Chapter 6
Chapter 6
After parting with Manuel, I returned to the banquet hall.
By now, the event was winding down.
Manuel, the main focus of the evening, had finished most of his duties. Soon, he would make a round, receive farewells, and naturally bring the banquet to a close.
A banquet was like a play.
When the lead prepared to exit, the other characters gradually slipped offstage.
I walked toward the table where the desserts were laid out, thinking I might as well grab a final bite before leaving.
Then a familiar color caught my eye.
Pink hair.
It stood out from a distance, impossible to miss.
But oddly enough, the pink-haired girl was surrounded by several other young ladies.
“Popular, huh?” I thought.
From my first impression, I wouldn’t have guessed it.
She had a pleasant personality—approachable, chatty, and completely uncalculating. If this were a school, someone like her would probably be well-liked.
But this wasn’t a school; it was a banquet hall. Here, calculations mattered more than friendliness, subtlety more than sincerity.
Someone smiling and chatting today could be your rival tomorrow.
Allegiances could shift with the season, and enemies could emerge from friends.
Reveal too much, and you’re prey. Be too cold, and you create enemies.
That was why noblewomen practiced aloof expressions.
I wondered if Angela’s charm would work even in such an environment.
So I slowed my steps and approached.
At that moment, an unfamiliar young lady addressed Angela.
“Are you Lady Goldrun?”
“Huh? Yes, I am Angela Goldrun. And you are?”
“I am Bianca Lascachi.”
Interesting.
It was one thing for Angela to introduce herself, but the other girl didn’t go through a servant to speak formally.
Angela might be naive enough for that. But Bianca clearly was not.
Her attire was impeccably stylish, rivaling anything even a royal would approve of. Either her family was extremely wealthy, or they were maintaining appearances at great expense.
Her posture was flawless. The angle of her chin, the way she held her gaze, the subtle curl of her lips—every detail balanced arrogance and poise perfectly.
Too arrogant, and she’d be constrained. Too proud, and jealousy would arise.
Young noblewomen even took special etiquette lessons to master that delicate line.
Yet this girl had addressed Angela directly.
Clearly, she was looking for a confrontation.
If their families were mortal enemies, she might have attacked openly. But her measured tone suggested otherwise.
‘Still, a conflict is a conflict. Why now?’
Soon, the reason became clear.
“Lady Goldrun, this banquet is hosted by His Excellency Manuel. Why would you approach His Highness Louan first, instead of the host?”
“Eh?”
Angela blinked in confusion.
Her expression made it obvious:
‘She truly had no idea.’
Even a child could understand birthday protocol. You greet the host first, present your gift, exchange pleasantries, and only then mingle.
Tonight’s center was Manuel, no matter what antics I pulled or how much attention Angela drew.
Every noble present knew better than to misprioritize their actions.
But Angela had come to me first, completely unintentionally.
Bianca noticed immediately.
“Does the Goldrun family intend to serve His Highness Louan instead of Manuel? How inconsiderate, given the meaning you’ve shown at the goddess’s banquet.”
“No! I have no such authority!”
“Then explain why you approached His Highness Louan first.”
“Well…”
Angela opened her mouth, then paused.
Naturally. She had acted without thought, so no ready excuse existed.
Here, such behavior was interpreted in the worst possible way.
At a banquet, every handshake, every show of support or neglect, was a political signal.
And Angela had approached me before the host.
That alone was enough to criticize her.
The hall gradually went silent.
The young ladies who had been whispering fell quiet.
“That’s….”
“The Lascachi side is right, surely.”
“Lady Goldrun has been quite rude tonight.”
“Going to His Highness Louan before Manuel was clearly a mistake.”
“She couldn’t even find a lawyer to excuse herself.”
“If Manuel hears this, it’ll be a problem for her family.”
Angela’s face visibly paled.
Until now, she hadn’t even realized she had done wrong.
But as the crowd’s focus shifted simultaneously, she instinctively sensed it.
Oh no, did I just make a huge mistake?
Her hands fiddled nervously at her waist. Her eyes darted around, unsure where to look. She wanted to explain herself, but her mind was blank.
I knew the problem wasn’t her intentions—it was interpretation.
Even if Bianca hadn’t acted, someone eager to impress Manuel would have questioned this oversight.
Bianca just acted first, with proper timing, reason, and tone.
Angela would be under scrutiny until the banquet ended.
I watched briefly, then realized:
‘I should step in.’
Was it because I liked Angela?
Not entirely, though she was pretty, clumsy, and seemed useful.
But there was a more important reason.
Nobles lived on face. What they called honor wasn’t far off.
If I couldn’t protect a young lady who had just been speaking in my name, it would reflect poorly on me.
It was better to intervene.
And the best way to intervene in this situation wasn’t to argue—it was to flip the table entirely.
So I walked up without hesitation.
“Hey.”
Bianca spun around in shock.
“Wh-who…?”
I didn’t answer. I moved beside her.
And naturally—very naturally—I draped my arm over her shoulder.
Instantly, the atmosphere froze.
Every whispering lady, every observing servant, and even distant nobles watching from the corners were paralyzed.
It was absolute silence.
Bianca froze as well.
She held a position of political leverage through etiquette and precedent.
But the moment my arm rested on her shoulder, all that advantage vanished.
In the center of the banquet hall.
Countless eyes watching.
A single unmarried noblewoman.
And a prince.
Who could enforce etiquette after that?
“Insane! Insane!”
“Someone should stop them!”
“Who could even intervene?”
“Lady, could you stop this?”
“I can’t!”
After the silence broke, many voices criticized me.
But no one could intervene.
Bianca’s face turned pale.
Her shoulder trembled against my arm. I could feel the sweat starting to form at the nape of her neck.
It made sense for her to be terrified.
In this world, “patriarchal” doesn’t simply mean men are strong.
It means the head of a family is strong.
The patriarch decides your fate: career, marriage, residence, and future.
The eldest son inherits, while others are sent to knighthood, monasteries, or universities.
Noblewomen were no different.
Good matches meant arranged marriage. Otherwise, they might become a servant or be sent to a convent.
At a banquet, noblewomen worked hard to raise their value—
To secure a good match, to avoid becoming a servant or being confined to a convent, and to attain a place of authority if possible.
The most important factor in this process was a flawless reputation.
No scandals, not even a careless touch.
So when an unmarried Bianca found herself shoulder-to-shoulder with me, the prince, in the middle of the hall, her sudden paleness was completely natural.
Good.
Now everyone would understand who held the upper hand.