Faced with the Duke’s attitude, which treated him as though he were the new heir to the ducal house, Amarcus’s confidence soared without bound, nearly reaching the heavens.
Nor was he the only one thinking this way.
The servants of the ducal estate had begun looking at him with expressions they had never directed his way before.
It was an exaggerated deference, hardly befitting a young man from a cadet branch who was only staying for a short time before departing.
And Amarcus… did not mind such treatment in the least.
On the contrary, if he could, he would have seized this attention and held onto it forever.
‘Everything may well be decided tonight in the ballroom. The moment they see me standing side by side with the Duke.’
He smiled arrogantly to himself and slowly raised his gaze to the man standing beside him.
There stood the Duke of Rivannion, poised in place, his face completely devoid of expression.
To match his mood, Amarcus took a glass of wine from a passing servant and offered it to him.
“Your Grace, your throat must be parched from greeting so many guests. Please, have a little.”
A strange glint settled in the Duke’s eyes as he stared at him.
“…Very well.”
He then accepted the glass without objection.
At that, Amarcus’s chest swelled with pride, and he swept his gaze across the ballroom.
He saw those watching the exchange wearing looks of astonishment, before they began whispering excitedly among themselves.
‘They must be torn. Should they cling to me, or remain by Callius’s side?’
It did not matter to him.
For as long as Callius remained unable to leave his room, he would be the ultimate victor in this contest.
With a calm, confident demeanor, he conversed with the Duke and welcomed the guests.
Before long, those nobles who had been stealing glances at him began approaching one after another, as though reading his thoughts.
Among them were many from vassal houses that had served the ducal house of Rivannion for successive generations.
“Good heavens! I thought it was someone else, but it is Amarcus Rivannion, the Duke’s nephew!”
“Amarcus, you have grown so much since we last saw you. Your features alone reveal the bearing of a fine nobleman.”
Those nobles, who had never paid him the slightest heed before, were finally showering him with attention.
Amarcus relished their warm reception, bowing with an air of solemnity and returning their greetings with contrived politeness.
Once he felt the atmosphere was ripe, a baron stepped forward from behind and spoke to him in a friendly tone.
“Amarcus! If you intend to stay at the ducal manor all summer, how would you like to spend a week at the Barony of Melvin? We are not far from the Rivannion fief, and I have sons your age, so you will not feel bored among them.”
The Baron continued, an unmistakable look of pleading in his eyes.
“Especially since my eldest son is the exact same age as you. He is currently studying at the Imperial Academy.”
At that moment, Amarcus snapped his head up and glared sharply at Baron Melvin.
“It matters little to me which academy your son attends.”
The surrounding air went still in an instant at this unexpectedly harsh retort.
To break the silence, Amarcus cleared his throat lightly.
“…Ahem. Besides, as you know, I shall soon be learning a great deal at my uncle the Duke’s side. I doubt I will have the leisure to visit the Baron’s estate.”
Stung by his biting tone, Baron Melvin retreated in embarrassment, his overture thoroughly rebuffed.
The remaining nobles stood staring in astonishment before returning to their conversations once they regained their composure.
Yet, as though sensing his sore spot, not a single one among them mentioned the Imperial Academy again.
Amarcus savored the hush that settled around him and raised his glass.
He felt as though everything had finally fallen into his hands.
And at that precise moment—
A sharp creak echoed.
The doors of the ballroom, which should have remained shut after all the guests had arrived, suddenly swung wide open.
Following that came the voice of a servant, ringing loudly across the entire hall.
“…The young master—has entered!”
Amid the bustling clamor, that title alone was enough to pierce Amarcus’s ears like a razor.
In the blink of an eye, his head whipped around violently.
‘What? That’s impossible!’
Yet his eyes saw the truth with unmistakable clarity.
Callius Rivannion, dressed in an impeccably pressed formal suit, was entering the hall with calm, measured strides.
What was more, there was not the slightest trace of illness upon his features.
‘The boy who was said to be confined to his room for months… how…?!’
He blinked in disbelief, but the sight remained unchanged.
Silver hair of luminous sheen, bearing witness to the pure bloodline of the ducal house.
Blue eyes carrying a haughty serenity that belied his tender years.
Among the nobles who had belatedly realized his identity, whispers began to ripple outward bit by bit.
“How can the young master Callius be attending?”
“I heard his health was failing…”
Yet at that moment, neither the murmurs of the nobles nor the lively music filling the hall reached Amarcus’s ears.
The young master who had vanished for months had appeared at the very moment Amarcus believed he was finally shining as the Duke’s new heir.
And that alone was enough to plunge his swollen pride straight into stagnant mire.
The doors of the ballroom, which had remained firmly closed, swung wide.
At the very same moment, Callius’s body shuddered as the brilliant light cascading from above engulfed him.
The dread of the light, which had tormented him throughout the past months, rushed through his body once more.
‘Do not tremble so, my lord. You can see this through to the end.’
Those pale green eyes had shone today with a special tenderness.
‘I cannot accompany you, but Mr. Brandon will be beside you the entire time. So take heart!’
Recalling Lizzy’s voice as she said those words, clenching her fist with determination, Callius felt his heart settle into an unbelievable calm.
Then, with steady strides, he walked into the ballroom.
The guests, forgetting their dancing, began shooting sideways glances at him.
He could feel those strange eyes scrutinizing him without shame.
“Look over there, it is the young master Callius!”
“Wasn’t he said to be ill?”
“Yes, I heard he was bedridden and unconscious, hovering between life and death.”
“What I heard was far worse. They said he had already died, and a funeral was held for him.”
“Good heavens, wasn’t it said that he traveled abroad? I thought he ran off with a maid after falling in love!”
‘…Honestly.’
Callius let out a scornful scoff inwardly as he strode past those whispers.
‘Who came up with such ridiculous rumors? And what was that? An elopement? I have not even turned fifteen yet!’
Once again, he realized that his decision to attend the ball was entirely correct.
Had he not shown himself before the crowd today, he could scarcely imagine what absurd rumors would have been spun in his wake.
He lifted his chin higher, as though to dispel every last one of those nonsensical tales in a single stroke.
Fortunately, his physical condition held steady.
Thanks to the potent painkiller his personal physician had provided, he felt nothing more than a faint prickling beneath the chandeliers’ glare.
Of course, once the medicine wore off, the agonizing pain would undoubtedly return.
‘The drug lasts about an hour… I must dispel all suspicions surrounding me and return before it fades.’
He crossed the hall with broad strides until he reached the spot where the Duke stood.
“Callius.”
The Duke rose from his seat and stepped toward him.
In his characteristically calm voice, he said:
“I did not expect you to attend the ball.”
Yet beneath his measured tone, there was a faint glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes.
