Once the quadrille had come to an end, Arcrayne headed straight back toward Estelle.
“I have come for you as I promised I would. Would you grant me this dance, Lady Estelle?”
“With pleasure,” replied Estelle, still feigning an overjoyed expression, and took Arcrayne’s hand.
Estelle’s height was average among noblewomen, but Arcrayne was tall for a man. Once they took position, Estelle found her eyes at the level of Arcrayne’s breast. She and Lyle had about the same difference in height. Reminded of her former fiancé, Estelle felt something bitter well up in her chest.
A refined and unhurried tune began playing with no regard for her feelings. As per the program written in the invitation, the second piece was a slow waltz.
Estelle danced to Arcrayne’s lead. Her dancing was average—neither good nor terrible. Arcrayne’s lead, on the other hand, was skillful, and Estelle was surprised to find herself lighter on her feet than her ability would ordinarily have allowed, even despite the height difference.
As she wasn’t fond of socializing, she always did the bare minimum of dancing at balls. Thus, she could pretty much only compare Arcrayne’s dancing to that of Lyle and Sirius. Lyle was like Estelle, neither good nor bad, and Sirius’s lead was rough.
Dancing with Lyle had been like following the textbook to a T. Sirius, on the other hand, was agile and could dance well, if he put his mind to it. When he danced with other women, he was courteous, but with Estelle he would be nasty on purpose. Compared to her experience with those two, dancing with Arcrayne was easy, and the bitterness she’d felt earlier grew less pronounced over time.
“I see you can dance well.”
“Only thanks to your wonderful lead, Your Highness,” replied Estelle with a smile.
Anybody would agree that Arcrayne was an orthodox prince. Not only was he handsome, he was also tall, slim-looking but in fact muscular, and his gorgeous soiree frock coat suited him well.
If not for Estelle’s power, she would no doubt have been able to enjoy the dance more—but the mana of the young women around her had been dark and frightening ever since she had started dancing.
Arcrayne’s mana was dim too. It had been that way ever since the quadrille with Olivia, and so Estelle wanted to believe it wasn’t her he found displeasing but dancing itself.
All of a sudden, after several steps and a turn... Estelle shuddered, sensing malice beyond comparison to the animosity of the women around her.
Among the guests behind Arcrayne stood a waiter with murky mana. He continuously stared at the prince.
He scares me, thought Estelle. She casually made a step in the opposite direction to distance herself from the man, guiding Arcrayne with her. What’s with that man?
As she continued to watch the waiter in secret, she noticed he was holding a handgun under his tray. Her eyes widened. The gun was pointed at Arcrayne.
She moved before she could think, shoving the prince away with all she had. The next moment...
Bang! rang through the ballroom, and a sharp pain coursed through Estelle’s left upper arm.
It hurts... It burns... She could think of nothing else. The screaming and shouting all around her began to grow distant.
“Lady Estelle!”
Estelle fell suddenly, and Arcrayne caught her in his arms. The smell of fresh bergamot tickled her nostrils—perfume, perhaps. As her vision grew dim, she saw Sirius running toward her, his face wan.
With that, Estelle’s consciousness faded into darkness.
✦ ✦ ✦
It’s so hot... The thought was running through Estelle’s head as she came to her senses. She couldn’t understand why she felt hot in every part of her body. Have I caught a cold?
Around her was a place she didn’t recognize. She lay in the center of a fine-looking canopy bed. It was dim but not completely dark, thanks to a gentle, indirect orange light in the room.
Beyond the canopy, Estelle could see the dark brown drawing room furniture, likely walnut. Along the walls were serene rural landscapes, with Yang pottery on the shelves. The room had an elegant and calming ambience.
Where...am I...? she wondered.
As she tried to get up, sharp pain shot through her left upper arm. She collapsed in agony, at last remembering what had happened earlier.
She’d been shot. Right in the middle of her dance with Prince Arcrayne, at the ball held at Marquess Rogell’s mansion.
Estelle trembled in fear, belated as it was. Her body felt terribly sluggish and hot. She had heard one would get a fever when sustaining a wound, and that fact was now sinking in.
She inspected herself. Her wounded left arm was bandaged. The soiree dress Estelle had been wearing when she’d arrived had been replaced with a dressing gown, which was easy to take off and put on and felt highly pleasant on her skin. With this luster, it must be silk, she theorized. Between that and the exquisite embellishments on the sleeves and collar, it was clear the gown was of the finest quality.
The fever she felt likely explained the sweat she was drenched in. Her throat was dry too.
Estelle surveyed her surroundings, then began to sit up carefully, so as not to aggravate the wound. She reached out a hand toward a pitcher on the bedside table. However, she got dizzy in the process and collapsed on the spot. A loud clatter reverberated throughout the room; she must’ve knocked something down.
Someone who appeared to be a maid rushed into the room, crying, “Is everything all right, miss?!” She had probably heard the noise.
“I apologize. It looks as if I’ve knocked something over.”
“Please don’t worry about that. I’m glad to see you’re awake. You’ve been unconscious for a whole day.”
“Gracious...”
With the maid’s help, Estelle returned to the bed.
She resolved to ask the question that was on her mind. “Say, where might this be...?”
“The town house of Marquess Rogell, miss. You were shot protecting His Highness Prince Arcrayne at the ball last night. Perhaps you do not remember?”
“I do remember being shot.”
“Your voice is hoarse, miss. I will bring water and then clean up.” The maid gave Estelle a smile and left the room.
A little while later, the maid returned with a new pitcher. On her tray was also a spout cup, which she must’ve brought out of consideration, so that Estelle could drink while lying down.
“Please have some water first.” The maid brought the spout cup to Estelle’s lips.
The water inside was faintly acidic and sweet. It appeared to have lemon and honey in it. Once she saw Estelle start to feel better, the maid began cleaning up the floor.
“Um, thank you... Have you been taking care of me here ever since I was shot?” timidly asked Estelle.
“That’s right,” replied the maid with a pleasant smile. “The doctor said it was best not to move you. Lord Flozeth is staying here too.”
“He is...?”
Just like Sirius was to Estelle, Estelle was Sirius’s only remaining family. They had other relatives they could trust—their uncle and his wife—but siblings had a whole different level of significance. Estelle knew she must’ve made her brother worry.
“It’s late today, so I’ll let him know tomorrow.”
At the maid’s words, Estelle wondered what time it was. She looked at the wall-mounted clock, just visible in the indirect light, and noticed the hour hand pointing at one o’clock. Based on what the maid had said, Estelle inferred that it was one hour past midnight.
“The floor is all clean now, so I’ll be taking my leave. Please make sure to rest well, miss—you still have a fever.”
The moment Estelle had been left alone, she grew sleepy. Her body, beset by the fever, still required rest. Thus, she allowed sleep to take her.