Chapter 37: A Few Hours Before The Ball.
It was finally the day of the ball.
Everyone in the Viremont house was busy, so busy that one would think they were the ones hosting, and not the royal family.
Servants moved in and out of rooms with urgency, voices echoing through the halls, fabrics rustling, doors opening and closing.
The entire manor felt alive, shifting around the preparations of its most important members.
No, it was because each important member of the house.
Aster.
Hyacinthe.
Lilior.
And of course, the gem among the field of flowers, Amethiel.
Contrary to popular belief that men don’t like getting ready for balls, and it was only the women who made a fuss, that was only true for the stupid male population who didn’t know how to dress up.
’Truly unfortunate creatures,’ Amethiel thought idly as he sat still, allowing the servants to work around him.
Aster Vio Viremont, Amethiel’s father, was not only rich growing up and smart, but he wasn’t interested in selling or trading monsters; he did have one business venture among the many businesses under the Viremont family that he truly loved.
Male fashion.
Yes, it wasn’t usual for a heterosexual man to love fashion in their kingdom, but Aster’s passion for dressing nicely stemmed from the fact that he grew up rich.
If he grew up rich, he wanted to look rich.
He disliked the plain outfits male nobles wore during functions.
He wanted more style, something that actually reflected wealth and beauty, not just status.
Hence, he created "Vio Male Apparel," a clothing line designed for men who did not want to be plain or boring.
Ever since then, besides their massive amounts of wealth, the Viremont family was also known for their beauty and their flashy clothes.
And because of that reputation, they had a process before balls.
Each member of the family stayed in their room, pampered by different servants, given their light breakfast, cleaned with expensive rose waters that left a faint, lingering scent on the skin.
Now, Amethiel was at the point where his hair was being styled.
Fingers moved through his strands carefully, adjusting, shaping, making sure not a single strand fell out of place.
His face was being dusted with a light powder, something barely visible, just enough to make his skin appear smoother, brighter.
He didn’t particularly care for it.
But he didn’t stop them either.
’If it makes them happy,’ he thought, though there was a hint of indifference behind it.
"Oh, Your Grace, your face really is so soft," Cherry Pie gushes as she continues to pat his face gently. "You don’t even need this powder anymore."
Amethiel glanced at her through the mirror, his expression flat, unimpressed.
"No, I won’t let Kree carry you, Cherry Pie."
He knew Cherry Pie was buttering him up for that.
"Oh, boo." Cherry Pie pouts immediately. "That’s the only reason I continued working with you, because of your cool monsters."
Amethiel lets out a small breath, almost amused.
"Keep talking like that, and I’ll replace you," Amethiel jokes back, glancing at her.
Cherry Pie rolled her eyes, clearly unbothered by the threat.
She never was.
Besides being Amethiel’s personal maid, Cherry Pie was also Amethiel’s friend.
Somewhat.
Though he would never openly admit that.
’Absolutely not,’ he thought, the idea almost offensive to him in a way he couldn’t fully explain.
So Cherry Pie was the only one allowed to banter with him like this.
Well, maybe Johnson as well, but that was mostly because Amethiel tolerated him.
And even then, only barely.
Cherry Pie clapped her hands lightly once, as if snapping herself back into her duties.
"Anyways, Your Grace, the carriage is ready," she said, her tone a little more formal now despite the smile still on her face. "The knights will be coming once you’re dressed to assist you in bringing Kree into the carriage."
Amethiel’s gaze flickered toward her reflection in the mirror.
’Finally,’ he thought, a quiet sense of anticipation settling in his chest.
"Then dress me now," Amethiel said, his voice calm, almost impatient beneath the surface. "There’s no point in delaying any further."
"At once." Cherry Pie stepped aside, motioning for the other maids to move forward.
Carefully, almost ceremoniously, she brought out his outfit from a black box on his bed.
Amethiel’s eyes shifted to it.
And for a moment, he didn’t say anything.
The clothing was detailed.
Intricately so. Layers of fine fabric stitched together with precision, threaded with subtle gem designs that caught the light without being overwhelming.
It was flashy, yes, but controlled. Intentional. Not gaudy.
Of course, it was in violet and black.
His family’s colors.
But what stood out most was the brooch.
A bright green piece, set carefully at the chest, its color almost identical to Amethiel’s eyes.
It drew attention.
Not too much.
Just enough.
’...He did well,’ Amethiel thought, his lips pressing together slightly.
"Cherry Pie," he said without looking away from the outfit, "give my father’s tailor ten gold coins as a tip."
Cherry Pie blinked, clearly surprised. "Ten, Your Grace?"
"For a job well done," Amethiel replied simply.
A grin spread across her face almost immediately. "My, Your Grace is ever so generous today," she teased. "Should I expect a tip as well?"
Amethiel finally looked at her.
With a bored expression.
