The Art of Nobility (and Survival)

"Enjoy you're day, dear," Father said, smiling gently at me.

I nodded and smiled back, saying, "Thank you, father."

And Father just walked away, leaving me alone there. And, the moment Father's speech ended, the real battle began. Noble ladies in dazzling gowns, gentlemen in pristine coats—each step measured, each smile perfectly poised.

I was ready. My training, my manners, my etiquette—flawless. I wasn't the Korean street fighter Eun-byun Lee who would leap into a fight at the first provocation.

No. Tonight, I was every inch a noble lady.

I am Ceceilia Von Arlen, the real daughter of the Arlen family, and I have to make sure I behave like that one.

Nobles swarmed like bees to honey, their smiles polished, their gazes sharp. I stood my ground, my expression composed, my back straight. Nyx, in his small fluffy form, perched elegantly on my arm, his golden eyes sweeping the crowd like a predator assessing prey.