Chapter 133: Hospitality

As Lord Stormlow led them toward the far end of the ballroom. Situated atop a slightly raised dais sat the Seat of the Crown, a magnificent set of high-backed chairs carved from dark, polished oak that seemed to drink in the light of the chandeliers. The wood was intricately inlaid with silver filigree, swirling into patterns that mimicked the storm clouds of Noctharis.

The efficiency of House Stormlow was on full display as they approached. While the central chair had been prepared for the prince, it was obvious that a second, equally grand chair had been added only moments ago. The velvet cushion was still settling, and the silver-threaded falcon banner of the Stormlows had been shifted to make room for a drape of royal blue silk that now fell perfectly behind the new seat.

Despite the suddenness of Ilaria’s arrival, the arrangement looked as though it had been planned for weeks, a testament to the household’s legendary discipline.

Standing beside the dais was the Lady of the House, Genevieve Stormlow. She stood with a poise that matched her husband’s, her hands folded neatly over a gown of deep emerald silk.

Her sharp, intelligent eyes swept over the royal couple, lingering for a fraction of a second on the princess. Lady Stormlow was a striking woman, her dark hair pinned into an immaculate chignon that revealed the proud line of her neck, while her features were refined and composed in the way of someone long accustomed to command.

A pair of cool grey eyes studied them briefly before she dropped into a perfectly executed, graceful curtsy.

“Your Royal Highnesses,” she greeted. “I must apologize for the lack of a formal welcome at the entrance. The news of the Princess’ grace reached me only minutes ago. I trust the seating is to your satisfaction?”

A knowing look passed between Levan and the Hostess. “Your household’s reputation for efficiency is well-earned, Lady Stormlow,” he noted. “The adjustments are more than sufficient.”

Lady Stormlow offered a small smile, “In this house, we are always prepared for a change in the wind. It is a true honour to finally welcome the Princess here.”

Ilaria offered a warm smile. “Thank you for receiving us, Lady Stormlow. Your home is lovely.”

The lady inclined her head again, her eyes glimmering with surprise as if savouring a private thought. Her gaze flicked briefly to her husband, catching a subtle nod and a quiet lift of his hand, a silent signal only she would notice.

The Lord’s expression remained perfectly composed, but the slight crease of his brows hinted at the unspoken instruction: tend to the princess, ensure she feels at ease.

“You are most gracious, Your Highness,” Lady Stormlow said smoothly then, her tone carrying the faintest edge of anticipation. “Stormlow has long hoped for the chance to receive you.”

And truly, the dais offered a vantage point that overlooked the entire sea of silk and silver, but Ilaria barely had time to settle into the velvet of her chair before Lady Stormlow leaned in with an elegant, practiced tilt of her head, her eyes glinting with a mix of hospitality and sharp observation.

“The ballroom has many curiosities this evening, Your Highness,” she murmured. “And there are several ladies of the higher houses who have spent months hoping for a mere glimpse of you.”

She turned politely towards Levan. “If the Prince can spare her for a short while, I would be honoured to introduce her to some of our more distinguished guests.”

Levan’s hand, which had been resting on the arm of Ilaria’s chair, tightened almost imperceptibly. He glanced at Lord Stormlow, who had already signaled a servant to bring over a tray of deep Noctharian wine.

The two men had matters to discuss that would bore Ilaria to tears, but the thought of leaving her to navigate this web of courtly vipers alone made his jaw tense.

Yet as he followed her gaze, he caught sight of the way her eyes sparkled at the chandeliers, how her fingers lingered over the folds of her gown as she took in the glittering crowd. The brilliant smile made it unmistakably clear that she did not want to sit idly.

She wanted to move, to mingle, to experience the life and laughter that filled the room. And Levan had brought her here for exactly that reason, so he would never forgive himself if he took his words back now.

“Go,” Levan said to her. His fingers brushed hers briefly. “You’ve been looking around this entire time. Go enjoy yourself.”

He lifted his gaze to the hostess, the usual Crown Prince authority sharpening his features. “I expect she returns to me unharmed, Lady Stormlow.”

Lady Stormlow immediately inclined her head, her sharp eyes turning to Ilaria with something more than mere courtesy. “You have my word, Your Highness. I shall see that the Princess is well-protected and properly entertained, as befits someone of her stature.”

Ilaria’s lips curved into a bright, eager smile, practically humming with glee at the subtle green light from her husband. Levan allowed himself anl small exhale, a single shadow of relief passing over his otherwise stoic expression before releasing her hand.

With a final, encouraging nod from Levan, Ilaria tucked her hand into the crook of Lady Stormlow’s emerald-clad arm and stepped off the dais. Behind her, she heard the heavy clink of wine goblets and the low, rumbling start of “men’s business,” but ahead of her, the crowd began to ripple.

And so, she followed the lady of the house. The moment her slippers touched the marble floor, the hum of the ballroom seemed to swell around her.

Up close, the banquet was even more dazzling. Nobles moved through the space like living jewels, their gowns shimmering with embroidery and gemstones while the darker formalwear of the men gave the entire gathering a striking contrast of midnight and starlight.

It was different from the banquets she had attended in Caelwyn, though not entirely unfamiliar. She had glimpsed gatherings like this in Noctharis when she was younger, though never on such a grand scale.

Caelwyn favoured open courtyards and lantern-lit gardens, where music drifted through the air like a gentle breeze and conversations flowed in melancholic, peaceful tones. The nobles there dressed in flowing silks and pale colors that reflected the warmth of the sun and sea.

