The air in the large hall was thick with hostility, barely concealed. Conversations hushed down as Prudielle strolled past, her heels clicking against the marble floor that had the nobles bristle.
Eyes flicked toward her, some filled with disdain, others with awe.
She let them stare.
A demoness in a crimson gown with billowing sleeves leaned toward her fellow guest to whisper in a voice that wasn't low enough. "The audacity."
'You're just mad that I made this look good!' Prudielle's lips curled up, her eyes gleaming in satisfaction. Oh, she knew they despised her — a human who was a blemish to their perfect, ancient bloodline. And she loved it.
She plucked a glass from a passing servant's tray and took a sip, acknowledging the gaze of a high-ranked demon lord in the hall. His lips curled, his disgust very much obvious.
Prudielle lifted her cup to him in a mock toast, then, with deliberate ease, turned away, her smirk widening at his scowl.
No wonder her father was always breathing down her neck. But seriously, it wasn't her fault that the people couldn't handle a sprinkle of her boldness.
"Lady Prudielle," a hushed, warning voice came from behind and it had her spinning on her heels. The speaker gestured at her, and she could read it clearly.
"I don't understand what you're saying." Her brows creased, obsidian eyes glimmered knowingly.
"Lord Michaelson has ordered me to keep an eye on you. You shouldn't be drinking that." The maid reached out for the glass, her expression stern but Prudielle stepped back with a smirk.
"Who said I can't?"
"That drink will be too strong for you, My Lady. It is meant for —"
"Demons." Prudielle completed, taking the words out of the servant who batted her lashes, fighting back a scoff.
"Not right now." Alena pinched the bridge of her nose, exhaling.
Prudielle watched her, shrugged and dropped the glass onto another passing servant's tray. She relished the low hums of the guests, their gazes clinging to her like shadows. With a sigh, she strode forward, eyes turning distant.
Alena could only follow, her head lowered. However, she heard a collision. Sharp gasps followed after, the air thick with stunned silence.
"Bloody hell!" Lady Cressida's shrill voice rang in the quiet atmosphere. She earned some amount of sniggers from onlookers that made her face tick with annoyance.
Before Prudielle could react, red liquid splashed across her porcelain skin. Warm and sticky.
"You did that intentionally, didn't you?" Lady Cressida's sharp fingers jabbed the air, her voice sharp with irritation.
Alena stepped forward, her head lowered. "Apologies —"
Before her maid could finish, Prudielle spotted a maid with a tray of desserts. In one swift motion, she grabbed a pastry and smashed it into Lady Cressida's infuriated face, earning gasps.
Her lips curled as her hand moved, deliberately smearing the chocolate cake across Cressida's face. The hall erupted.
"Outrageous!"
'What is it? No gasps when she doused me in wine? But now, they are screaming bloody justice because I retaliated?'
Alena slapped a hand over her face, eyes wide. She made to intervene but Prudielle's piercing stare froze her in place.
The maid knew better than this. She took to her heels, urgency clouding her sight with one mission in mind. Getting Lord Michaelson.
Cressida's fingers tightened around her glass, trembling as a chunk of cake slid off her darkened face.
The murmurs died, the air heavy with deadly anticipation. No one stepped forward to break the beef between both women.
CRASH!
Another gasps tore the silence, followed by low, mocking sniggers as the servants could only panic at the damage done.
Lady Cressida had shoved Prudielle, sending her crashing into a trolley stacked with leftovers. The demons laughed, more than pleased with this spectacle.
Prudielle's eyes widened. Her lips twitched as her fingers brushed a dessert knife, lingering on its hilt.
"This is a reason why one needs to know their place. Lady Cressida, you did well!" A condescending voice reverberated, earning hums of approval while a smug smile painted Cressida's face.
Their focus shifted from Prudielle to the demoness who basked in the praises of the human's relentless haters. However, their chatters died. Snuffed out like the last flicker of a candle.
Dread sank its claws into the guests as the air shifted. Everyone skittered backwards as the icy stillness melted into a scorching inferno.
Servants trembled at the mere presence that invaded the hall, and some managed to scamper off like preys. One unfortunate servant barely had time to scream, before her body crumbled, dissolving into dry air — vanishing as if she had never existed to begin with.
Lady Cressida's joy faded, erasing as swift as the unfortunate maid. She scrambled backward, putting as much distance as possible between herself and the death incarnate.
Prudielle, oblivious or perhaps indifferent to the thick danger in the air pushed herself up. She lunged for the demoness, only for a large bronze hand to seize her wrist.
Time slowed down, collective breaths held in fear stretched the moment unbearably. No one dared to look. The silence, suffocating.
Then a loud, shaky gasp pierced the dark silence that dangled above everyone, followed by a crash of something breaking.
Prudielle should be dead!
Warm, elegant fingers clasped tightly around her wrist. Prudielle's furious gaze snapped upward, straight into the abyss of empty ember eyes. They flickered from fiery orange to a dangerous deep crimson.
Two things stood out in his gaze. It was unmoving. It was intense. It was powerful that her knees buckled because it was unexpected. Yet not a sliver of shock reached her eyes.
So this was him? The untouchable King? This thought of hers drifted aimlessly before realization slid in like a lethal blade in the dark.
Her carefully guarded expression cracked. Impassive gave way to something dangerously close to despair. She twisted her wrist, subtly testing his grip.
But he pulled her closer. Too close. This shift sent a ripple of unease through the gathered demons. Their fears thickened the air like smoke.
"Who are you?"