Chapter 52
Chapter 52
Though I’d never attended a ball myself, I knew what was expected. Giovinetta had recounted her debutante ball hundreds of times, so many that my ears ached at the mere thought. Yet, those very stories now painted a vivid picture of the ballroom in my mind. And then, her words, spoken as if in a dream, resurfaced: “Countless gentlemen asked me to dance.”
The image of her, eyes glazed with reverie, was as clear as yesterday. A pang of dread shot through me. Dancing. It was a formal presentation, a coming-out of sorts. Dancing was inevitable. I glanced at my legs. These clumsy limbs could barely manage walking, let alone dancing. Dancing? Me? Impossible. On second thought, I was more of a problem than Cesar.
“What… what am I going to do?” My mouth went dry. Dancing. Since the accident, the thought hadn’t even crossed my mind. Had I ever learned? Yes, but it was a lifetime ago.
A memory flickered, my first days at the Flores Duchy. Cold, lonely days after losing Annalisa, wandering the streets. An orphaned child had few options. So, I’d sold flowers, relying on the pity of passing lovers and parents, barely scraping by.
I’d wake before dawn, wash in the plaza fountain, avoiding the watchman’s gaze, comb my hair, then gather wildflowers from the hills. Wrapping them in thin paper, I’d make small bouquets to sell.
Many children roamed the streets in similar straits. Most were too dirty, some diseased, often taken to the poorhouse. Maintaining a balance was key, not too clean to discourage pity, yet not too wretched to repel it. Fortunately, or unfortunately, my thin clothes and worn leather shoes, Annalisa’s only legacy, far too big and constantly dragging, served the purpose well.
One harsh winter day, a Flores servant approached.
‘What’s your name?’
‘Irenea, sir. Would you like to buy a flower?’
He’d sneered, a mocking smile twisting his lips.
‘No need for flowers. You are Cosimo Flores’ descendant.’
He claimed I carried the blood of the great archmage, a Flores, of the ducal house, one of the empire’s three founding families.
‘I’m… truly of the Flores Duchy?’
Annalisa had mentioned working in a grand mansion, but I never dreamed it was the Flores Duchy. To be a descendant of such a revered lineage… how could I not tremble? I chuckled, recalling my naive awe. Now, I suspect the trembling stemmed more from three days of hunger. But I was only eight.
‘That’s Duke Gasparo’s b*stard…’
‘From his affair with a kitchen maid…’
I’d ignored the guards’ whispers. I admit, I was lost in a dream. What did a beggar child know? Many street children were b*stards. It was a common label, familiar, but its cruel implications were beyond my grasp.
After verifications and magical assessments, I entered the Flores mansion. ‘I’m like a princess in a fairy tale!’ No more hunger, no more cold. My hardships were over. That’s what I blindly believed.
Meeting the Duchess, my supposed savior, was a shock. She was the epitome of a benevolent, graceful noblewoman, exactly as I’d imagined. Her green eyes, mirroring mine, and pale blond hair reminded me of Annalisa. I felt an inexplicable kinship, a sense of welcome. Starved for affection, I was captivated.
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