Episode 3 – The Feast of Union

The palace was filled with light and music the following evening. Golden chandeliers sparkled overhead, their brilliance reflected in the polished marble floors. Long tables were laden with roasted meats, fine wine, and fruits arranged like works of art. Nobles in elaborate gowns and velvet coats filled the grand hall, their voices mingling with the melody of string instruments.

Elenora stood at the entrance, her hands clasped together tightly. The gown chosen for her was of pale lavender silk, embroidered with delicate silver threads that shimmered in the light. Her long hair had been braided and adorned with tiny blossoms from her own garden—a small comfort in the midst of her nervousness.

When her presence was announced, all eyes turned to her. She felt their stares like the weight of chains. Some whispered in awe at her beauty, while others smirked behind jeweled fans, already doubting her worth as a duchess-to-be.

She lowered her gaze and walked gracefully toward the high table where her parents and the Duke of Ravenwall awaited. The duke, as always, stood tall and imposing, dressed in his dark military uniform, his expression unreadable.

“Be at ease,” her mother whispered softly as she guided Elenora to her seat. Yet ease was the last thing Elenora felt.

As the feast began, nobles raised their goblets, offering toasts to peace and prosperity. Laughter and conversation filled the air, but Elenora found little comfort in their words. She sat quietly, her fingers tracing the rim of her cup, her appetite lost to her own nerves.

“Princess Elenora,” a baroness seated nearby said with a thin smile, “you must be thrilled. To wed the hero of Ravenwall is a rare honor indeed.”

Elenora offered a polite smile, her voice barely above a whisper. “Yes… I am grateful.”

The baroness’s smile sharpened, and her eyes glinted with mischief. “Though I wonder, can a delicate flower survive beside a man forged of iron?”

A ripple of laughter followed among the surrounding nobles. Elenora’s chest tightened, her throat dry. Words fled her, leaving her silent and small before their mockery.

But before the laughter could spread further, a low, firm voice cut through the air.

“Enough.”

The duke’s steel-gray eyes turned to the baroness, his gaze sharp as a blade. “You forget your place. Do not mistake her gentleness for weakness.”

The hall grew still, whispers silenced at once. The baroness paled, bowing her head quickly. “F-forgive me, Your Grace.”

Elenora’s heart skipped. She dared a glance at the duke, surprised to see his eyes fixed upon her. Though his face remained stern, there was a weight in his gaze that made her chest tighten—not coldness, but something else she could not yet name.

When the musicians began a soft waltz, couples drifted to the center of the hall. Elenora sat quietly, certain no one would ask her to dance. She much preferred watching, her heart calmer among flowers than beneath the gaze of so many. But then, the duke rose from his seat.

He extended his gloved hand toward her.

Gasps filled the hall. The feared Duke of Ravenwall, known for his icy demeanor, was asking the timid princess for a dance.

Elenora’s breath caught. Her hands trembled as she placed her fingers lightly in his. The moment their hands touched, warmth spread through her, fragile but undeniable.

He led her onto the dance floor. Though her steps were hesitant at first, his firm guidance steadied her. Around them, nobles watched in astonishment, whispers rising like rustling leaves. Yet in that moment, Elenora heard none of it.

She only felt the strength of his hand, the intensity of his gaze, and the faint possibility that perhaps, just perhaps, this union was not a prison but the beginning of something unknown… something she dared to hope could one day be called love.

***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***