [1]

’…Is he not here?’

Alice’s gaze drifted slowly across the banquet hall, passing over glittering chandeliers, silk-clad nobles, and long tables overflowing with wine and delicacies.

Julies.

The familiar presence that usually lingered just a step behind her was missing.

And with that absence came an unwelcome tightening in her chest.

“Alice?”

Amelia leaned closer, her voice low enough to be drowned out by the music. “Is something bothering you?”

“…It’s nothing,” Alice replied after a brief pause.

A lie—thin and obvious, even to herself.

If she had been alone, she would have already left her seat and searched every corridor of the palace. But surrounded by her friends and followers—Amelia from the North among them—she forced herself to remain still, spine straight, expression composed.

’This is ridiculous,’ she thought bitterly.

’Even now, I’m looking for him.’

She pressed her fingers lightly against the rim of her glass.

She wanted to ask him something.

No—she needed to.

Whether the decisions she had made recently had truly been correct.

Whether the path she had chosen had strayed from the advice he’d once given her, calmly and without judgment.

But he wasn’t here.

Realizing how restless she must look, Alice allowed herself a faint, bitter smile and took a slow breath.

’Honestly… I really am like a frog in a well,’ she thought.

Sheltered. Narrow-minded. Unaware of how vast the world truly was.

Her thoughts drifted back to what had happened earlier—beneath the brilliant glow of the chandeliers, when the music had swelled and all eyes had been fixed on the center of the hall.

—

“Lady, would you care to share a dance with me?”

A young nobleman knelt gracefully on one knee, extending his hand with practiced elegance.

It was a scene so common at imperial banquets that most people barely spared it a glance.

A gentleman inviting a lady to dance, accompanied by the soft harmony of piano and violin—an expected ritual, repeated countless times over the years.

But this time, the hall had gone quiet.

Because the people involved were anything but ordinary.

First, the woman.

Introduced earlier by both the Emperor and the Pope themselves, she was still—by every technical definition—a commoner.

Lilia.

Despite the honors piled upon her, despite the murmurs of “chosen” and “blessed,” she lacked a lineage, a family name, a noble house to shield her.

And because of that, the nobles had treated her as if she were invisible.

Not openly insulted.

Not shunned outright.

Simply… ignored.

Until now.

And her counterpart.

“What… what is happening?”

Amelia’s voice slipped out in a quiet gasp before she could stop herself.

Even behind the ornate mask, there was no mistaking him.

That blond hair—like pale gold caught under chandelier light—was a privilege reserved for one bloodline and one bloodline alone.

Royalty.

More precisely—

The crown prince.

Amelia’s fingers tightened around her fan as she leaned slightly closer to Alice.

“…That’s His Highness,” she whispered, disbelief coloring her tone. “Why would he—?”

Why would he be the one to step forward?

Why would he be the one extending his hand?

And why—

Alice’s gaze followed the movement automatically, her eyes narrowing as she took in the scene unfolding before them.

The crown prince, standing tall and composed, had stopped before a young woman in a simple yet elegant dress. Not a noble crest adorned her gown. No family insignia. No unmistakable mark of lineage.

A commoner.

And yet—

“May I have this dance?”

The words carried easily across the ballroom, polite, refined, and utterly deliberate.

For a moment, the world seemed to still.

Alice felt it then.

—Grit.

Her teeth clenched without her realizing it.

A spark flared in her chest.

Jealousy?

No.

She dismissed the thought almost immediately.

As the crown prince himself had once said, their engagement was political—an agreement between families, not hearts. A promise of alliance, not affection.

It would be ridiculous to feel something as indulgent as jealousy over that.

And love?

Alice scoffed inwardly.

’Love is something written in books,’ she thought.

’A luxury for those who don’t carry a family name on their shoulders.’

She had known that since childhood.

No—what churned in her chest wasn’t jealousy.

It was discomfort.

No… more than that.

It was an insult.

An open, public dismissal of the engagement between the royal family and House Draken—treated as if it were nothing more than a suggestion casually brushed aside.

And worse—

The audacity of a commoner accepting the crown prince’s attention so easily, standing there beneath the crystal lights as if she belonged.

If rumors spread—

If tongues wagged—

It wouldn’t be the royal family that suffered first.

It would be hers.

Alice’s hand moved instinctively toward the edge of her glove.

’Just like yesterday…’

The familiar itch crept up her fingers—the urge to resolve things the way she always had.

A duel.

Clean.

Decisive.

Final.

One challenge would be enough to make the message clear: Know your place.

For a fleeting second, she imagined it—

Steel drawn.

Eyes locked.

The satisfying silence that followed victory.

But then—

She exhaled.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

Her hand fell away from the glove.

Amelia noticed immediately. “Alice…?”

Alice shook her head faintly.

“No,” she said under her breath. “Not here.”

Not because the girl was beneath her status—though that was true.

And not because drawing steel over a dance would be unseemly—though it would.

But because—

Interfering with the crown prince’s actions, especially in public, was dangerous.

Even for House Draken.

Especially for House Draken.

But the reason was….

—Showing anger too easily is never wise. It only hands your opponent the advantage.

The words echoed clearly in Alice’s mind, just as they had the night before.

Her loyal servant’s voice had been calm then—steady, experienced. Not a warning born of fear, but of understanding.

Alice exhaled slowly.

She could feel it now.

The weight of attention.

Dozens of eyes—no, hundreds—were subtly turned toward her, hidden behind fans, goblets, and polite smiles. Nobles pretending to admire the music, the chandeliers, the dance… while in truth, they were watching her.

Waiting.

Waiting to see how the Duke of Draken’s daughter would react.

’Hmph. I won’t dance to your tune.’

Anger would be weakness here.

If she lost her composure—if she marched onto the floor, challenged the woman, or confronted the prince on the spot—she could already hear the whispers forming.

—How dare she behave so rudely toward His Highness…

—So this is how she acts now that she’s engaged?

—Jealous over a mere commoner? How unbecoming.

Her fingers curled slightly at her side.

And yet—

If she did nothing at all?

If she simply stood there, silent and unmoving?

The knives would still come—just aimed differently.

—Calling herself the fiancée, yet colder than leftover rice.

—What can she even do? The prince didn’t choose her.

—Discarded before she could even begin.

Alice’s jaw tightened.

It was a trap.

Act, and she would be mocked for being emotional.

Don’t act, and she would be pitied—or worse, dismissed.

’So… what should I do?’

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