Chapter 18
Lord Laegar had always been by her side, so she wondered if she’d ever even had the time to feel lonely.
‘He never leaves me alone for a single moment….’
Thinking of him, Lucy abruptly missed Laegar.
‘Where on earth is he? Said he’d come. Tch.’
Just as she was tilting her head, a tall young man approached her.
Underneath a golden mask, he revealed a row of even, white teeth and spoke.
“My lady, from the very beginning I have been daring to eye an opportunity to ask you for a dance. Would you please grant me as well a chance to share a single song with the ‘Queen of the Night’?”
Flustered by his smooth eloquence, Lucy, having failed to find Laegar anyway, accepted his request for a dance.
She was growing slightly weary of dancing by now, but she decided to stay in the hall a while longer since Laegar might appear at any moment.
Above all, her body knew how to dance the ballroom dances!
This was an astonishing discovery.
‘I can ride a horse, and I can dance too!’
She wasn’t skilled, but her body had clearly learned formal dancing.
Whatever she had learned, her body remembered without fail.
Then why did the bedchamber… with Lord Laegar… feel so unfamiliar and overwhelming?
Lost in such thoughts, Lucy suddenly felt her dance partner’s hot lips graze the nape of her neck and jerked her head up.
Her partner merely smiled with his eyes and led her on, perfectly composed.
But gradually, his touch grew persistent enough to be unmistakable. Lucy, who received Laegar’s touch day in and day out, could recognize the intent immediately.
The man’s lips had brushed her ear more than once. The arm coiled around her waist wouldn’t loosen until their upper bodies pressed flush together.
His thigh, too, slid deep between her legs before withdrawing again.
Lucy frowned, vaguely displeased, but looking around, the atmosphere itself had already shifted that way.
As the night deepened, a wanton intoxication had taken hold of everyone.
Some paired off and vanished somewhere, others attempted bold caresses in dark corners—and no one paid any mind.
Meanwhile, the one holding the reins on Laegar’s agitation was Igor.
Perched crookedly on the armrest, he watched his uncle’s unstable mood from the side and kept giggling.
The veins bulged on Laegar’s temple and the back of the hand propping his forehead always whenever Lucy was dancing with someone else, or chatting and laughing.
The image of the reclusive, hermit-like emperor—who had opened this boisterous ball to please his lover—now hiding in a back room, utterly unable to endure it.
In the end, Igor couldn’t hold back and stamped his feet, laughing.
“What’s this, Unc! If you can’t stand it so badly you’re shaking, just go out to the hall yourself and declare she’s your woman, tell them not to touch her.”
Or even if he merely went out in a mask and danced once, everyone would recognize him from his overwhelming silhouette.
But whether he loathed the brilliant chandelier lights and clamor, or didn’t wish to ruin the stage he’d carefully set so Lucy could be the main character—he remained sunk deep in his chair.
At this rate, Igor thought, his uncle and the dark crimson velvet sofa were going to become one entity.
Abruptly, Laegar cast a quiet glance at his nephew, as if asking, ‘Why are you even here?’
Igor squared his shoulders proudly and grumbled.
“Tch! I’m the lord of this castle. A banquet’s being held in my castle—does it make sense for me alone to be locked in the study?”
Igor resentfully glared at his uncle, who had lately been trying to suffocate him with succession lessons and military drills.
“While you’re over here burning with jealousy!”
As if truly unsettled, Laegar didn’t seem to hear a word of his nephew’s complaints.
Inside his heavily sunken gaze, the image of Lucy slipping into a side corridor with a tall young man was reflected.
Igor, who had fairly sharp eyes himself, recognized the man and added fuel.
“Oh, that bastard… that’s the eldest son of the Iantz Count’s house.”
He was a notorious playboy, famous for seducing pretty young ladies of humble families, mixing bodies with them, and discarding them.
Igor, who’d been debating whether to tell him or not, turned his head and realized there was no need.
His uncle—who had been circling a wine glass he wasn’t even drinking for hours, like some neurotic—had already vanished from his seat.
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