The last whispers of winter clung to the air as February fully gave way to March, the Kingdom of Avalon caught in the delicate balance between seasons. Morning frosts still dusted the cobblestones and bare tree branches, but the sunlight lingered just a moment longer each day, hinting at the promise of spring.
The shift in the calendar brought with it a renewed sense of urgency among the Nobility; With the social season in full swing, every passing week seemed to heighten the stakes of courtly intrigue. For Delphia, the changing month was a quiet reminder of how far she'd come—and how much further she still had to go. Each event, each lesson, and each whispered conversation felt like another step in a carefully laid plan, one that could not afford missteps.
Zypher had proposed attending this event since he recognized a few names on the list. He wanted to see what information he could gather here that would help him piece together some final puzzles in his mind.
So the grand ballroom of House Mooresbane was a spectacle to behold—crystal chandeliers casting a soft, golden glow over the room, marble floors reflecting the luxurious tapestries adorning the walls, the rhythmic hum of polite conversation filling the air, and the light strings of a quartet.
It was a dazzling spectacle, radiating wealth and power in every corner. The rich tapestries that adorned the walls whispered secrets of past battles won and lost. The shimmering crystal chandeliers cast a warm glow over the room, adding to the opulence of the evening.
As Nobles from all corners of the Kingdom mingled, their ornate gowns and tailored suits exuded an air of status and privilege. The aroma of rare perfumes and fine wines filled the air, enticing guests to indulge in excess.
But behind the facade of luxury and celebration, each guest was acutely aware of the political game being played. Every word spoken, every gesture made, was a carefully calculated move towards gaining or maintaining power. It was a dance of alliances and betrayals, hidden beneath layers of extravagance and artifice. She knew now what each flicker of a fan, what each carefully measured laugh meant—and it no longer felt like deciphering a foreign script. It felt like instinct.
Delphia stood next to Zypher's side in her dusty rose-colored dress, her gaze casually sweeping over the crowd. His button down and handkerchief matching her dress as they had coordinated their attire for the night. The skirt fell in a few asymmetric pieces, adding volume where it was cut and complimenting her figure in a grand way.
The Grand Gala was bustling with influential Nobles, Mages, and Dignitaries, all of whom were eager to network and curry favor with those in power. The conversations surrounding them ranged from discussions of trade and alliances to whispers of magical research and military movements.
And yet, despite the seemingly lighthearted atmosphere, Delphia could feel the tension simmering just beneath the surface. Her eyes found Calista across the room, the young woman glowing under the attention of the Crown Prince and the Nobles gathered around her.
Dressed in a gown that emphasized her sky-blue hair and green eyes, Calista seemed to embody the very image of grace and charm. She laughed softly at something Alaric had said, her voice melodic as she navigated the social landscape with ease. Every gesture, every smile was perfectly placed, drawing the eyes of those around her.
Delphia couldn't help but feel a sense of unease at this caricature. Watching Calista manipulate her public image so deftly, Delphia could see the subtlety in her tactics.
Calista knew exactly how to play the role of the humble yet enchanting noblewoman—the woman who had risen from common beginnings to the heights of aristocracy. It was the perfect narrative, one that made her untouchable, at least for now.
"She's careful," Delphia murmured quietly to Zypher, her eyes never leaving Calista. They were standing at one of the tables set up around the large room, Delphia munching on hors d'oeuvres and a tall glass of amber-colored wine.
Zypher gave a slight nod, his maroon eyes flickering briefly in Calista's direction before refocusing on the room at large. "Careful, but far from naïve. She's weaving a web, and the Crown Prince is just but one caught in it."
Delphia found herself leaning on him, her hip resting below his, as they were in a more dimly lit area closer to the wall. She wasn't worried too much about her actions being that she was one, engaged, and two, with the person to be wed. Her lips twitched in agreement as she returned her attention to the broader dynamics of the room.
She noticed that Sybil Mooresbane, standing a few paces away, had her eyes trained on Calista with thinly veiled disdain. The tension between the two was almost palpable, and it was clear to Delphia that Sybil's patience had worn thin.
Over the past weeks, Sybil's attempts to undermine Calista had grown more aggressive, yet each attempt had backfired, isolating her further within high society. "Watch her," Delphia whispered, a note of warning in her voice. "Sybil's getting desperate."
Zypher's gaze shifted to Sybil, whose posture was rigid with barely concealed frustration. "She's going to make another move. And soon," He nodded before taking a sip of his drink.
As if on cue, Sybil glided across the ballroom toward Calista, her head held high and her voice loud enough to capture the attention of the nearby guests. "Lady Calista," Sybil began with a falsely sweet tone, "How admirable it is that someone with such modest beginnings has managed to secure a place at the Crown Prince's side. Tell us, how do you navigate such a complex world with so little experience?"
