Charity Auction & Soiree

After another week of lessons at The Academy, Delphia found herself at an event with Zypher for them to gather information for this upcoming Summit.

As the grand doors of House Faremont swung open, a gust of wind carried the tantalizing scent of exotic perfumes and the faintest hint of arcane energy into the crisp night air.

Delphia, her expression a carefully composed mask, stepped into the opulent ballroom, her maroon-gloved hand still nestled in Zypher's firm grip. The murmurs of the gathered nobility swelled the moment they crossed the threshold, voices dipping into hushed speculation. It was subtle, the way the eyes followed them—more than usual, more than a mere acknowledgment of their presence.

Zypher must have noticed too, though he made no outward indication of it. Instead, he leaned in slightly, his breath warm against the shell of her ear. "We're being watched," he murmured with a lilt, his thumb grazing the back of her hand before he released it in an unhurried motion—one that lingered just long enough to make an impression.

Delphia's lips parted slightly at the loss of his touch, but she masked the flicker of reaction with a slow exhale. "Let them look," she murmured back, tilting her chin up as though she had not just been momentarily affected by something as fleeting as his touch. Admiring the way he looked in that accentuating charcoal grey suit.

She slipped her hand free and adjusted the cuff of her sleeve, deciding that today she felt like matching the color of his eyes—the dress a beautiful deep maroon shade, feigning disinterest. But she knew the nobles were not fools. After five years of cold civility between them, even the smallest change in behavior would not go unnoticed.

And perhaps, that was exactly what Zypher intended.

The room pulsed with a power that was more than just the sum of its influential guests; It was alive with anticipation for the charity auction that would soon begin, an event that promised to shape the future of magical research. Every corner was bathed in a golden glow from ornate chandeliers, illuminating displays of rare artifacts that twinkled with secrets yet untold.

Zypher's maroon gaze flicked across the ballroom as he whispered, pointing out key figures. "The Lord of Westmere, known for backing the Crown's military campaigns, but recently, his investments have shifted to independent guilds. The Countess over there—she's been in correspondence with a faction in the eastern territories. And him—" Zypher tilted his chin toward a Mage speaking in hushed tones with two nobles. "He's made quite the profit from the mana crystal shortage."

Delphia nodded, though she was only half-listening at the end as her gaze had caught on Calista Faremont.

Dressed in a shimmering gown of soft violet, Calista moved through the room with effortless grace. Her sky-blue hair cascaded in loose waves, framing a face that practically glowed under the chandelier's light. And beside her, as ever, was Alaric Aramore. The Crown Prince's sapphire eyes rarely strayed from her, his admiration evident in every lingering glance, every subtle lean toward her. He was dressed neatly in his navy suit.

A picture of devotion. A storybook romance.

But Delphia knew better.

"She's too good at this," she murmured under her breath, her voice just loud enough for Zypher to hear. Zypher's gaze flickered toward Calista, then back to Delphia. "What do you mean?"

"She's performing," Delphia stated, her eyes narrowing slightly. "In the book, she was uncertain, inexperienced. But look at her now—every movement, every response, tailored to perfection." Zypher hummed thoughtfully, his attention momentarily shifting back to Calista. "It does seem more deliberate. And Alaric's infatuation—while predictable—is certainly convenient for her rise."

Delphia barely suppressed the urge to smirk. "Convenient is an understatement. She's aligning herself for the future Crown Princess position." She let her gaze drift for a moment before adding, "Now I have to wonder… was that always her goal?"

Zypher didn't respond immediately, but she could see the shift in his expression. He was already following the thread of her suspicions, piecing together the implications. "It wouldn't be the first time someone used love to further their ambitions," he mused, his voice quiet but edged with something sharper.

A passing noblewoman glanced their way at the same moment Zypher leaned in again, his lips almost brushing Delphia's ear. From an outsider's perspective, it must have looked intimate, a lover's whispered words shared between them. Delphia resisted the impulse to step away, knowing that any reaction now would only further fuel the growing speculation around them.

