‘God…’
As she walked towards the center of the banquet hall, all eyes followed her movements. Donning the mask that she had perfected under the limelight, she smiled at the onlookers and even waved at them. While internally she pictured herself screaming and tearing her hair out.
‘If I ever drink again, please turn me into a jellyfish. I doubt a jellyfish that only has survival instincts would do such self-destructive acts.’
The more she thought about it, the more erratic her thoughts became. Eventually, she gave up on thinking about it altogether. When she peeked back to look at her club members, who must have left their sense of mercy at their homes tonight, were keenly looking at her with eyes gleaming with eagerness to see her dance with a man who wasn’t exceptionally handsome.
In the end, Leticia gave up on putting up a meaningless fight and started searching the crowd to find someone with an appearance that would satisfy the sadistic tendencies of the club members, without traumatizing her delicate taste.
Seems like Viscount Benhoff hasn’t washed his hair for today’s monumental feast.
Lord Racinoel’s unique face might be catching some hidden admirers.
Count Sybil already has jellyfish for brains.
There were a lot of men who were adequate but it made her nauseous to think that she had to forego them in order to agonize between the bad and worst. What had she gotten herself into? Usually, her steps would have had a bounce to them the moment she entered the banquet hall, but today she had to drag them across the hall.
Just then, past the masses, she spotted a man standing alone in a secluded corner of the hall.
She couldn’t see his face clearly because of the shaggy, light brown hair covering his face and long overdue for a haircut. But she guessed that he couldn’t be over thirty years old. The three long rows of white and gold bands which were fixed in place with rose decorations on the royal military uniform indicated the completion of the Order of St. Mikatella, which the king had given away like free candy today.
Clearly, this man was a deputy of the prince; one of the main characters of today’s banquet. If he was a deputy commander of the 1st Special Forces, he was at least a lieutenant, and if he was promoted quickly, he could even be a promising player as a captain. With so much potential, he was definitely someone worth talking to, but curiously, there were no people around him.
‘Who is he?’
Leticia, who had appeared at the banquet long after the medal ceremony to minimize her encounter with her brother, had no idea who his deputy was. Thankfully she had sharp ears and overheard a group of people gossiping.
“I wonder what His Majesty was thinking? To think that he would award The Order of St. Mikatella to someone as inferior as him.”
“Being a nobody is not the worst thing he has done. Apparently, he’s the one who got drunk and revealed the army’s secret slogan to the enemy. So frankly speaking, isn’t he the reason why the special forces were nearly wiped out?”
“I don’t understand why everyone is trying to keep it hushed up. I guess we can only pity the parents who’ve lost their children because of him. I saw Marquis Lepar barely holding back from tearing his head off.”
“I heard he’s not even a noble. His father was a lowly merchant who transported trees after his funeral home business went bankrupt. He’s someone who should never have been in a place like this at all.” Another woman said scornfully.
“Anyways it’s all over, right? He’s been retired from service and from what I hear his brother isn’t doing so well either. I guess it’s a matter of time before they all end up on the streets.”
Les Kishir. That was the name of the young captain who was being bad mouthed by all the guests in the banquet hall.
The guests seemed unconcerned about keeping their thoughts to themselves and showed no mercy in criticizing him, rather they spoke loudly as though they wanted to bully him. Surely, he could hear their loud voices and yet he stood upright against a wall unbothered, keeping his gaze lowered but head high.
Underneath his messy hair, his lips were pressed in a thin line and his face was expressionless. It felt like an empty shell with all its content gone was standing there instead of a man. It was not the kind of reaction she expected from someone who had driven his entire troop into near annihilation.
Leticia placed a finger to her chin in thought.
“Pr..Princess?”
A young man that had been itching to talk to her, called out enthusiastically as she moved past him. As an apologetic gesture she blew him a kiss and moved past the crowd towards the unwelcomed hero.
Leticia had never thought of herself as a patriot. She appreciated the good fortune of having good parents and like others that lived off their parents, wished the country would continue to prosper and do well. This was her only consideration towards the country. To swear at someone for their mistakes that got someone’s child killed was not her kind of thing. As the daughter of the man who had driven those sons and daughters intentionally out to the battlefield, she was in no position to say anything.
“Hello, Lord Kishir.”
The moment she stopped right in front of Les Kishir and spoke to him, all the whispering voices around them came to a stop, like magic.
‘Finally, they are quiet.’
She smiled brightly up at him and only then did Les Kishir turn his gaze slowly to acknowledge her.
‘Gloomy’ was the first word that popped into her mind as their eyes met. The man was even thinner up close than he seemed from a distance. The state department wasn’t short on budget to distribute officers with good food, so he must have lost weight in the short period of time after the war, to the extent that his customized clothes outgrew him by at least one size. His towering height made him look leaner. His cheekbones were prominent and his slit eyes had dark bags beneath them making him look like a skeleton.
However, the man respectfully placed a hand on his heart and gave a deep bow to her..
“Princess.”