The Social Ball (5)
“Your Highness!”
For the first time since arriving in the Empire, Arthur's voice brought tears of joy to my eyes.
It wasn't that I disliked him or found him unpleasant usually—no, he was the kind of guy who charged at you like a tiger, pitying your pitiful state and scolding you for blowing it on chicken instead of training. Normally, I avoided him like the plague.
But right now, the sight of those massive pecs rippling as he approached was practically blinding.
Arthur strode up, threw a thick arm around my shoulders with a hearty laugh, and grinned.
“I was just about to grab a drink with you, but I couldn't find you anywhere! The servant said you were outside the main hall, so I came looking.”
The sudden arrival of that hulking mass of muscle drew the eyes of Amber and Ella—who'd been locked in a staring contest with me in the middle—straight toward him.
“…Second Imperial Prince.”
“Your Highness, it's been a while. I hope you've been well?”
“Yeah, I'm always good. Lady Espada, you're as lovely as ever today. The Northern Grand Duchess… same as always.”
The two ladies seemed thrown off by the prince's abrupt entrance and couldn't quite continue.
Arthur, paying no mind to their reactions, let out a booming laugh and yanked me closer.
“Haha! This guy's a workout buddy of mine, a close friend! We're heading inside the main hall to knock back some drinks, so I'll be taking him now!”
Ignoring the ladies' bewildered expressions, Arthur gripped my shoulder tight and dragged me away with unyielding strength. I silently cheered yes! inside and hurriedly matched his pace to escape that hellish spot.
Once we turned into the ornate corridor leading to the inner main hall of the Imperial Palace, Arthur finally released my arm.
The Second Prince flashed a knowing smile, glanced around, and grinned as he asked,
“From afar, it looked like two feisty ladies were fighting over you. You seemed in a bind, so I made a big show of it to pull you out. How's that—good?”
“Phew… Thank you sincerely for the save, Your Highness. I aged ten years back there.”
I wiped the cold sweat from my forehead and let out a sigh of relief.
“Anyway, gotta say, I'm impressed. Sticking to that promise with Chloe like that. Even if you couldn't help it, I'd have understood.”
“A promise is a promise. I nearly broke it.”
“Haha, yeah, those two are pretty captivating, aren't they? You're a guy too, so—”
“No, it's not that… The Grand Duchess tried to cast some kind of spell on me. I almost lost my senses and grabbed her hand, but luckily I snapped out of it at the last second.”
Arthur's steps halted abruptly at my words.
His ever-laughing face hardened in an instant.
“…She's a witch after all. Pulling that crap again. I warned her—if she casts magic on any imperial family member or palace servant even once more, we'll treat it as an act of war. Guess she's playing word games, saying hostages don't count.”
“First time?”
“That witch up to shady stuff? Hardly the first day or two. It happened ages ago when she stayed in the palace before, and now again. Problem is, it's so damn hard to catch her in the act.”
Arthur nodded toward the marble pillars lining the corridor and the ornate chandeliers hanging from the ceiling.
“As a counter to that witch's bullshit, we've been installing magic-absorbing materials all over the palace lately. At least inside the buildings, she can't use magic.”
“Magic-absorbing materials?”
“Yeah. Mages can work miracles, but casting even one spell takes a ton of prep—mana stones, incantations, all that jazz. You know a bit about magic?”
“A little.”
“Makes sense, you're royalty—got the education. But get this: Grand Duchess Ella can snap her fingers without any prep and activate magic. Impossible to counter. And yet here she is, brazenly wandering the palace like a guest.”
“She won't try anything weird right away, but you never know.”
“Yeah, the North is quiet for now, and she hasn't made any overtly suspicious moves, but her mere existence is a threat. The magic absorbers are just a stopgap. Truth is, her being here at all is the problem. You know a bunch of palace mages have been pulled off duties just to watch her?”
“Just my personal hunch, but she might be dragging it out on purpose to force that kind of resource drain. She's been here since two weeks before the ball…”
“Same thought here. Northerners are sneaky. Who knows what they'll pull… Hope it doesn't come to war.”
