Chapter 71: Crashing the Banquet
The Sterling estate ballroom was a monument to excess.
Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling like frozen waterfalls, each one holding hundreds of candles that bathed the room in warm golden light. Marble columns wrapped in silk ribbons lined the walls. Long tables overflowed with food that cost more than most families earned in a year. Champagne flowed like water.
Hundreds of nobles filled the space. Men in tailored suits with jeweled pins. Women in gowns that probably required servants just to put on. They laughed and chatted and clinked glasses, celebrating the union of two powerful houses.
At the front of the room, beneath a massive floral arch, Lyra stood like a statue.
Her gown was beautiful. Deep blue silk that matched her eyes, embroidered with silver thread. Her hair was pinned up in an elegant style that showed off her neck. She looked perfect.
She looked dead inside.
Lord Oscar stood beside her, one hand resting possessively on her lower back. He was exactly as handsome as his portrait suggested. Blonde hair. Perfect jaw. A smile that made the noblewomen sigh.
But his other hand was hidden from the crowd. It gripped Lyra’s wrist beneath the arch of flowers, fingers digging into her skin hard enough to leave bruises.
"You’re shaking," Oscar whispered, his lips barely moving. His breath was hot against her ear. "Good. Stay afraid. It makes the breaking process so much more satisfying."
Lyra said nothing. She kept her eyes forward and her expression blank.
"I’ve been researching your meridian structure," Oscar continued, his voice a sick thing that only she could hear. "Beautiful pathways. Very resilient. It’s going to take me months to properly destroy them. But I promise you, by the end, you’ll beg me to finish it."
Lyra’s fingers trembled at her sides.
Oscar smiled.
The string quartet played a soft waltz. The nobles drank and laughed and pretended this was a celebration of love.
Bang!
The grand wooden doors at the far end of the ballroom slammed open so hard that one of them cracked against the wall.
The music died.
Every head turned.
Holden walked in.
He wore the black-and-silver elite uniform, the silver crest gleaming on his chest. His steps were slow and casual, like he was strolling through a park instead of crashing an exclusive noble engagement party. His hands were loose at his sides.
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
"Who is that?"
"Is that a student?"
"The silver crest... that’s Vespera’s disciple mark!"
Lyra’s head snapped toward the doors. Her eyes went wide. Her noble mask cracked for the first time all evening.
"Holden?"
The word escaped her before she could stop it.
Oscar’s grip on her wrist tightened painfully. His eyes narrowed as he tracked the intruder walking towards him.
Lord Sterling, Lyra’s uncle, pushed through the crowd with his face already turning purple. He was a heavy man with a gold chain around his neck and sweat forming on his forehead.
"Guards!" he screamed. "Guards! Throw this street rat out immediately! How dare you invade a private Sterling event!"
Four armored guards moved toward Holden from the corners of the room.
Holden didn’t even look at them. He walked past their reaching hands like they weren’t there, stopped in the middle of the ballroom, and leaned casually against one of the marble columns.
"Private event," he said, his voice carrying easily through the silent room. "That’s an interesting way to describe selling your niece to a monster."
The crowd erupted in whispers.
Lord Sterling sputtered. "How dare you! I don’t know who you think you are, but I will have you arrested! I will..."
"You’ll what?" Holden tilted his head. "Call the city guards? File a complaint? Oh wait, you can’t do any of that, can you? Because then they’d ask questions about Lord Oscar’s little hobby. And we wouldn’t want that."
The whispering stopped.
Oscar released Lyra’s wrist and stepped forward, his perfect smile turning sharp at the edges. "I don’t know what lies you’ve heard, peasant, but I suggest you leave before I lose my patience."
"Peasant." Holden chuckled. "That’s cute. I’ve seen scarier monsters in my soup, Oscar."
The nobles gasped again. Using a lord’s first name without title was a big insult.
Holden pushed off the pillar and started walking slowly toward the front of the room. His voice stayed relaxed.
"Let me share some fun facts with the room. Lord Oscar Thorne has been engaged three times before this. Three times. The first girl went home with shattered meridians. The second one ended up with broken arms and permanent brain damage. The third one didn’t survive at all."
Oscar’s face drained of color. "You’re lying."
"Am I? Your family paid off the servants. Burned the medical reports. Had the information broker network suppress the details." Holden shrugged. "Fortunately for me, money can buy a lot of things. Including the truth."
Lord Sterling looked like he might faint. "This is... this is absurd! Guards, seize him!"
The guards didn’t move. They were looking at the silver crest on Holden’s chest. Vespera’s personal disciple. Nobody wanted to touch that.
Oscar’s composure shattered completely. His face turned bright red.
"You dare insult royal blood in my presence?" he shouted, his voice rising to a screech. "You dare walk into my engagement banquet and spew these filthy lies?"
"They’re not lies, Oscar. You know it. I know it. And soon everyone in this room will know it too."
"ENOUGH!" Oscar screamed.
His aura exploded outward.
Crash!
Rank 2 energy slammed through the ballroom like a shockwave. Champagne glasses shattered. Nobles stumbled backward. The floral arch behind Lyra rattled and shed petals.
Oscar’s hand dropped to the rapier at his hip. The blade glowed with pale blue energy, expensive and deadly.
"I challenge you to a formal duel!" he roared. "Right here! Right now! Unless the little slum rat is too cowardly to face a real fighter!"
Holden stopped walking.
He was ten feet from Oscar now. Close enough to see the madness flickering behind those blue eyes. Close enough to see Lyra standing behind her fiancé, her hands pressed over her mouth.
Holden smirked.
"Sure."
He stepped away from the pillar and rolled his shoulders loosely.
"Let’s dance."