5. Aristocrats
Olens watched Evril with her fiancé and thought they made a strikingly beautiful pair. With every subtle gesture and movement of her elegant figure, the jewels on her blue dress caught the dazzling magical light pouring from the grand chandelier overhead, sparkling brilliantly as the fabric gleamed with a silky sheen. Her fiancé standing beside her had ash-brown hair and golden eyes that shimmered luxuriously under the lights.
As the social dance ended and the ballroom lights dimmed slightly, a slow waltz began to fill the air. Couples exchanged glances, and the vast hall soon brimmed with pairs facing one another. Evril and her fiancé, who had been conversing with high-ranking nobles, stepped onto the floor at the subtle urging of the elderly aristocrats around them. They mingled with the crowd up front, assuming the preparatory stance for the waltz, facing each other.
Once the orchestra's rich, ornate melody swelled into full crescendo after the intro, people began stepping to the languid waltz rhythm. Amid the high nobles dancing with straight spines, shoulders proudly squared, and graceful, fluid steps, the young and beautiful duo wove through them. Watching them, Olens felt a peculiar sensation—a hazy childhood memory evoked an eerily similar feeling to the scene unfolding before him.
Olens narrowed his eyes, staring intently at the pair. Of course... It came to him. Yes, the Eoton butterfly.
He recalled his childhood hobby of insect collecting with his tutor, under the guise of studying natural sciences. Every summer, they'd venture into the fields to catch all sorts of bugs, selecting the intact or most striking specimens for mounting. Among them, the most vibrant and exquisite had been the Eoton butterfly.
A rare species common only in the northern kingdom of Eoton, it was palm-sized with a blue base overlaid in delicate gray lace-like netting. Toward summer's end, he and his tutor had spotted a pair fluttering in the distance while out with a net. Their elegant, slow wingbeats danced seductively over the wildflowers, drawing him in like a lure. Up close, they were Eoton butterflies, their blue wings etched with intricate ash-gray patterns. The pair reigned over the meadow like monarchs, flitting among the blooms, and Olens was captivated by their majestic grace, chasing them for hours.
To preserve their form intact, capture demanded delicacy—no damaged wings or shed scales. It wasn't easy for Olens, but he succeeded. He lost one of the two after a long pursuit, finally netting the other perfectly as it rested on a branch. He placed it in a box laced with toxin to paralyze its nerves for mounting. Convention called for asphyxiation or induced coma, but the Eoton's size and wingspan risked damage from frantic flapping, so paralysis was necessary.
Yet when he retrieved it later, the large body had resisted full penetration of the venom; faint twitches lingered in its antennae and slender legs. Not enough to hinder, he pinned it through the thorax to the display board, spreading and securing the forewings with needles. Watching it tremble at the needle's tip, wings and body pierced, awaiting death, a subtle thrill coursed through him.
Yes, this feeling was just like that. The initial awe upon spotting the Eoton butterflies in the field. Their refined poise, noble yet restrained gestures, gliding elegantly among the nobles—it mirrored the meadow sovereigns he'd beheld. That day, he'd claimed one of those beautiful, graceful butterflies. Today, Evril—dancing in her fiancé's arms, leaning in and pulling away—sent him seductive glances now and then, just like that butterfly.
Olens met the fiery gaze she directed at him. Beneath the opulent chandelier, their eyes locked in midair, the moment stretching eternally. As she turned her head with the steps, he followed with a quiet stare—until a familiar woman's voice whispered in his ear.
"Oh my, fancy meeting you here. I never dreamed you'd attend the imperial ball, Lord Belpharos."
"The honor is mine, Lady Cruebe."
Olens bowed courteously to her. Brie R. Cruebe, with her striking red hair, regarded him with a sly glint over an ornate lace fan covering her mouth. The baroness was a classmate from Academia's auxiliary magic class and one of the women he occasionally bedded during free periods. Married at seventeen, she continued her studies while her much older husband stayed abroad on business, reveling freely in the perks of a noble widow's liberties.
"Is your husband not attending?"
"He's tied up with business—in Eliyum, actually. I came with my sister and her husband. I thought you always spent winter break at your estate, so seeing you here is quite the surprise."
"Until now, I've preferred quiet seclusion in the countryside, but I thought dipping into high society now and then—to gauge the winds of the world—might not be amiss."
"Mm, quite right. With graduation next year, familiarizing yourself with society early is wise for your future. Oh, and I heard rumors of Debutante Duchy recruiting administrators. Let me think... Lady Debutante was at today's debutante ball, wasn't she?"
Brie laughed brightly, brushing off her slip, and naturally slipped her hand onto Olens's arm. Her close-pressed chatter turned to trivial gossip, to which he responded with measured nods. As the slow waltz ended and partners bowed, Evril turned, scanning the back of the hall.
Her quick sweep caught Olens amid the throng. Spotting him set her heart racing wildly again. But unlike before, he wasn't alone. A flamboyantly dressed lady clung to his arm, beaming, fluttering her fan seductively while nodding eagerly. She gazed at him with affectionate adoration, and Evril's chest tightened sharply at the sight.
Evril drew breath, but the air felt thin, suffocating. She dropped her gaze, forcing deep inhales. Gophrid gently gripped her shoulder.
"My lady, are you all right?"
"Yes. Just a touch of dizziness from the waltz. I'm fine now."
She fought the urge to look back at Olens. Gophrid offered a champagne flute, which she accepted, twirling it delicately by the stem between her fingers. Golden bubbles rose refreshingly from the base, bursting on the surface. She rotated the fragile glass slowly; the chandelier's light made the brilliant liquid sparkle, and gazing into it strangely soothed her.
"It'll help if you drink."
At Gophrid's tender whisper, Evril managed an awkward smile and sipped. The maple fragrance tingled her nose, the cool effervescence easing her clogged throat a bit.
Stability was fleeting. Crowds soon gathered around her and Gophrid.
"Lord Kingston, just the man I was looking for."
As always at imperial balls, only high nobles approached them. This one was Duke Valois of the four great ducal houses—Templton, Debutante, Duval, Valois—known for his greed and recent fixation on western trade. Since turning nineteen, Gophrid had effectively run the Kingston ducal house's Bluebay Trading Company, giving the duke much to discuss.
Their business talk dragged on; Evril quenched her thirst repeatedly with champagne. Recalling Olens's bright exchange with that lady only fueled the burning inside. She stole a sidelong glance at Gophrid, immersed in conversation. Emboldened, she lifted her eyes to the back of the hall where Olens had stood.
Olens, sensing her stare, turned his chin slightly to meet her eyes. Evril locked onto him squarely; he savored the dark flames blazing in her gaze, all desire aimed at him.
She bit her lip. In their distant eye contact, stray thoughts vanished—only her body's tension, thirst, and frayed nerves remained.
"...so for Eliyum..."
Mid-conversation with Duke Valois, Gophrid sensed Evril's unnatural stillness and glanced at her. Her eyes were fixed on the hall's rear. Tracing her gaze discreetly, he spotted a pair amid the crowd: a brown-haired man and a redheaded woman.
"...and that's what I told him."
"Ah, yes, I see."
Responding perfunctorily to the duke, Gophrid observed Evril quietly. Subtle glances passed between her and the man at the back, their near-misses of others' notice thrillingly precarious. A faint flicker lit Gophrid's golden eyes as he watched impassively, then faded.