Chapter 7

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Translator: Harry Potta

Chapter: 7

Chapter Title: Debutante

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The unconventionality began with the dress. It was the debutante gown that Erna Hardy would wear to the ball at the royal palace.

Brenda Hardy eyed Erna's gown with a somewhat troubled gaze. It faithfully followed debutante tradition in its pure white color, but its design was anything but modest. The neckline plunged so deeply that she would end up debuting before all of high society with her shoulders and half her bosom on display.

"Anyway, she's no ordinary girl."

Brenda Hardy muttered in a sigh as she leaned back deeply into the wing chair.

It was Countess Victoria Meyer who had suggested that dress. Her opinion that something a bit more modest—something like a standard debutante gown—might be better had been thoroughly ignored. She'd said it would be quite the sight to dress a young lady debuting at nearly twenty in the same style as her little sisters. Brenda's anger had boiled over right to the top of her head, but it was the truth, so rebutting it had been difficult.

The noble daughters of Lechen's aristocracy generally made their debut into society around fifteen, at the spring Founding Festival ball. It might be moved up or delayed by a year due to personal circumstances, but no lady debuted as late as this. They'd made excuses about her frail health requiring time recuperating in the countryside, but no one would take that at face value.

Well. If she was bound to stand out no matter what, it might be better to go bold instead.

The gown, with its puffed sleeves lightly draped over the shoulders and its voluminous skirt, was undoubtedly beautiful. The chiffon trim at the hem of the skirt was lightly dyed in a pale pink, which made what could have been a plain dress feel all the brighter. The dressmaker had kept her promise to craft a gown that resembled a freshly bloomed flower bud.

No matter how you looked at it, it wasn't the sort of debutante dress any sane parents would put on their daughter. But Viscount Hardy, the father burning with ambition to sell off his daughter for a shot at revival, was hardly in a position to protest such criticism.

Having steeled her resolve, Brenda Hardy rang the calling bell on the table with a loud clang. The maid she'd sent on an errand soon returned, bringing along the young maid who attended Erna.

"You have a job to take full responsibility for, for Erna's sake. Think you can handle it?"

"Yes, ma'am! Just leave it to me."

The tense-faced maid answered loudly.

"Good. That's the right attitude. Very nice."

Brenda Hardy smiled only with her lips and slowly rose, stepping toward the maid.

"Have her put this dress on Erna. If you don't bring Erna here in it before departure time, you'll be dismissed on the spot. Got it?"

Biern woke earlier than usual. It was still noon, far from his normal waking hour, but to him, it felt like the crack of dawn.

"Thank goodness, Your Highness. Thanks to you, the Grand Duke's servants have been spared the tragedy of His Majesty's reprimand."

Mrs. Fitz offered an uncharacteristically joking remark to Biern as he emerged from the bath. Even her usually impassive face bore a gentle smile.

Biern gave a small chuckle and strode into the dressing room with his wide gait. The valets preparing his attire paused their work, stepping back and bowing their heads. He responded with a light nod, but the smile had already vanished from his face.

As Biern stood before the mirror after changing, the valets bustled about. By the time he was fully attired in his elaborate and ornate formal wear, the sunlight streaming through the window had grown much brighter. Biern gazed with narrowed eyes at the golden motes dancing in that light.

Even without one troublesome prince putting in an appearance, tonight's ball would proceed without a hitch. Biern knew full well that his father's threat was mere bluff. King Philip III of Lechen, the revered and benevolent father he respected, was not the sort to carry out such a thing even with a blade to his throat.

And yet, he'd decided to attend. Those who enjoyed perfectly arranged, smooth lives had to pay the due price. It was the minimal duty and obligation, distinct from mere bondage—the proper line he'd maintained as a Dynister.

"All set, Your Highness."

The butler announced lowly after adjusting the final cape.

Biern glanced at his reflection in the mirror, then turned away. Just a slight tug at the corner of his mouth transformed his expression in an instant.

He set off toward the Grand Duke's central entrance with brisk steps, where the carriage awaited. The faces of the following servants shone with long-lost admiration and joy.

"It might have been better to head to the capital a day early and stay there. I'm worried you might be late to the ball if the roads are clogged."

Mrs. Fitz, who'd followed him all the way to the carriage, said worriedly.

"That wouldn't be so bad."

"Your Highness!"

"Maybe I should pray for a roadblock or two."

Biern boarded the carriage with a light laugh. Contrary to his flippant mischief, his movements were sharp, graceful, and without excess.

The carriage bearing the Grand Duke departed Schwerin Palace amid the servants' send-off. Outside the window flowed a picturesque landscape on a bright late-spring afternoon.

