41.
A silence that didn’t belong in a ballroom lingered. It was born of the woman standing before the crowd, face-to-face with the Empress, as if declaring war.
The Empress, dressed in gold, and the Lady, in a black gown, confronted each other like night and day.
‘That pathetic Lady, a woman obsessed with her husband.’
The derogatory term that had defined Lady Blanc in the minds of the major aristocrats of Grandcen had vanished.
In its place sat a new realization:
‘A great aristocrat who dares to covet the position of the most noble flower at the Imperial Ball.’
Who in Grandcen would dare hope to outshine the Empress? And even if they wished it, what aristocrat possessed the wealth and the skilled tailors to rival the Imperial family?
The woman who had assumed a mantle that no noble loyal to the Empire would dare to crave, let alone desire, met the Empress’s gaze with a stiff posture.
Breathless tension swept through the ballroom.
And just as the Empress’s expression began to shift, Lady Blanc slowly pulled her left foot back and bowed deeply, bending her knees until they almost touched the floor.
A bow so deep her skirts nearly brushed the ground. It was an undeniable gesture of submission.
Only then did a smile touch the Empress’s lips. Her gaze shifted from the Lady to the gathered aristocrats.
“I welcome all of you, the aristocrats of Grandcen, gathered here today. Grandcen is currently engaged in a fierce struggle for the glory and prosperity of the Empire. But for tonight, I ask that you set all of that aside and enjoy your time.”
With the opening address concluded, music began to resonate throughout the ballroom.
Most of the aristocrats let out secret sighs of relief. However, those with quick wits were simultaneously busy observing the expressions of Duke Blanc and the Empress, along with the shifting atmosphere among the high-ranking nobility.
Though they could not accurately discern the Lady’s intentions, they were certain of one thing.
The bizarre behavior displayed at the Jockey Club, the commotion at the Russell salon, and now, this Imperial Ball.
Freya Blanc had changed. And this changed Lady would bring a great upheaval to the social circles of Luthes.
✦ ✦ ✦
It had taken a long time to reach this place.
To stand directly across from that woman—it had taken a truly long time.
Who was it that drove Max Russell to his death?
Herself, the one who betrayed him from closest proximity and led him into despair.
Her father, Duke Blanc, who had ravaged his life for years and usurped the Russell family’s business.
Erle Tristan, who coveted his business and his position as the Lady’s husband.
They were all people who needed to vanish from Max Russell’s life. But even if she and they were to disappear, Max’s misfortune could not be stopped.
Because the root of every event that led Max Russell to his death lay elsewhere.
Those who had been exhausting the national treasury for years through reckless wars of conquest. Those who targeted businesses that would not bring harm to the Imperial family or the nobility, all to fill the war chest and the treasury.
The representative of those people was seated in the seat of honor in the ballroom.
The woman at the pinnacle of Grandcen.
The most beautiful and precious jewel in the Empire.
And the incompetent, greedy master of the Imperial family who, in her first life, devoured the Russell family and brought the grandson of a revolutionary hero to a miserable death.
Today, all those responsible for Max Russell’s death were gathered here.
Her father, Duke Gaspard Blanc.
Erle Tristan.
Herself, Freya Blanc.
And the Imperial family.
She would clear them all away with her own hands. But it was not yet time. Until the day she was fully prepared, she would remain as she was now…
“Freya.”
Her husband’s voice at her ear brought her back to the present. Drawn by the hand wrapped around her waist, Freya’s body leaned into Max.
“When you dance, you must focus on your partner.”
As Max whispered into her ear, Freya met his eyes and smiled lovingly.
Every time Freya moved, following Max’s lead, the thousands of diamonds on her dress shimmered like stars.
The dance of the man in the black tailcoat and the woman in the black dress was a masterpiece painted by a genius, one that made it impossible to look away.
In this moment, even the women who had been jealous of the Lady were forced to admit it.
They were a beautiful man and woman, perfectly matched, as if God had intended them to be a pair from the very beginning.
Despite the stinging gazes of the aristocrats, the two looked only at each other.
As if there were no one else in the ballroom but the two of them.
Like a couple deeply in love.
It was exactly as Freya had requested in the carriage on the way to the Imperial Palace.
“For today, I want us to look like an affectionate couple.”
It hadn’t been a particularly surprising request. But Max had insisted on asking the reason.