“You hate war?”
“Who likes war? People die, resources burn. Imagine redirecting that cash to gym equipment for the masses—the Empire's citizens would be way healthier. Wars are sometimes unavoidable for the Empire, but no sane person enjoys them.”
Arthur paused, furrowed his brow slightly, and spat out,
“—Except Big Sis Victoria. One of the few who genuinely loves it.”
“…”
His explanation sent chills down my spine.
Seemed like all the terrifying women were clustering around me.
“Anyway, you're safe in the main hall now. Let's go!”
Arthur flashed his hearty grin again and flung open the massive doors to the main hall.
Creeeak—BAM!!
The moment we stepped inside, the overwhelming banquet hall fell silent for a beat.
Hundreds of haughty gazes from the Empire's top elite nobles locked onto me, entering alongside the Second Prince.
Curiosity, wariness, scrutiny—sharp eyes brushed past me like blades.
“Alright, that's my cue. Go dance, drink, whatever—have fun!”
Arthur clapped my shoulder and slipped into the crowd, leaving me stranded in the middle of the hall.
“…Haa.”
I ignored the stares as best I could, waited for a lull, and headed to a dim corner out of sight.
Out of the garden at least—now I could hole up, sip drinks quietly, and kill time.
But just as I grabbed a champagne flute and caught my breath,
“Well, damn, what a handsome face. Rumors were flying around the palace, but seeing you in person, I get it now! No wonder.”
Out of nowhere, a portly, boisterous middle-aged noble approached.
Clearly high-ranking, he stroked his goatee and sized me up.
Up close, past the cologne, I caught whiffs of hay and beast.
“Greetings. I'm Prince Ian from the Kingdom of Sterling.”
“I'm Count Gros, Master of the Imperial Stables. Nice to meet you. Enjoying palace life?”
“Thanks to His Majesty's grace, I'm living well.”
I gave a light bow and stated my status; he returned it casually, no shock or disdain at my hostage from a defeated nation.
But then he started in on me in a different way.
“Say, Prince Ian. Are all you southerners this scrawny? Looks like you'd snap in a breeze.”
“…Pardon?”
“Look at the Empire's men—built like tanks. No need to mention Second Prince Arthur, but you're even slimmer than Princess Victoria. A man can't go around like that. You need more training.”
“…I'm already working hard with Second Prince, but my constitution doesn't pack on muscle easily.”
Yeah, I knew that.
Southerners averaged smaller builds than northerners.
Imperial men were all over 180cm; even without training, the crown prince was solid—genetics, probably. Arthur over 2m was the outlier.
Me? Not big even compared to my past life. Mid-170s height, late-60s kilos.
“Haha, good you're training. A man needs bulk—no good being stringy. Can't fight, can't handle the night, can't hold your liquor!”
“…!”
Anything else, fine—but that last bit crossed the line.
No way I'd take being called a lightweight.
“…That's going too far.”
I narrowed my eyes and cut him off.
Count Gros, who'd been laughing uproariously, blinked wide at my words.
“…Ah, that was rude of me. Apologies, Prince Ian. Not saying you're weak—”
“Anything else, maybe—but I won't accept being called a lightweight. I hold my liquor like a champ.”
“…That's what I meant by too far?”
Scratching his head in mild confusion, Count Gros soon grinned ear-to-ear, beckoned a passing servant, and tossed me an unexpected proposition.
“In that case, how about a drinking bet with me?”
“A drinking bet?”
“Yep. They call me the palace's top drinker. Back in my youth—exaggerating a bit—I could've outdrunk a horse. Not quite that level now.”
The servant handed him a large leather flask; liquid sloshed inside as he shook it with a smirk.
“If you win, Prince Ian, I'll give you a big gift. If I win, just buy me a nice bottle of wine. Deal?”
“Don't regret it after you lose, Count Gros.”
No dancing anyway—might as well have some fun at the ball.