The Emperor Who Forced Me to the Ball
The emperor, who had finally dragged me to this ball by imperial decree, was striding into the hall clad in resplendent party attire. I sipped the last of my non-alcoholic champagne and eyed him. Then my gaze locked with the crown prince slowly trailing behind.
“……”
“……”
We hadn't seen each other once in six long years. The crown prince, who had visited the ducal territory under the pretext of fiancé duties, had always been sent packing back to the capital by the duke's stern warnings. This was the first time I'd laid eyes on the grown prince.
The crown prince, transformed from boy to striking man, was setting noble debutantes' hearts ablaze left and right.
“We are grateful for your precious footsteps gracing us today.”
The emperor ascended to the dais and offered his rote welcome. His eyes swept over the assembled nobles, landing on me—his brow arched ever so slightly.
“And with such a rare and esteemed guest in our midst, I am deeply moved.”
“……”
Was he talking about me? It left a vaguely sour taste.
The emperor raised his champagne flute high.
“May Lumine's blessings endure forevermore, and may we all share this meaningful time.”
“May Lumine's blessings be with you.”
The nobles echoed the New Year's greeting in unison, and the grand ball truly began. The musicians shifted from gentle melodies to a livelier tune. Dance time had arrived.
I retreated with an awkward grimace, champagne in hand.
“Lady Abigail?”
“Let's head that way.”
I tugged the puzzled Ren along. Young Abigail had certainly taken dance lessons once upon a time. But that was ages ago, and I remembered none of it. Ren, buried in Magic Tower research, surely knew nothing of dancing either. Wallflowers we would be.
“Ah, Lady Abigail!”
“...Lady Yurina?”
Yurina blocked our path with a resolute expression, looking up at me anxiously, as if bursting with something to say.
“Um, do you... do you already have a partner for your first dance?”
“Pardon?”
Her eyes flicked to Ren beside me.
“Are you... going to dance the first with him?”
“...?”
I blinked at her tense face. First dance? Why was Yurina so curious about my partner?
I pondered. Was she sizing me up? But why? Unlike the original Abigail, I hadn't done anything nasty to her.
I recalled the novel's first meeting between Abigail and Yurina. Jealous of the spotlight-stealing saintess, Abigail had “accidentally” spilled a drink on her right from the start. The crown prince, her fiancé, apologized on her behalf and used it as an excuse to ask Yurina to dance. Of course, her clumsy steps stomped his feet relentlessly, kickstarting their relationship more in mutual denial than affection.
But my champagne glass was pristine—not a drop on Yurina. Yet here we were, villainess and heroine on collision course from the original plot point.
As I tilted my head in confusion—
“Oh, His Highness the Crown Prince...”
“Wonder who he's heading for?”
“...?”
The area behind us grew abuzz. I turned instinctively at the approaching presence.
“...Your Highness?”
The crown prince approached us—Yurina and me—with a soft smile.
Ah, there it is.
The original event kicks off at last!
In the novel, Abigail yelled at Yurina after spilling the drink, drawing the crown prince. This time, Yurina's bold interruption had caught his attention instead. All roads led to Rome—the male and female leads were fated for their romantic meet-cute.
“Greetings, Your Highness.”
“G-Greetings, Your Highness.”
“……”
I lifted my bowed head and met the crown prince's eyes. Reunited, he was breathtakingly handsome. Already exceptional as a sprout, he'd bloomed into someone who lit up the room. Beautiful enough to suit that word, even for a man.
I glanced sidelong at Ren beside me.
“...?”
“Hm.”
No, my Ren had grown splendidly too. I'd been distracted by his silver hair shift from the original brown, but in looks, he rivaled the crown prince now.
A touch of pride swelled as I watched the prince and Yurina. He'd ask her to dance any moment now. Heart pounding, I anticipated the original scene—when suddenly, he addressed me.
“It's been a while, Little Duke.”
“...Yes?”
Stunned, I stared blankly before nodding hastily.
“Ah, yes. Long time no see, Your Highness.”
“I had hoped to see you in a dress after all this time. A pity.”
“...I came in a rush.”
“Not that the uniform doesn't suit you—don't misunderstand.”