Instead, she played along.

Her lashes lowered slightly as she tilted her head just enough to appear engaged, a small smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. "And you'd know a thing or two about that, wouldn't you?" She teased, her voice low.

Zypher's breath hitched—so brief that she might have imagined it—but then his own smirk formed, slow and knowing. "Careful, Delphie," he murmured, "if you keep looking at me like that, people will start to talk." She let out a quiet, amused hum before turning her attention back to the rest of the room. The moment between them had passed, fleeting yet deliberate.

But the Nobles had seen it.

Even as Zypher moved away to begin introductions with the influential Mages and political figures, Delphia could feel the weight of the gazes on them. Whispers circulated just beneath the surface, masked behind polite smiles and veiled glances.

For the last five years, they had been little more than a reluctant pair, barely tolerating each other's company. And yet tonight, a single touch, a single glance, had shifted the narrative. Whether by design or by accident, their relationship was no longer seen as indifferent.

And for the first time in a long while, Delphia wasn't certain if she minded that at all.

***

After another week, the Witchade Soiree, though smaller in scale than the grand galas that dominated the social calendar, was no less significant in its impact.

Held in the grandiose halls of the Witchade Estate, the event exuded an air of mystery and sophistication. Its intimate guest list was reserved for the Kingdom's most influential families and political figures, and the night was renowned for its magical displays—an opportunity for Nobles to showcase their prowess in controlled yet awe-inspiring demonstrations.

Delphia arrived arm in arm with Zypher, their presence immediately drawing whispers from the assembled Nobility. They looked stunning as they once again coordinated their attire for the night. She was beautiful in her topaz gown, hair elegantly pinned up, and gloves reaching her upper arms as the dress was sleeveless. Zypher matched her dress with his button down, tie clip and brooch pin, all of them a stunning shade of topaz that made his eyes stand out.

While their engagement had always been public knowledge, their increasingly close partnership—marked by shared appearances at events and a visible shift in Delphia's demeanor—was the source of endless speculation. To some, it was a scandalous pairing: the scion of House Vosswell betrothed to the Magic Tower's enigmatic heir.

To others, it was a strategic alliance of immense power.

The murmur of curiosity followed them as they entered the main hall, the polished obsidian floors reflecting the flickering glow of enchanted candelabras suspended in mid-air. The Witchade emblem, a raven woven in gold thread, adorned the deep velvet drapes that framed the grand windows. The air buzzed with latent magic, a palpable energy that hinted at the evening's primary entertainment.

As Delphia and Zypher moved through the room, they observed the Nobility engaged in their subtle dances of influence—conversations laced with double meanings, measured laughter, and carefully placed glances. More than a few of those glances lingered on them.

A cluster of nobles near the refreshment table paused their discussion as Delphia's quiet chuckle reached them, her gaze locked with Zypher's in a way that sent ripples of intrigue through the gathering. A young lady leaned toward her companion, whispering behind a lace fan, eyes darting between the couple. Another noble, a lord of middling rank, smirked into his wine, exchanging knowing looks with his peers.

However, Calista was impossible to miss.

Dressed in an emerald gown that shimmered with every movement, her sky-blue hair cascaded down her back like a waterfall. She stood alongside her family, though her proximity to Alaric made her the center of attention. Their shared smiles and easy conversation added fuel to the whispers that this reunion of lost nobility was more than mere coincidence. Delphia's gaze lingered on Calista, her sharp mind noting how effortlessly she played her part. Every glance, every laugh, every tilt of her head was calculated to charm. It wasn't simply charisma—it was strategy.

"She's creating a narrative," Delphia murmured to Zypher as they paused near one of the side tables laden with refreshments. "Every move is deliberate." Zypher followed her gaze, his expression unreadable. "The question is whether the narrative is for the room or for Alaric alone."

