The Charity Ball

In the days leading up to the much-anticipated charity ball, the palace bustled with activity as vendors gathered with their equipment. Among them, Miss Rita emerged as a formidable force, her presence marked by an impressive array of boxes filled with delicate silverware and essential decor, all destined to grace the hall.

Lady Felicia, accompanied by the gracious Landgrave Simon, who volunteered to provide monetary donations, stepped into the royal palace. Madam Geneviere, too, arrived, her entourage in tow, ready to weave captivating threads of entertainment.

Yet, a particular figure earned Yohana's distinct appreciation: the once-forgetful Sir Flori. His meticulous note-taking skills now navigated the intricate choreography of this bustling endeavor. He managed to secure an agreement with a local artisan for exquisite floral adornments.

Guided by the synergy of Sir Flori and Mr. Hermann, the vendors were gracefully ushered into a meeting room, a privilege extended by the generous Henrie in his private pavilion.

As the assembly gathered, Yohana's poised figure rose to command attention, her words weaving gratitude and purpose. "Your gracious acceptance of my humble appeals brings me great delight. On behalf of the crown, I extend heartfelt appreciation to each of you. It is my hope that our collaboration will carve a lasting mark through this charity ball."

Lady Felicia sprang forth, her bashfulness rendered charming as she voiced her gratitude. "The honor is mine to express thanks, Lady Runa, for bestowing your trust upon one so inexperienced as I."

Amidst the gathering, Sir Tristan, the local artisan handpicked by Sir Flori, dared to voice a question that simmered beneath the surface.

"I beg your pardon, Lady Runa, for the forwardness of my query, but may I seek your indulgence in asking: do you possess unwavering confidence in the triumph of this charity ball? As I offer my services free of charge, the prospect of widespread exposure is a tempting one. However, should the unfortunate scenario unfold where attendance falters…"

The unspoken continuation of his thought abruptly ceased, his gaze flickering as the intensity of Henrie's stare bore into him. Swiftly retreating, Sir Tristan returned to his seat, a murmur of self-reproach fluttering from his lips. "Forgive my impertinence, Lady Runa, I humbly ask you to disregard my momentary lapse."

Yohana understood where the concern came from. Even though the rumor had been quelled, a lingering shadow persisted—a hesitance that those still wary of the scandal might shun the event, lest they be associated with its former specter.

Sir Tristan's apprehension, as it turned out, crumbled beneath the weight of reality. The collaborative efforts of Karsten and the Royal Gazette had done their magic, illuminating the truth to every nook and cranny of the noble classes.

As guests streamed into the royal palace, Karsten stood among the earliest arrivals. A gracious reception awaited him, hosted by Yohana and Henrie. "Ah, Sir Karsten! Your presence is truly an honor. Thank you for gracing us with your attendance."

Observing the scene, Karsten couldn't help but be impressed. "Lady Runa, Prince Henrie, I must say, this event seems poised for resounding success. Just take a glance at the procession of carriages, all awaiting entry to the palace. The hall itself is fast filling to capacity."

With a modest smile, Yohana expressed her gratitude. "Your mastery of words has undoubtedly played a pivotal role, Sir Karsten."

Indeed, Karsten's eloquent accounts of the trial's unfolding had effectively disseminated the truth, and his subsequent articles chronicling the impending charity ball had kindled a sense of intrigue and excitement among the readers. Each word was artfully chosen to evoke anticipation, stoking curiosity about what the forthcoming event might hold.

In one instance, he wove a tale of an enigmatic cook, hiding noble lineage beneath the apron. Without uttering Lady Felicia's name, he ignited speculation among the nobles themselves. Another piece showcased a decorator of unparalleled skill and performers of exceptional talent, all set to grace the event.

These articles, akin to a gentle breeze fanning the flames of anticipation, had instilled in the nobles a positive outlook and high expectations.

Karsten's deft manipulation of public sentiment, like a maestro conducting an orchestra, had set the stage for a ball that was destined to be remembered.

Karsten's humility shone through as he deflected the credit. "I must confess, Lady Runa, while my words may have stirred the ink, it was Prince Henrie's idea that illuminated the canvas. My unwavering support for you remains constant, past, present, and future, yet the true credit belongs to His Highness."

Henrie, ever the diplomat, chimed in with a gracious nod. "Your eloquent penmanship breathed life into our strategy."

As the flow of guests continued to pour into the hall, Yohana and Henrie were whisked away to greet each arrival. The atmosphere was electrified with excitement and anticipation, like a grand symphony of expectations.

Yohana's foresight had led to an unconventional approach, bending the rules for this occasion. Unlike typical charity balls where contributions were received beforehand, Yohana had pioneered a new way forward. Donors were offered the opportunity to make on-the-spot contributions.

A designated coordinator would capture their names and the sum of their donations, to be unveiled at the event's conclusion. This fresh methodology set tongues wagging among the assembled nobles, sparking admiration and animated conversation.

The air was thick with anticipation as the grand event unfolded. The tantalizing aroma of delectable cuisine wafted through the air, and Lady Felicia could barely contain her joy as an unending stream of compliments flowed in. The dishes she had meticulously prepared vanished as quickly as they were presented, each bite proof to her culinary prowess.

Meanwhile, the meticulously orchestrated performances curated by Madam Geneviere dazzled the audience. The harmonious blend of melodies and movements filled the hall, holding the attendees captive in a world of artistry and wonder.

In one particularly enchanting interlude, dancers wove through the crowd. With impromptu choreography and spontaneous interactions, they drew attendees into their rhythmic embrace.

The dancers even passed delicate notes that spoke of the cause and the magic of giving. The effect was electrifying, prompting more donations.

Amidst the swirling elegance of the charity ball, Yohana embarked on a deliberate search for Fabian amidst the sea of finely dressed guests. When their eyes finally met across the room, she guided him to a quieter corner, away from the jubilant chatter and music.

With an air of urgency, she shared the revelations she had unearthed from the religious books she had been studying.

"Tusshia possesses the power to resurrect the dead," she revealed, her words laden with a sense of both wonder and concern. "And, Fabs, I can't shake the feeling that what happened to me might be somehow linked to that."

Fabian's brow furrowed as he processed the weight of her words. "It's true that the Sanctus Church would be quick to disavow any ties to Tusshia, considering their labeling of it as a cult now. I must attempt to communicate with the Church, to see if there's any semblance of truth to this."

Yohana's concern deepened. "But will the Sanctus Church even acknowledge Tusshia's influence? They've worked tirelessly to distance themselves from her teachings."

Fabian nodded in agreement, acknowledging the challenge. "Indeed. It's a long shot. But I can't afford to remain idle. As for the exiled prince, I've devised a plan to visit Ostpreussenthal under the pretext of some diplomatic matter."

Yohana considered his proposal before voicing her concern. "But have you ever met the real Prince Ansgar? How can you be certain that you're facing the true prince and not an imposter?"