Chapter 10

Damien hated parties.

Especially today’s party, which he was hosting himself.

It was far too large.

Too many people would cling to him and become a nuisance.

“…I’m already bored.”

Before it had even begun, Damien wanted to leave.

“But if I don’t behave like the perfect royal, Mother will be angry again…”

It was the chain placed around the neck of the King’s illegitimate son.

Damien Lambert had to be perfect.

He had to possess flawless manners and exceptional intelligence.

“A royal…”

Damien laughed bitterly to himself.

How ridiculous.

They expected a bastard to behave exactly like a true member of the royal family.

“What a tiresome life.”

Fortunately, he still had some time before the party began.

Sitting beside the window, Damien opened a book of poetry.

The pages had already become worn from being read over and over.

It was Clementine Cornille’s poetry collection.

As much as he hated to admit it…

It was very good.

Her ability to connect nature with everyday life and quietly reflect on the subtle tremors of existence was remarkable.

She had an exceptional gift for following the traces of life, confronting pain, and searching for one’s true self.

Unexpectedly…

Many of the poems were lively and witty.

There were even moments when Damien found himself laughing.

That was rare.

But…

“It would’ve been better if I’d never known who the author was.”

Damien muttered coldly.

The real Clementine Cornille was nothing like the elegant woman painted on the back cover.

She worked with her own hands like a servant just to earn a little money.

And on top of that…

She wrote vulgar Gothic novels.

High society often looked down on women who worked to earn a living.

Damien…

Couldn’t completely disagree.

“A fallen noble.”

“A pitiful Clementine Cornille…”

Almost absentmindedly, Damien stared at her portrait.

His heart began beating again.

Because he knew what she really looked like…

He could imagine colors where the black-and-white drawing showed only lines.

Reddish-blonde hair.

Blue eyes.

A heart-shaped face.

A graceful jawline.

And eyes that held unwavering determination despite their shyness.

“Beautiful…”

“But imperfect.”

“Clementine Cornille.”

She was beautiful…

Yet incomplete.

Just as Damien himself could never be perfect because he wasn’t a legitimate son.

His obsession with his own imperfections…

Twisted itself into contempt for an imperfect woman.

It wasn’t a righteous emotion.

But…

Did such a thing as a truly righteous emotion even exist?

Damien quietly closed the poetry collection.

Then he turned it face down…

So that he wouldn’t have to look at Clementine’s portrait anymore.

The time had come.

Clementine put on her dress and stood before the mirror.

She had altered the finest dress her mother had left behind.

Even so…

It looked like she was wearing an old relic from another era.

“Hurry, Clementine!”

Before she had time to lose confidence, Hilde impatiently dragged her away.

A moment later…

Clementine stepped into the softly lit ballroom.

With silver chandeliers glowing overhead…

Bellefontaine Castle looked almost like the royal palace itself.

Apparently…

Every noble in the surrounding region had come.

Traditional aristocrats and the newly wealthy bourgeois of the industrial age mingled together…

Quietly judging one another.

The moment Clementine entered…

The conversations around the room subtly died down.

Every eye turned toward her.

Cold sweat formed on her back.

She was the eldest daughter of the historic House of Count Montauban.

But…

Her father had failed to keep pace with the industrial age.

One mistake after another had ruined the family fortune.

Then he died in an accident.

Now…

The name Cornille had become something people laughed at.

Even Clementine’s dress belonged to another generation.

Its colors had faded.

Some of the lace had begun to unravel.

“…It’s all right.”

“I don’t care what other people think.”

Surrounded by humiliation, Clementine quietly encouraged herself.

Should I have done what Hilde did?

Should I have spent two months’ worth of food money on a new dress from a boutique?

The regret came far too late.

“Good evening, Your Grace.”

At last…

She stood before the host of the evening.

The lord of Bellefontaine.

Damien Lambert.

“This is a truly wonderful party.”

“Thank you very much for inviting us.”

Clementine forced herself to smile.

Damien silently watched her with his usual unreadable expression.

Only after a brief pause did he answer.

“You’re welcome.”

It was a very short reply.

But that didn’t mean she could quietly leave.

Proper etiquette required them to continue talking.

Clementine struggled to think of something to say to someone who seemed openly hostile toward her.

If only Hilde would help…

Her sister always boasted about how friendly and sociable she was.

Yet now…

She stood there as silently as a sack of grain.

“Um…”

After much hesitation, Clementine finally tried to start a conversation.

But someone interrupted her first.

“I’ve never seen anyone wear a dress like that these days!”

A woman standing beside Damien suddenly raised her voice.

“Did you inherit it from your grandmother?”

Laughter immediately broke out all around them.

The smiles surrounding Clementine looked like monsters closing in from every direction.

“…Ah…”

“You mean it reflects the dignity of an old family tradition, don’t you, Miss Celine?”

At least one person tried to smooth things over.

It was Olivier Rochemont.

Even his normally gentle face looked embarrassed.

“Oh, of course.”

Celine answered brightly.

Judging from the way Olivier addressed her…

This had to be Celine Mangala, the Duke’s fiancée.

“I’ve simply never seen another lady wear her grandmother’s clothes.”

“You can practically feel centuries of tradition.”

She skillfully turned Olivier’s attempt at kindness into yet another insult.

Even louder laughter erupted.

Even Hilde laughed along.

That wasn’t surprising.

She always did things like this.

Yet strangely…

The laughter itself wasn’t what hurt Clementine most.

It was Damien Lambert.

While everyone else laughed…

He didn’t smile even once.

It was almost as if…

He didn’t think she was worth laughing at.

Instead…

He simply stood there…

Looking at her with contempt, as though even watching her humiliation was pathetic.

Caught between her pride and proper etiquette…

Clementine hesitated.

“…I’m glad that’s how you see it.”

Finally, just as the laughter began to die down…

She made up her mind.

“My grandmother always taught me…”

“That only families with truly distinguished traditions are invited to the kingdom’s finest parties.”

She slowly looked around the room.

“My dress has my ancestors’ pride stitched into every seam.”

Then she said calmly,

“It isn’t the sort of clothing one wears to a marketplace where people buy admission tickets after making a few lucky trades on the stock exchange.”

The laughter abruptly faded.

Someone coughed awkwardly.

Celine Mangala’s face turned bright red.

She clearly wasn’t used to being answered back.

“How dare you insult His Grace’s party—”

Celine shouted.

But she never finished.

Because another laugh interrupted her.

“Hah.”

It was Damien Lambert.

There wasn’t a trace of warmth in it.

It was the laugh of someone stripping another person bare…

Mocking them from the very depths of their misery.

The ballroom fell completely silent.

Only Damien’s voice remained.

“Interesting.”

His voice was low and beautiful.

His words, however…

Were poison.

“Coming from someone who couldn’t even afford a ticket to that marketplace…”

“Because her family lost every last coin they owned.”

Heat rushed to Clementine’s face.

His arrogant words shattered the fragile wall of pride she had barely managed to protect.

But then…

Something strange happened.

At the same time that her blood ran cold from being humiliated…

Another part of her heart burst into flames.

“I’m glad you found it entertaining.”

Clementine answered boldly.

“Even if my family hadn’t lost everything…”

“We still wouldn’t have wasted money buying tickets to a party with so little class.”

For the first time…

She stood as Damien Lambert’s equal on his own stage.

And answered him with words as sharp as a curse.

Yet…

His cold arrogance remained completely unmoved.

Because of that…

Something stranger than hatred…

Something deeper…

Hotter…

Began quietly swirling between them.

It became a storm so fierce…

That not even Celine Mangala…

Nor anyone else in the ballroom…

Could interrupt it.