But there was a faint glint in his eyes.
He reached out, tapping her forehead lightly with his finger.
"There," he said flatly. "That’s your tip."
Cherry Pie gasped dramatically, placing a hand over her chest. "Your Grace, how cruel. I was expecting at least one gold coin."
"You’re lucky I didn’t charge you for that," Amethiel replied, already turning his attention back to the maids. "I don’t usually touch any family members."
The dressing began shortly after.
Layers were placed on him one by one, adjusted and refined with careful hands.
Fabric settled against his skin smoothly, the fit precise, as if it had been made with no room for error.
Every detail was checked.
Every line corrected.
The brooch was placed last.
Right where it belonged.
When it was done, the maids stepped back.
And then—
"Oh, Your Grace..."
"You look stunning..."
"So handsome..."
Their voices filled the room almost instantly, admiration spilling out without restraint.
Amethiel stood there, looking at his reflection.
He tilted his head slightly.
Adjusted a cuff.
’As expected,’ he thought, completely unmoved by their reactions.
"I know," he said simply, cutting through their gushing without even trying.
He turned away from the mirror, already done with it.
"Send word that I’m ready," Amethiel said, his tone returning to business. "I’ll be bringing Kree up now."
Cherry Pie straightened immediately. "Yes, Your Grace."
Amethiel didn’t wait for anything else.
He was already moving.
Because now—
It was time.
‧ . ‿̩͙⊱༻♕༺⊰‿̩͙ . ‧
"Father, are you doing alright?"
Victore Prismara, the king of Prismara, commonly known as the ’Prism Realm’, turns around to look at his eldest son, Valiante, who had quietly stepped into his chambers.
The room was already prepared for the evening. Rich fabrics hung neatly, the royal attire lay out with care, polished surfaces reflecting the light from the tall windows.
Yet despite all of it, there was a stillness that didn’t belong.
"Sebastian told me you insisted on getting ready alone, and he is concerned you are not doing well," Valiante says as he walks further inside, his expression tight with worry. "Is this still about Vaelor?"
Victore doesn’t answer immediately.
Instead, he turns back toward the mirror, his reflection staring back at him, composed but not untouched. His eyes shift slightly, meeting Valiante’s through the reflection.
"Still no sign of him?" Victore asks quietly.
Valiante shakes his head.
The silence that follows is heavier than it should be.
"If you want, father, we can always cancel the ball now. We can—"
"I’m fine, Valiante," Victore cuts in with a sigh, the sound low, restrained. "I am a king before I am a father. The kingdom and keeping everyone calm are what’s important."
He reaches forward, adjusting part of his attire, his hands steady despite everything.
"It is our duty to handle any internal problems. You should know that if you’re going to be king," he continues, his voice firming slightly. "And besides, shouldn’t you be more focused on your upcoming nuptials?"
Valiante’s brows knit together slightly. "It’s still months away, Father. And even Harriette has doubts about going through with it if we still don’t have Vaelor."
Victore pauses for a moment.
Only a moment.
"Vaelor will come back," Victore says, quieter now. "I am worried, I admit, but I know he will come back eventually."
’He has to,’ the thought lingers beneath his words, unspoken but present.
"Do you really think so? Even after... your fight?"
The question hangs between them.
It doesn’t need to be elaborated.
Victore exhales slowly.
"He is my son," he answers, reaching for his crown. His hands lift it with care before placing it upon his head, settling it into place with practiced ease. "He is bound to forgive me."
’He always does,’ he tells himself, even if the certainty feels thinner than it should.
Valiante takes a deep breath, then bows his head slightly. "Of course, father. Then we will hope he does come back."
Victore watches him through the mirror.
He can tell.
There’s something else Valiante wants to say.
Something he’s holding back.
But Victore doesn’t ask.
Instead, he lets the silence pass and shifts the conversation entirely.
"I heard the youngest son of the Violet house is bringing a monster to the ball," Victore says, his tone changing just enough to signal the end of the previous topic. "You approved of it?"
"Ah, yes, father," Valiante replies, straightening slightly. "Apparently, he discovered a new species that he was able to train. He wants to unveil it to us in hopes we could help support his research."
"Hm." Victore hums, his gaze lowering slightly as he considers it. "Much like his mother, I suppose."
A faint memory flickers through his mind.
"I’ve heard rumors that he’s a bit of an... oddball, yes? I don’t pay attention much to most of Aster’s sons."
Valiante lets out a small chuckle. "He looks exactly like Lady Amethyst. Though, perhaps a stranger version."
There was a hint of amusement there.
And curiosity.
"I’m quite looking forward to it," Valiante continues. "Apparently, it’s going to change how the kingdom sees monsters."
Victore lets out a short breath.
"Hah."
There’s no real dismissal in it.
Just skepticism.
"We’ll see about that."