Before Delphia could respond, the host of the evening, Duke Witchade, called for attention. "Ladies and gentlemen," he announced, his voice carrying an elegance that silenced the room, "it is my pleasure to present the next magical demonstration. Lady Calista Faremont has graciously agreed to show us her talents."

Polite applause rippled through the crowd as Calista stepped forward, her movements graceful yet exuding confidence. Delphia felt a pang of unease as the room's attention turned to the blue-haired-beauty, the light of the enchanted candelabras casting a golden halo around her figure.

The air crackled with energy as Calista raised her hands, summoning an intricate weave of light and earth mana. The magic took shape, blooming into an array of radiant tendrils that danced across the room like fireflies. The display was mesmerizing, drawing gasps of admiration from the crowd as the light intensified, refracting in a prism of colors that seemed to fill the space.

As the applause swelled, Delphia glanced at Zypher. His maroon eyes narrowed, his focus locked on Calista's spellwork. He leaned slightly toward her and spoke in a low tone. "Did you see that?"

Delphia frowned, turning back to Calista. "See what?"

"There," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "Her mana faltered. Just for a moment."

Delphia's brows knit together as she watched Calista bask in the applause. "What do you mean?"

"She miscalculated the flow," Zypher explained, his tone measured. "It was subtle—barely noticeable unless you're looking for it. But it's there."

Delphia's lips pressed into a thin line as she studied the scene. Calista's magic had been dazzling, but if Zypher was right, it wasn't as flawless as it appeared. "Do you think it was deliberate?"

Zypher tilted his head slightly, a small smirk playing at his lips. "It could be. But if it wasn't… then it means she's either overextending herself or not as adept as she wants everyone to believe."

She thought for a moment, regarding him, then a smirk formed on her lips. "Damn, just how good are you?" She questioned him with a slight chuckle, raising her glass to her lips for a drink. He gave her a cocky grin back. "Just how good was I described to be?"

They shared a moment together, making words with just their eyes, and the entire aura around them radiated affection. Across the room, a noblewoman arched an eyebrow at the scene, nudging her husband. Another turned to her companion, murmuring something that made them both chuckle. The tension between Delphia and Zypher was undeniable, a thread of warmth woven into the cool political atmosphere of the evening.

Calista returned to Alaric's side, her demeanor as composed as ever, but Delphia's perception of her had shifted. The cracks in her performance were small, but they were there—and Delphia couldn't help but wonder what they might reveal.

As the magical demonstrations concluded, Zypher and Delphia mingled with key figures in the room, their conversations laced with subtle inquiries. The political undercurrents of the Kingdom were growing clearer, the pieces of the conspiracy slowly falling into place.

"Lady Vosswell, your betrothed has quite the reputation," one Noble remarked to Delphia with a sly smile. "It seems you've made an intriguing match."

Delphia returned the smile with polite detachment. "A reputation well-earned, I assure you."

"Perhaps," the Noble replied, glancing meaningfully at Zypher. "Though I daresay there's more between you than mere reputation." Delphia's smile remained, but the weight of watching eyes did not escape her. Their every interaction had been cataloged, interpreted, and dissected. A dangerous game, but one she played willingly.

As the evening wore on, Delphia couldn't shake the feeling that the room was a stage, each guest an actor playing their part in a script they couldn't entirely control. And at the center of it all was Calista—a protagonist whose performance was beginning to reveal its imperfections.

"She's hiding something," Delphia said quietly to Zypher as they prepared to leave. "And I'm curious to know what."

Zypher's gaze lingered on her, a flicker of amusement in his maroon eyes. "Good. Because the more cracks we find, the closer we get to understanding the bigger picture."

Delphia nodded, her resolve hardening. The Soiree had been illuminating in more ways than one. And as they stepped out into the cold night, she couldn't help but feel that the threads of the story were beginning to unravel—and this time, she intended to pull them apart.