Noctharis, however, felt sharper. The music was richer, carried by deep strings and bold brass. The nobles stood straighter, spoke lower, and watched everything with eyes that missed very little. Even the fashion seemed to mirror the kingdom itself, dark velvets, structured silhouettes, silver-threaded embroidery that glittered like frost beneath the chandeliers.

It felt less like a garden gathering and more like stepping into the heart of a storm. And yet, strangely enough, Ilaria found herself smiling. Because beneath the unfamiliar sharpness of it all, she felt no fear. This was Noctharis, the kingdom that belonged to her husband. Whatever storms brewed in its halls, she knew she stood safely at their center.

Almost unconsciously, her gaze drifted back toward the raised dais.

Levan was sitting beside Lord Stormlow, the two men leaning slightly toward one another as servants placed wine before them. But even as the Lord spoke, the prince’s attention flicked briefly across the ballroom and straight to her.

Their eyes met across the sea of nobles.

He lifted one hand slightly from the arm of his chair in a silent, almost imperceptible gesture of acknowledgement. And Ilaria’s smile brightened instantly. She gave the smallest nod in return before turning her attention forward once more.

Without interrupting the princess’ moment, Lady Stormlow guided their path through the crowd with subtle movements of her arm and the occasional quiet word to passing guests.

When they’re far enough, Lady Stormlow turned slightly, her posture perfect but relaxed enough to suggest familiarity with hosting royalty. “Your gown,” she began, her tone appreciative, “is… exquisite, Your Highness. Midnight blue suits you remarkably well under these lights.”

Ilaria’s fingers absently brushed the chiffon around her shoulders. “Thank you,” she said softly, warmth in her voice. “It is a little heavier than I expected, but it feels right for tonight. My husband was gracious enough to select it for me.”

Lady Stormlow’s brows lifted ever so slightly at that, though her smile remained perfectly composed. “How thoughtful of His Highness,” she remarked. “I didn’t expect him to have such a high taste in fashion.”

Ilaria noticed the reaction.

If it was up to her, she would have happily continued speaking, perhaps recalling how Levan had unknowingly argued with the seamstress that this gown, not the other, suited his wife better. She might have even laughed, remembering how he insisted the butterflies along the bodice were just right for her.

But instead, she simply let the comment rest where it was.

It had been drilled into her since childhood that courtly conversations were like delicate dances. One stepped forward, then back, leaving room for the other person to move. To speak too much, no matter how cheerful the intention could easily become overwhelming.

Ilaria knew she had a habit of talking when she was excited, but she also knew tonight was not the time to indulge that habit. So she kept her voice soft, her responses measured, and her smile gentle rather than bright. She listened more than she spoke, letting Lady Stormlow guide the conversation as they moved through the glittering crowd.

Truthfully, she had been holding herself back from the moment she stepped through the doors of the Estate. But it was not difficult, not really. Because there was so much to see.

Every few steps revealed something new: a gown embroidered with tiny cranes, a lord wearing an entire constellation of medals across his chest, and long banquet tables glittering beneath the light, laden with delicate pastries and winter delicacies.

All the while, she pretended not to notice the curious glances that followed her path through the crowd. But inside, she felt a small flutter of amusement. It has been a while since she got so much attention, but it did not overwhelm her. In fact, being the outgoing one compared to her sister, she was used to it.

Lady Stormlow’s gaze drifted momentarily across the ballroom before returning to Ilaria with polite curiosity. “I imagine the banquets of Caelwyn must look quite different from this.”

Ilaria followed her gaze, taking in the glittering chandeliers and the darker tones of Noctharian fashion once more.

“They are,” she agreed. “Most gatherings in Caelwyn are held outdoors whenever the weather allows. Lanterns are hung in the gardens, and the musicians usually play softer instruments. The atmosphere tends to be calmer.”

A small smile touched her lips at the memory. “Sometimes the sea breeze carries the music all the way across the courtyards.”

Lady Stormlow listened with interest, her expression thoughtful. “That does sound rather lovely,” she said. “Obsidianhold, I fear, is not known for such gentle evenings.”

They continued walking slowly through the crowd, nobles parting with respectful bows as they passed.

“Still,” the lady continued after a moment, “I hope the capital has not been too unkind to you since your arrival. Noctharis can feel rather sharp to those unaccustomed to it.”

Ilaria shook her head lightly. “Not unkind, just different,” she said.

“The palace has been very welcoming. Though…” she hesitated briefly before smiling again, “this is the first time I have attended anything quite like this here.”

Lady Stormlow’s mind ticked over the thought she had long suspected. “I assured you, Stormlow is fortunate to host your first banquet in the kingdom.”

Her eyes moved toward a cluster of elegantly dressed women further ahead, their fans fluttering in poorly disguised anticipation. “And I must warn you, Your Highness, that several ladies present tonight have been hoping for precisely this opportunity.”

“To meet me?”

The lady gave a soft laugh. “The White Dragon princess has been the subject of much admiration in Noctharis for many months now.” She gestured subtly toward the approaching group. “I believe they will be very pleased to finally greet you in person.”

Ilaria felt a small flutter of nervous delight in her chest, but it was quickly smoothed away by curiosity.

“Well,” she hummed contently, “I hope I do not disappoint them.”

Lady Stormlow shook her head. “I suspect, Princess,” she said, “that disappointment will be the last thing on their minds.”

And with that, they stepped toward the waiting noblewomen who straightened almost in unison as their jeweled fans paused mid-motion.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep