Meeting Calista & Alaric

As the applause died down and the music resumed, the Nobles began to mingle once more.

Delphia made her way to the side of the room—away from her 'family,' content to observe the proceedings from a distance. She had no interest in drawing attention to herself, especially not now.

But she didn't have long to remain in the background. As if sensing her presence, Calista's gaze landed on her from across the room. Their eyes met, and for a brief moment, Delphia saw the flicker of uncertainty in Calista's expression. She had been briefed, no doubt, on the major families of the kingdom—including Delphia herself. And what had she been told?

That Delphia was volatile, manipulative, and possibly even dangerous.

After a moment of hesitation, Calista began to make her way toward her. Delphia took a steady breath, her mind racing through her options. She had no intention of causing a scene, but she also knew that this interaction would set the tone for how they would perceive each other moving forward. And while Delphia wasn't particularly concerned about Calista's opinion, she also knew that it was important to tread carefully.

"Lady Vosswell," Calista greeted her as she approached, her tone polite but cautious. She offered a small curtsy, her eyes briefly flicking toward Delphia's face, as if trying to gauge her reaction. "It's an honor to meet you. I've heard much about you."

Delphia's lips twitched into a smile, imagining what had exactly been said. "Likewise, Lady Faremont," she returned, her voice smooth and even. "I trust the celebration has been to your liking?"

Calista hesitated a moment, as if unsure how to respond. "Yes, of course. It's been… overwhelming, but in a good way."

Delphia raised an eyebrow, her gaze steady as she studied the girl before her. There was a flicker of something behind Calista's eyes—uncertainty, perhaps, or caution. She wasn't the confident, bold heroine Delphia had expected. Instead, she was guarded, as if she were constantly assessing the situation. Interesting, she thought.

"I imagine it must be quite an adjustment," Delphia said, her tone relaxed. "To go from a commoner's lifestyle to… this." She tried for neutral ground as to not make any direct attack with her words.

Calista's smile faltered for just a fraction of a second, but she quickly recovered. "It's been an adjustment, yes," she admitted softly. "But I'm doing my best."

Delphia nodded, "Glad to hear." The conversation lulled, and for a beat, they simply stood there, two figures at opposite ends of a story neither fully understood.

Then, a voice broke the tension. "Lady Delphia," came a lighter baritone voice from behind her, smooth and rich with a hint of amusement. "You look beautiful this evening."

Delphia turned slightly, her eyes narrowing as they landed on Alaric Aramore, the Crown Prince. He sauntered forward, exuding his typical air of confidence. His sapphire blue eyes scanned between Calista and Delphia with a calculating gaze. A subtle smirk played at the corners of his full lips as his statuesque frame casually stood in a nonchalant manner.

However, unlike the stoic and noble Alaric depicted in the novel, this version had tousled blond hair, giving him a boyish charm, and his vivid blue eyes held a mischievous glint that caught Delphia off guard.

"Your Highness," Delphia greeted, bowing her head slightly in deference.

"Crown Prince," Calista said, her voice soft as she curtsied, but Delphia caught the brief flicker of emotion in her eyes—something akin to nervous excitement.

Alaric, however, seemed more focused on the dynamics between the two women, his gaze lingering on them as if assessing the potential for something… entertaining. "Such a grand celebration, isn't it?" Alaric mused, his tone light as he addressed both women. His gaze lingered on Calista a little too long, a subtle smirk playing on his lips.

Delphia blinked, momentarily thrown.

Thee "Alaric Aramore" she had read about had been noble and refined, certainly not the type to openly flirt in such a casual manner. Is he always like this? She wondered, her mind working through the inconsistencies. In the novel, he had been so focused on Calista's purity and innocence, but now... there was a playfulness to him that seemed far more shallow than she had expected.

"Indeed, Your Highness." Delphia replied, her voice cool. "It's certainly been... entertaining."

From across the room, Delphia felt another pair of eyes on her—sharp, perceptive eyes that didn't miss a thing. Archmage Zypher Thorne, heir to the Magic Tower. Of course, it's him, she thought.

He stood at a distance, his dark eyes fixed on her as though he were trying to see through the mask she wore. There was a faint frown on his lips, and for the briefest moment, Delphia wondered if he could sense that something was off. Zypher had always been the most perceptive of the characters in the novel, and now—in person—he was no different.

She met his gaze for only a moment before turning her attention back to the conversation, her mind racing. She had planned to stay indifferent, detached—but this?

This was already far more complicated than she had anticipated.

Delphia barely had time to process Alaric's flirtatious smirk before he spoke again, his voice smooth and confident. "Well, Lady Calista… Lady Delphia." He began, his eyes flicking between them with a subtle gleam of amusement, "Would either of you care to dance?"

The question hung in the air, and Delphia could feel the weight of both Calista's and Alaric's gazes on her.

Calista's expression was polite but tense, as though she were trying to gauge Delphia's reaction. The original Delphia would have jumped at the chance to dance with Alaric. More like actively shoving everything out of her way to dance with him, clinging to the hope of rekindling whatever one-sided connection she believed she had with the Crown Prince.

But the new Delphia had no interest in playing that game.

She offered Alaric a small, dismissive smile, her tone cool and composed. "It's your celebration, Lady Faremont. I insist." She inclined her head slightly toward Calista, the gesture polite but indifferent.

There was no reason to prolong this interaction any further, especially when she had no intention of engaging in the romantic entanglements that would inevitably ensue. This was Calista's moment, and Delphia had no interest in taking part.

Calista blinked in surprise, clearly caught off guard by Delphia's response. For a moment, it seemed as though she wasn't sure what to make of Delphia's indifference. But then, she nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips as she turned to Alaric. "I'd be honored, Your Highness."

Alaric, for his part, looked mildly amused by Delphia's quick refusal. His gaze lingered on her for a moment longer, as though trying to figure out what had changed in her demeanor, but he didn't press the matter. Instead, he turned his attention to Calista, offering her his hand with a charming smile.

As they moved toward the dance floor, Delphia now took her opportunity to jump away.

She turned on her heel and headed toward the grand staircase at the far end of the ballroom. The soft rustle of her emerald gown fluttered with her steps as she ascended, her gaze scanning the room for a quiet place to sit. She had no intention of staying in the midst of the celebrations. This was Calista's night, after all, and Delphia had no desire to play a part in the spectacle unfolding below.

A passing servant appeared just in time, offering a tray of drinks. Delphia plucked a glass of honey wine from the tray without missing a step, murmuring a quiet 'thank you' as she continued her ascent. The cold glass felt grounding in her hand, the sweet aroma tempting her to drink.

Reaching the upper level of the ballroom, Delphia found a small resting-nook tucked away in a shadowed alcove. It was a perfect vantage point—out of sight but offering a clear view of the ballroom below. She sank into the plush cushions of the chair, her back to the wall and exhaling slowly as she brought the glass to her lips, the cool liquid offering a brief respite from the tension of the evening.

From her elevated position, she could see everything—the twirl of dresses on the dance floor, the subtle power plays of the nobles as they mingled, and the soft glow of candlelight reflecting off the polished marble floors. But her eyes were drawn to one pair in particular.

Calista and Alaric.

They danced with the practiced ease of nobles accustomed to the spotlight. Alaric's blond hair gleamed under the chandeliers as he guided Calista across the floor with effortless grace. Calista, with her sky-blue hair flowing like water behind her, looked every bit the radiant heroine she was supposed to be. The crowd watched them with adoration, and Delphia could already hear the murmurs of approval.

Yet, despite the flawless execution of their roles, something felt… off.

Delphia's gaze lingered on them, her mind picking apart the scene before her. Alaric was supposed to be the 'devoted,' noble figure in the novel, yet his flirtatious behavior earlier had been more shallow than she remembered. And Calista, though graceful and charming, seemed far more guarded and calculated than the naïve heroine she had been portrayed as.

They aren't who Calista described them to be in the novel at all. That thought gnawed at her as she watched the two of them dance. There was a depth seen to both of them that hadn't been present in the story—a complexity that the novel had glossed over in favor of melodrama. She had always known that stories were told as snippets of a character's life, so everything was limited to a certain extent as to what was written, but seeing it play out in front of her was unsettling.

Delphia took another sip of her drink, her eyes scanning the room for a familiar presence: Zypher.

He stood with a small group of prominent figures, his black hair falling in soft waves around his sharp features, the rich black fabric of his attire lending an air of elegance to his already striking presence. He is honest-to-god drop-dead attractive, why was he made as the Villain?

Dark maroon-colored eyes, sharp and discerning, flicked between the nobles around him, observing each exchange with the same calculating intensity that had made him so captivating in the novel. Zypher spoke sparingly, his words measured, yet each seemed to command the attention of those around him, drawing subtle nods and quiet chuckles from the group.

As Delphia watched, the Crown Prince approached, fresh from his dance with Calista, his golden hair gleaming under the chandelier's light.

Alaric inserted himself into the conversation with practiced ease, his smile polished but cool. The tension between the two men was immediate, though understated.

Zypher's posture remained relaxed, his smile faint and unreadable as he responded to the Crown Prince's remarks with a mix of deference and precision, his tone courteous but unyielding. Alaric's own remarks grew more pointed, though cloaked in politeness, as though probing for a weakness in the Archmage heir. Zypher, however, met each subtle challenge with a calm, effortless deflection, his maroon eyes gleaming with the faintest trace of amusement.

From her vantage point, Delphia felt a flicker of recognition. This was the dynamic she remembered from the novel—the simmering undercurrent of competition between Zypher and the Crown Prince, a clash of sharp minds and unspoken agendas. Yet this time, it felt different, more controlled. Zypher wasn't seeking to provoke outright; He was testing boundaries, positioning himself with precision, just as he did with everything else.

The group's laughter grew a touch louder at something Zypher said, the Crown Prince's smile tightening ever so slightly. It was subtle, but to Delphia's practiced gaze, the balance of power in the exchange tipped ever so slightly in Zypher's favor. The realization sent a strange thrill through her—here was the Zypher she remembered, the man whose cleverness had drawn her to his character in the first place. Well, it seems like he's still the same from what the novel described him to be.

But something about the way his gaze lingered on her earlier back there—just a fraction too long—set her on edge. Stay detached, she reminded herself, stay indifferent. This was Calista's story. Delphia had no intention of being drawn into its web.

For now, she would remain on the sidelines, watching the pieces move across the board. But there was no denying that something deeper was happening here, something that went beyond the pages of the novel she had once read. And whether she liked it or not, she was a part of it now.

As she leaned back into her seat, the sounds of the celebration faded into the background. She took another sip of her drink, her eyes drifting over the ballroom once more.