"This is all your fault. Your fault, I tell you!"

As the palace came into view down the road, Brenda Hardy unleashed the anger she'd been suppressing. Viscount Hardy, who had just caught his breath, glared at his wife in disbelief.

"What? Now you're saying other people's carriage accidents are my fault too?"

"If you hadn't lost our townhouse in the capital to bank debts, we wouldn't be arriving at the ball on the day itself like this, in such a disgraceful state!"

Overpowered by his wife's raised voice, Viscount Hardy shut his mouth tight without further rebuttal. Amid the commotion, Erna merely stared out the carriage window with a half-dazed expression.

Schwerin neighbored the capital, Berne, so it wasn't a great distance by carriage—or so they'd thought. But today's unexpected accident had delayed their arrival far beyond schedule. The ball must have already begun, which was surely a disaster, but to Erna, even that felt like news from a distant world.

It would have been better if the road had stayed blocked forever.

Erna looked down at herself with eyes brimming with tears. To go to the palace in such an indecent dress. She wanted to leap from the carriage right now.

Erna had firmly refused the dress the moment she saw it. If it weren't for Lisa's desperate pleas—sobbing that she'd be dismissed and begging not to be sent back to the countryside—she never would have put on such a vulgar garment.

Unable to attend the ball practically naked or let an innocent maid be fired, Erna had proposed her own compromise: a lace shawl over the shoulders. Viscountess Hardy had grudgingly yielded, though not happily.

"You must do as you've been taught, Erna. Understand?"

As the carriage passed the palace's grand entrance, Viscount Hardy urged her gravely.

As she'd been taught? What had that been again?

Erna struggled to recall, but it wouldn't come to her. In the meantime, the palace drew ever closer. Her hands clutching the lace shawl around her shoulders now trembled as if seized by spasms.

"Viscountess! What in the world is this?"

Spotting the Hardy family scrambling up the stairs, Countess Victoria Meyer cried out irritably. The king and queen had already entered, and the introductions of this season's debutantes had long since concluded.

"A carriage accident held us up. Are we terribly late?"

Victoria Meyer shot a glare at the viscountess for her pathetic question and hurried down to the landing.

"What's this shawl?"

"I'm sorry, Countess. It was the best we could do."

Brenda Hardy quickly made excuses, gauging her reaction. All the effort of commissioning that beautiful dress had been wasted; Erna had wrapped her upper body tightly in the shawl.

"Without the shawl, we couldn't even get her in the carriage. You have no idea how stubborn she is."

What lame excuses.

Victoria Meyer shook her head in exasperation and seized Erna's wrist, rushing back up the stairs. To think they couldn't handle one tiny, frail girl as they wished. She seethed at Brenda Hardy's incompetence.

"Countess, just a little, a little more time..."

"Time? Listen, Miss Hardy. His Majesty is already here. How much more time do you need?"

Erna pleaded breathlessly, but Victoria Meyer didn't waver. Peeling away this girl's country bumpkin air in that short span was impossible anyway. It might be better to play up her innocent rural maiden charm instead.

"Announce her."

She commanded the footmen guarding the hall entrance forcefully. The massive doors emblazoned with the white wolf emblem of the Dynister royal family slowly opened, spilling forth dazzling light and noise.

"The House of Viscount Hardy!"

As the footman proclaimed loudly, the gazes of the nobles filling the vast hall turned as one. In that instant, Victoria Meyer had a gut feeling. Appearing as just one among many young ladies would have been far less advantageous. Crisis had turned to opportunity.

Exchanging a glance with the Hardys, who had hurried after her, she swiftly snatched the shawl from the statue-still Erna. Erna flailed upon realizing it too late, but it was futile.

"There. Go on, Miss Hardy."

With a cold command, Victoria Meyer shoved Erna hard in the back. The beautiful commodity she'd been tasked with this season was flung helplessly into the blinding light.

She could barely breathe.

That was the only thought Erna could muster. Even just standing there, her heart pounded as if it would burst, breath catching at her throat.

Get a grip.

Erna forced out a thin breath and lifted her head. The impossibly vast and ornate hall was packed with people just as dazzling.

She took a few shaky steps, barely supporting her trembling legs, but soon halted again. She'd remembered what she looked like.

Erna hunched her shoulders tightly and looked around as if pleading for help. But all she saw were unfamiliar faces and chaotic lights. Soon even those blurred like smeared paint.

What to do. What should she do?

Erna trembled helplessly, like prey tossed into a beast's den, scanning her surroundings once more. Amid the spectators' murmurs came the footman's cry announcing new arrivals.

"Grand Duke of Schwerin, Prince Biern!"

The ripple from that name swept through the entire hall in an instant.