“Ah, yes...”
What was this? Was the crown prince always so chatty? His courtesy felt unduly persistent. I nodded along with a stiff smile.
A quick glance at Yurina—her face was a storm.
I narrowed my eyes at the prince still before me—
“...?”
He was extending a hand to me.
With a perfectly crafted smile, he said, “Lady Abigail Carpoem, Little Duke—if it's not too bold, might I have the honor of the first dance with you...?”
“Ah, Lady Abigail!”
“Lady Abigail!”
“……”
Ren and Yurina's simultaneous cries rang in my ears. But the real issue was the prince. His brows furrowed slightly, hand still outstretched to me.
Was he seriously asking me? Not Yurina? Flabbergasted, I stood frozen.
“Lady Abigail, give me a chance too.”
“L-Lady Yurina?”
“Lady Abigail, don't leave me behind.”
“R-Ren.”
The prince before me, Yurina and Ren flanking me. I gawked at them in turn, at a loss.
What the hell is wrong with everyone?!
“Saintess, escorting is a man's duty.”
“My, does imperial law forbid a woman from asking for a dance?”
“Well...”
“……”
They started bickering among themselves, leaving me dazed. I couldn't stay. I edged back—and all three whipped around like they'd sensed a ghost.
“Then you decide, Little Duke.”
“That's right, Lady Abigail.”
“Lady Abigail...”
“Ugh.”
My brain hit capacity. The dance music hesitated, awaiting the prince's choice for the first partner.
But the male lead fixated on me instead of the heroine. Something was seriously, seriously off.
“No, I...”
As I floundered, eyes welling unbecomingly—unexpected salvation arrived.
“Might you yield my daughter's first dance to her father?”
“Father!”
I beamed at the duke, overjoyed. In this mortifying mess, he looked like a winged angel. I hurried to his side.
“Of course my first dance is with Father.”
“Hoho, you rascal.”
“……”
Clinging arm-in-arm like the picture of father-daughter bliss, no one dared object. Grasping his hand tight, I headed to the hall's center amid stares.
“Ah, but I'm terrible at dancing, Father.”
“Just relax your body, dear.”
“I'll trust only you.”
I winked at his kindly face. Thanks to him, I'd escaped. Gratitude boundless, I moved my feet slowly.
* * *
Michael relentlessly stared at Abigail's back as she eagerly took her father's hand and walked away—like he'd been waiting for it.
Six years. An absurd stretch to reunite. Yet chasing her shadow like a fool made him despise himself.
“Haa.”
“...?”
A sigh from beside him drew his puzzled glance down. A woman—not even in his sightline till now—glared like he offended her.
Yurina Florence. The empire's saintess. Standout among debutantes.
To Michael, just an ordinary girl.
“What?”
Yurina matched his scowl with her own displeasure.
“Your Highness asked so rashly, and Lady Abigail fled.”
“Lady Abigail?”
He arched a fine brow at her casual use of the name he himself hesitated to utter. She shrugged.
“She would've accepted if I'd asked first.”
“Haa.”
What confidence. Michael eyed her with faint mockery—quite riled for his usual gentle prince facade.
Hmph, so much for the kind and noble crown prince.
Yurina sneered inwardly. All smiles outside, sharpening knives within. Such a man could only harm Abigail—who was desperate to annul their engagement.
I have to help her.
No more useless pests buzzing around. Time for thorough management.
Watching her needless barbs, Michael thought similarly.
Now even women are swarming. Need to be more vigilant.
Abigail in uniform drew too much attention. Ignoramuses were multiplying.
His gaze flicked to the stone-faced mage. Magic Tower robes, near-silver gray. Likely the master's disciple he'd heard of.
Why was he with her? Michael couldn't fathom. But one thing was clear: they were all drawn to her allure.
“Sir Illein, let's go.”
“Yes, Lady Yurina.”
Interest lost without Abigail, Yurina departed with her partner. Michael spared Ren one last glance and turned.
He'd dance with no one else. Ignoring envious stares, he stepped forward—when—
BAM!
“D-Disaster, Your Majesty!”
Someone burst into the ball hall just as the hesitant musicians caught the emperor's signal and struck up the dance.