I'm in Love with the Villainess!

Chapter 325: Social Giants

(A/N: I’ll be switching to third-person now since it fits the story better. But Cael’s thoughts will still be fairly known.)

"Is this everyone, Marcellus?"

The emperor asked, peering through one of the curtained windows overlooking the grand hall where the guests had gathered.

The Imperial Ball had always been a momentous event, but this one surpassed all previous ones by a significant margin, both because of the events leading up to it and the caliber of nobles currently in attendance.

It didn’t help that the headmasters of the capital’s most prestigious academies had also chosen to attend. That meant the emperor wouldn’t simply be dealing with conniving, sly nobles. He’d also be dealing with people capable of conjuring the power of a nuclear bomb with a single thought.

But he had already taken enough precautions.

Marcellus.

Julius.

And more importantly, the endless procession of nobles below, whose magical lineages could give even those headmasters a run for their money.

"It’s everyone, Father."

"I see. And what about your brother?"

"Julius? He’s mingling with Valemont at the moment."

"Good. Make sure none of the imperial family sees you talking to him. I allow you to be close in informal settings, but during this ball, you are the heir. I don’t want to see you speaking with your bastard brother. Understood?"

"Yes, Father."

The emperor nodded once, a short, sharp motion that carried the weight of finality. He did not look at Marcellus as he spoke.

His gaze remained fixed on the crowd below, on the shifting currents of silk and steel that moved through the grand hall like schools of wary fish.

"The D’Arclight girl," he said. "She’s here."

"Evelina arrived moments ago. With Cael Arden and their fathers."

"I heard about the church; you did well to hide it from me for this long."

Marcellus kept his expression neutral. "The church is no longer a concern, Father."

"No." The emperor’s lips thinned. "Now it’s run by a boy who thinks he’s been chosen by a god, propped up by two of the most dangerous mages this empire has produced in a century."

"They’re loyal."

"Loyal to what?" The emperor finally turned, his dark eyes settling on Marcellus with an weight that had made stronger men flinch. "To you? To the crown? To the idea of the empire?"

"To each other."

The emperor’s laugh was short and sharp, devoid of warmth. "That’s what I’m afraid of."

He turned back to the window, his reflection ghosting across the glass. Below, a ripple passed through the crowd as Evelina passed, nobles stepping aside without seeming to realize they were moving.

"Keep them in check tonight, Marcellus. I want no incidents, and definitely no... displays."

"Father—"

"I don’t want blood on the ballroom floor. Is that too much to ask?"

Marcellus followed his father’s gaze to the crowd below, to the flash of ivory silk and white hair that moved through the nobles like a blade through silk.

"No, Father," he said quietly. "That’s not too much to ask."

The emperor straightened his cuffs, smoothed the front of his coat, and for a moment looked almost like he wasn’t stressed.

"Then go. Mingle. Pretend you enjoy the company of people who would poison you if they thought they could get away with it."

"And you?"

"I have an empire to run." The emperor’s reflection smiled, thin and cold. "Enjoy the ball, Marcellus. And maybe find yourself a good wife."

"Father—"

"I’m joking, well, half-joking."

***

The hallway was quieter than the ballroom, though he could still hear the distant swell of music, the murmur of conversation, the clink of glasses. Servants pressed themselves against the walls as he passed, bowing low.

He didn’t acknowledge them.

His mind was already elsewhere.

The grand hall opened before him, a sea of silk and jewels and carefully constructed smiles. He scanned the crowd, locating Julius near the Valemont family’s cluster, Lillian’s silver hair bright beside her father’s darker figure.

Vivianne stood near the edge of the dance floor, her arms crossed, her expression caught somewhere between boredom and calculation. Kevin was nowhere in sight, which meant he was likely hiding in the shadows, watching.

And there, at the center of it all, where the chandeliers’ light fell brightest and the crowd parted most readily, stood Evelina D’Arclight.

Cael had disappeared.

Marcellus’s eyes narrowed, scanning the crowd again, but found no sign of the dark mage. Only Evelina, elegant and composed, accepting a glass of champagne from a servant she didn’t bother to thank.

"Looking for someone?"

The voice came from beside him, low and amused. Marcellus didn’t flinch, though he hadn’t heard anyone approach.

"Cael."

The dark mage leaned against a pillar, half-hidden in the shadow cast by its carved surface. He wore black, of course, though the cut was finer than his usual, the fabric richer.

His eyes tracked the crowd with the same lazy alertness Marcellus had learned to recognize.

"Your father doesn’t like me," Cael said.

"My father doesn’t like anyone."

"Fair point."

Cael pushed off from the pillar and fell into step beside Marcellus as they walked toward the heart of the ballroom. The crowd parted for them too, though less smoothly than it had for Evelina.

"Where’s Evelina?"

"Making friends," Cael said. "Or enemies. Hard to tell with her."

Marcellus glanced toward the center of the room, where Evelina had stopped to speak with a cluster of lesser nobles who looked like they were trying very hard not to tremble.

"Julius seems to be enjoying himself, at least."

Cael followed his gaze. Julius stood with Lillian, the two of them speaking quietly, close enough that their shoulders almost touched.

"Enjoying might be a strong word."

"It’s the closest he gets."

They walked in silence for a moment, weaving between clusters of guests who watched them pass with poorly disguised wariness. Marcellus’s golden hair caught the light, marking him as surely as any crown.

"Your brother," Cael said eventually. "The emperor doesn’t want you seen with him tonight?"

Marcellus’s jaw tightened. "My father has many opinions."

"I noticed."

"Don’t."

Cael raised his hands, palms out, a gesture of surrender that didn’t reach his eyes. "Just making conversation."

"Don’t."

The word came out harder than Marcellus intended. He drew a breath, smoothed his expression back to something neutral.

"My apologies."

"Don’t apologize either." Cael’s voice was light, almost careless, but his eyes had sharpened. "It’s not a good look on a prince."

Before Marcellus could respond, a ripple moved through the crowd.

Heads turned, and conversations faltered. The music seemed to pause, just for a breath.

At the far end of the ballroom, the doors had opened.

And through them walked Vance Arden and Vredemann D’Arclight.

The two men moved through the crowd with an easy confidence that bordered on arrogance, the space around them clearing like mist before the sun. Vredemann’s smile was sharp, assessing, while Vance’s expression remained unreadable.

Together, they made an unsettling pair.

The infamous Duke of Red, the man who had somehow escaped justice for decades, was walking arm-in-arm with the head of House Arden, a family that had risen from obscurity to power in the span of a single generation.

Marcellus watched them approach.

"Your father," he said quietly, "is enjoying this far too much."

Cael’s expression didn’t change. "He’s always enjoyed making people uncomfortable."

"He’s good at it."

"Decades of practice."

The two men stopped before them. Vredemann’s smile widened, and he inclined his head toward Marcellus with a deference that somehow managed to feel mocking.

"Your Highness. You look well."

"Lord D’Arclight and Lord Arden, it’s a pleasure to meet you both."