The Villainess is the Villainess [LitRPG]

Book 2: Chapter 30 - Masks [Part 1]

A man without ambition is dead. A man with ambition but no love is dead.

- Pearl Bailey.

Seraphina felt Hughes's hesitation ripple through the clasp of his gloved hand, so she flashed him a reassuring smile before whisking him into a daring promenade. Skirts fanned around them like petals caught in a playful breeze; each spin left Hughes half a heartbeat behind, his shoes skimming the polished marble a shade too late. The musicians quickened the tempo, a lilting waltz cascading into a dizzying whirl of triplets, and the hall's lights scattered across Seraphina's golden hair.

She sensed Hughes's rhythm falter again, one misplaced step, then another. Rather than let the stumble bloom into embarrassment, Seraphina drew him close, pivoted, and subtly claimed the lead. Her posture shifted, light yet commanding, guiding his feet with a gentle pressure of fingertips and a confident sweep of her hips.

Hughes blinked, cheeks flushing crimson, but he surrendered to her effortless control. Together they traced elegant figure‑eights across the floor as Seraphina took the male parts of the dance flawlessly; every turn became smoother, every dip, every flourish more assured.

As the final chord shimmered into silence, Seraphina executed a flourishing twirl that sent her partner spiraling like a dervish. She released Hughes at precisely the right moment, allowing him a dignified half‑bow while she sank into a deep curtsey. Applause erupted—an enthusiastic thunder at the lively and elegant display.

Many hopeful dance partners stepped forward, eager to claim the next dance, but Seraphina raised a slender hand and laughed softly.

"My friends, I fear the dance was quite a bit more vigorous than I thought it would be," she said, voice warm yet resolute. With practiced grace, she slipped past the disappointed cluster, collected a flute of chilled wine from a passing servant, and turned back to Hughes.

He stood at the edge of the crowd, still catching his breath. "I—I'm sorry," he murmured. "I must have embarrassed you."

Seraphina's emerald eyes sparkled above the rim of her glass. "Nonsense. Everything has its place and role." She tipped the flute toward him in salute. "You followed admirably once you let me lead. It suited you."

It was deeply satisfying for Seraphina to watch hero worship and admiration blossom in the boy's eyes. Gracefully, she covered her mouth as she sipped her drink—a refined gesture that was customary for fine ladies of this land. From the corner of her eye, she caught two distinct gazes fixed upon her: those of Este Lize and the Crown Prince. Desire flickered openly in the Prince's expression, almost embarrassingly transparent, as if he were about to salivate at the sight of her. Este Lize, however, looked distinctly shocked, a reaction Seraphina found also thoroughly pleasing.

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It would serve the hussy well to realize that true worth extended beyond mere magical prowess—there was simply no substitute for impeccable breeding and social grace. Indeed, Seraphina mused confidently, hers would be an exceptionally challenging act to follow.

She took another thoughtful sip of the wine. Though somewhat too fruity and sweet for her sophisticated palate, it was unquestionably excellent in quality. Lost in the spectacle of other dancers swirling elegantly across the ballroom floor, Seraphina soon realized she had consumed a considerable amount yet felt not in the slightest bit tipsy. Eloise and Gravens, moving in perfect harmony, appeared positively dazzling, eliciting a pang of envy in her heart. And she, regrettably, was saddled with Hughes.

"That's your sixth glass, Sera," Hughes observed nervously, clasping his hands together in front of him.

"Oh, is it?" she replied lightly, draining her glass and signaling for another. "I must say, it goes down delightfully well—not particularly strong, yet very flavorful."

"If you say so…"

"Seraphina, darling! There you are!" Desdemona's radiant voice cut through, her long, dark-brown hair cascading in elaborate curls around her shoulders.

Trailing behind her was a strikingly beautiful young man, his delicate features nearly feminine in their loveliness. His hair matched Desdemona's shade exactly, complemented by soulful black eyes framed by luxuriously long lashes and lips soft enough to appear perpetually on the verge of a pout. Such looks were wasted on a man, Seraphina thought to herself.

Desdemona clinked her glass playfully against Seraphina's, her cheeks flushed with merriment and fine drink. Seraphina inwardly smirked; Desdemona was so predictable, always eager to flaunt her latest acquisition.

The de Savant girl sniffed lightly, arching her eyebrow with a teasing expression. "Oh, I see you're sampling the family vintage! How do you find it?"

"Wonderful," Seraphina replied with practiced graciousness. "It's youthful yet rich and remarkably full-bodied." She offered an indulgent smile. "But, dear, you absolutely must introduce me to your charming companion."

Desdemona rested a casual, possessive hand on Drevan's shoulder. "Seraphina, this is Drevan. Drevan, meet Seraphina de Sariens."

The beautiful young man bowed deeply, sweeping an elegant gesture before speaking. "Drevan de Selais, milady. Forgive me for not introducing myself sooner."

"Charmed," Seraphina murmured, extending her hand gracefully.

"The honor is entirely mine," Drevan responded gallantly, kissing the air just above her offered hand.

"Desdemona has always had exquisite taste… in art," Seraphina remarked playfully, her eyes lingering appreciatively. "You've certainly done well for yourself, my dear."

"Oh, calling him a work of art might be slightly excessive," Desdemona laughed, her curls bouncing merrily. "Still, he isn't bad for a country lad."

Seraphina raised an intrigued eyebrow. "A country lad?"

"Indeed," Drevan replied modestly. "My father's lands lie quite far from the capital and are primarily renowned for pottery—nothing particularly glamorous. We simply excel at turning dirt into beauty."

"Don't be fooled by his humility," Desdemona interjected brightly. "Selaisian pottery is sought after everywhere, and Drevan himself has crafted several remarkable masterpieces at his tender age. He is very skilled with his hands."

"Of that, I have no doubt," Seraphina agreed smoothly, exchanging amused glances with Desdemona as they both shared a knowing laugh.

Meanwhile, Hughes stood quietly to the side, clearly desperate yet unable to join the conversation as those above his social station discussed matters entirely beyond his grasp.