“Why?”
“Before we divorce, I want to wash away the infamy of being ‘a woman obsessed with her husband’.”
Washing away an infamy. Max had looked at his wife and asked nonchalantly.
“Is that, too, one of the things you must do for me?”
Max had asked, recalling what Freya had said when she told him to trust her.
For an instant, though it vanished quickly, confusion had clearly flickered in the woman’s eyes.
“No, this isn’t for you, it’s for me. I don’t want to be called by such derogatory terms even after we divorce.”
The woman who had told him not to be good to her after he promised to trust her was now asking to appear as an affectionate couple.
To wash away an infamy. It was a plausible reason, but that could not be all there was to it.
The thoughts of the woman, which he had once thought were as visible as the bottom of a clear lake, had suddenly become impossible to see.
‘Freya, what are you thinking about again?’
Max watched his wife’s face, focused on the dance, then leaned down to whisper in her ear.
“Everyone is only looking at you. A jealous husband might be a bit angry.”
The cheeks of the woman, beautiful enough to blind, flushed a soft red. Max pulled her body slightly closer, ensuring no other gaze could touch her.
✦ ✦ ✦
A lesson learned from living the same time over and over again:
Information in hand is useless if not used in the right place, and powerful words only come from powerful people.
Not only the aristocratic society of Grandcen but even the people she met on the street pointed fingers at her.
Although she was the one and only Lady in the Empire, the weight of her words was lighter than air.
Conversely, the words of her enemies were heavy enough to decide a person’s life or death with a single sentence.
That was why she could no longer remain ‘the Lady obsessed with her husband.’
To stand against the Marquisate that had continued since the days when Grandcen was a monarchy, the most powerful woman in the Empire, and the man before her.
“Freya, congratulations on your social debut.”
“Thank you, Father.”
As soon as the first dance with Max ended, her father approached as if he had been waiting and offered his hand.
Freya smiled brightly and took her father’s hand.
As the Blanc father and daughter moved to the center of the ballroom, the aristocrats’ attention focused on them, despite their pretense of disinterest. A few gentlemen exchanged significant looks.
“Are you attending the Imperial Ball because you’ve thought about using the Blanc name again?”
“No.”
Not yet. Freya left the sentence trailing.
When she said she would marry Max, her father had, for the first time, expressed opposition, telling her to reconsider.
When she did not bend her will, he told her to choose whether to live as a Blanc or a Russell. Freya chose Russell without a moment’s hesitation.
At that time, her father had said: You may return whenever you wish. But if you return, you must leave no trace of the Russell name behind.
“Are you satisfied?”
Freya gauged her father’s intent for a moment.
It could mean her life with the husband she had chosen even at the cost of abandoning the Blanc name, or it could mean the situation where she confronted the Empress moments ago.
Perhaps it even referred to the rumors of discord between Duke Blanc and the Lady, which had been perfectly extinguished by their dance.
Regardless of which it was, the answer was the same.
“Yes, Father.”
“If you are satisfied, that is enough.”
Her father had always let her do as she pleased.
Even when she said she would marry Max Russell, abandoning her family name, her father had ultimately condoned her becoming Freya Russell.
Before she lost her father, she had assumed it was because she wasn’t a precious being to him. She thought it was because he didn’t care what choices she made.
Now, she knew. That had been his own way of loving her. Even if it was a twisted and clumsy form.
Freya smiled and answered, emphasizing it once more.
“Father, I am satisfied right now.”
With the hope that if she said she was satisfied—if he understood that all the actions she would take from now on were entirely of her own will—perhaps he would accept her future choices just as he had until now.
Even if it was just so that when everything ended, her father would be less hurt by his daughter’s betrayal.
✦ ✦ ✦
“I didn’t know the Lady was such a beautiful person.”
Noémie admired the scene of the Lady and the Duke dancing.
Beautiful, my foot. She’s so sharp-edged she looks ready to kill someone. Asil, who was eating finger food nearby, secretly made a disgusted face.
As mere aristocrats of the region, the Delaporte couple couldn’t mix like oil and water in a banquet where only the high nobility gathered. It was a common occurrence, so neither of them particularly minded.
“But watching the Lady… doesn’t she remind you of someone? That ‘Ni…’ who fought against the Empress about 10 years ago…”
“Shh.”
Asil cut Noémie off.