The room stilled for a brief moment, the subtle insult hanging in the air.
The Nobles within earshot paused their conversations, waiting for Calista's response. Alaric, standing protectively by Calista's side, narrowed his eyes at Sybil, but Calista placed a gentle hand on his arm, stopping him from intervening. Delphia felt a flicker of admiration for the coolness Calista maintained under such thinly veiled insults. She's good at this.
With a serene smile, Calista turned to face Sybil. "Oh, Lady Sybil, how kind of you to ask. I've always found that understanding people's intentions is far more applicable than any formal experience. After all, empathy and insight go a long way in making meaningful connections." Her eyes gleamed as she added softly, "Even with those who may not initially seem," She paused, a smile crawling onto her face, "welcoming."
Sybil's expression faltered, and murmurs of approval rippled through the crowd. Calista had once again turned the situation in her favor easily, casting herself as the gracious victim of Sybil's jealousy while subtly undermining Sybil's own credibility.
Delphia could see the shift in the room's energy. The elite guests, who had been watching the exchange with keen interest, were now whispering amongst themselves. And Sybil, already on thin ice, had just taken another misstep. The once-formidable Mooresbane heir was becoming increasingly isolated, and the more she tried to fight against Calista, the deeper she sank.
"Sybil's digging her own grave," Delphia remarked softly to Zypher, "She's becoming a liability for her family."
Zypher agreed, his gaze hardening as he observed Sybil's growing frustration. "Her attempts to undermine Calista are only making her look desperate." Indeed, Sybil's social standing was crumbling before their eyes. Her once-powerful position as a Mooresbane was slowly unraveling, not because of anything Calista had done directly, but because of Sybil's own inability to recognize that she had already lost.
Sybil, visibly rattled, attempted one final jab at Calista, "I suppose you'll have to rely on that 'empathy' when you find yourself out of your depth."
Calista didn't miss a beat, "I've found that empathy has a way of opening doors, Lady Mooresbane. You might want to try it sometime."
As the room erupted in soft chuckles, Sybil could feel her cheeks burning hot. She tried to shrink into herself and disappear as the peals of ridicule echoed around her. Her posture tightened, and she could hear the whispers of disapproval growing louder. Sybil retreated towards the back of the room, desperately trying to escape the overwhelming feeling of humiliation that enveloped her.
Delphia watched the scene unfold with a mix of fascination and discomfort. Had she not died and transmigrated into Delphia's body, the original Delphia would have been in Sybil's position—a Villainess trying to hold her ground while everything slipped through her fingers. But, Calista had mastered the art of manipulation in a way that the old Delphia never had. She played the role of the innocent heroine while expertly steering public perception to her advantage.
Quietly, Delphia pointed out, "Calista is skilled at this game. She wears a façade in public that no one can see beyond." As she finished her drink and set down the glass, she leaned against Zypher and took his hand, stating, "What's strange is that in the book, whenever Delphia had a verbal confrontation with Calista, someone always stepped in to defend her, making Delphia's humiliation even greater. So why hasn't that happened to Sybil?"
He paused and squeezed her hand, turning his head to kiss her temple before answering. "While Sybil may be a Duke's daughter, Duke Vosswell holds the highest rank among all the Dukes. If Delphia spoke out against her, Calista would need another powerful ally to counter any pressure the Vosswell name alone could exert."
She nodded, watching as Calista moved effortlessly through the crowd, her every gesture carefully calculated to maintain her image as the perfect noblewoman. "Not yet," Zypher said, pulling her thoughts back, his voice low and thoughtful, "But cracks are beginning to show." With her knowledge of the novel bleeding into the reality she now lived, Delphia could see behind the mask.
Calista was no naïve heroine—she was a strategist, a manipulator, and a rival in ways the novel had never portrayed.
The evening stretched on, and Zypher drifted from cluster to cluster like a shadow—never lingering too long, but always catching the right names, the right smiles. Delphia watched him from the corner of the room, noting how easily he deflected questions with a nod, or slid a stray comment into conversation like a blade between ribs.
He returned to her side with the same quiet grace, a faint crease between his brows. "I've heard everything I needed to tonight," he murmured. "Ready to go?"
She didn't argue. Her feet throbbed inside her heels, and she exhaled a quiet breath of relief as she looped her arm through his. "I thought you'd never ask."
They slipped through a side corridor, away from the chandeliers and shallow laughter, the muffled hum of strings fading behind them. The night air was cool on her skin, and the carriage awaited just beyond the gates, lanterns flickering gold.
Zypher helped her up with a hand at her waist, then climbed in behind her. As the door shut, he tapped twice on the wall behind him. "The Vosswell estate," he called to the driver.
The carriage jolted into motion. Delphia leaned into him, and without a word, he pulled her closer, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. For the first time all night, she let herself exhale fully, resting her cheek against the steady rise and fall of his chest.