Andras, still in the maid's guise, chuckled softly.
"I'll hurry as best I can, but even she cares which garment it is. It will take me a moment to find the right one. Until then, stand guard, lads! And don't breathe a word of this matter, or your tongues truly will be cut out!"
The first guard nodded solemnly.
"We'll carry this secret to the grave."
"Long live the Princess!" added the other ceremoniously.
"Very well, lads," Andras replied as he slowly stepped back. "I'll fetch the garment."
The two guards remained content at their post, unaware that the "maid" was in truth the Young Wolf, carrying out a cunning diversionary maneuver.
The Young Wolf, still disguised as the royal maid, slipped silently into the Princess's chamber. The room was filled with a sweet fragrance, the aroma of fine perfumes and flowers. Beside the bed stood a small chest of four drawers.
Andras slowly pulled open the first drawer. Delicate, silky fabrics lay neatly folded—the Princess's undergarments. A mischievous smile flickered across his face.
"I'll steal every single one of the Princess's panties and stash them in my magical storage. Not only will it humiliate her, but it will serve as a perfect distraction for the guests. Hehehe!"
As he searched further, his fingers brushed against a hidden compartment. He pressed it carefully, and the secret section revealed itself.
"Hmm… what's this?" he whispered.
Inside lay a diary, carefully concealed—the Princess's personal journal.
Andras's eyes gleamed.
"No time to read it… damn! But I'm enough of a bastard to steal it anyway. Considering how arrogantly she treated me, she deserves it! Hahaha!"
With a single motion, he tucked the diary into his magical storage, then began piling in all the undergarments as well. The drawers were left empty, as though they had never contained anything at all.
The magical crystal hidden within his ring swallowed the loot safely. No one could ever know that the Princess's secrets and personal belongings now rested in the hands of the Young Wolf.
"The Princess's entire collection of undergarments and her diary are safely stored away. All that remains is to return to the ball and stage the grand finale in the guise of the masked thief! This will be hilarious!" he thought, quietly closing the drawers before slipping out of the chamber unseen.
Disguised as the royal maid, Andras slipped silently out of the Princess's chamber, his face adorned with an innocent smile. At once, the guards addressed him in hushed curiosity.
"Did you get the undergarment?" one asked, whispering yet eager.
"It's right here in my pocket," Andras replied, perfectly mimicking the servant's voice. "The Princess has been saved from her predicament!"
The other guard nodded in satisfaction.
"Then speak a good word for us to the Princess."
"Don't worry," Andras smiled. "The Princess will surely reward you."
"You're an angel, maid," said one of the guards, visibly relieved.
"But I must hurry back to the Princess now!" Andras answered, then strode off quickly.
"Go on, hurry!" encouraged the other, never suspecting that the "maid" was in truth the Young Wolf, carrying out a cunning diversionary maneuver.
Still in the guise of the maid, Andras returned to the ballroom. Music had already begun, the guests gathering for the dance, and none suspected that a theft had just taken place in the Princess's chamber. Within his magical storage lay the diary and the undergarments, safe and ready for the grand finale—when, in the guise of the masked thief, he would draw all eyes to himself in the very heart of the ball.
After exchanging forms through the magical technique, Noelle—now bearing Andras's features—hurried back into the ballroom. Barely two minutes remained before the royal dance would begin, lasting a full hour. She arrived at the Wolfwood table just in time, where Carla was already waiting.
"Where were you, my son?" Carla asked, a touch of worry in her voice.
"I had to step away before the dance began," Noelle replied, perfectly imitating Andras's voice and mannerisms. "But now I'm refreshed and ready to dance."
Carla smiled in relief.
"Good. Have you decided who you'll dance with?"
"I haven't," Noelle shook her head. "I don't know who I'll be paired with."
"That's fine," Carla answered. "By the way, where is Noelle?"
Noelle quickly invented a believable story.
"She ate too many pastries while trying to learn new recipes. It upset her stomach, so she won't be coming for a while."
Carla sighed, then smiled.
"That girl… I understand she wants to bake you all sorts of treats, but at events like this she should take better care of herself. Anyway, I know of three partners who wish to dance with you: Christina, her niece, Amelia, and Floralys. Please dance with all three—for my sake, all right?"
"No problem," Noelle replied confidently. "In an hour, there's time for six partners if needed. Three isn't so bad."
Carla's eyes gleamed playfully.
"I thought you'd grumble, since you dislike noble dances."
"One hour, and it will be over," Noelle said with a slightly serious tone. "The Hero and the Royal Family deserve at least that much respect from me."
Carla laughed.
"Oh, I'm your mother. I know perfectly well how little you care for the Hero or the King, hahaha! Just endure this one hour."
"It won't be a problem," Noelle said, though inwardly she felt a flicker of uncertainty. "I think."
The ballroom glittered with light, the musicians already tuning their instruments, when two young noble girls approached the Wolfwood table. Their gazes locked instantly, and the air grew tense. One was Amelia Silverwood, the other Annerose Redwood.
Three things bound them together: both were barely thirteen years old, both were daughters of great noble houses, and both cherished the same ambition—to dance with the Young Wolf, preferably before the Princess herself. Neither knew that the Princess intended to dance only with the Hero, and so their rivalry quickly ignited.
"Well, well," Annerose sneered. "Looks like you're heading the wrong way. This is the Wolfwood table, and if I'm not mistaken, you belong to the Silverwoods."
"My name is Amelia Silverwood," the other girl replied firmly. "And I'm here to ask the Young Wolf to be my dance partner."
Annerose's eyes flashed.
"My name is Annerose Redwood, and I regret to inform you that I will be the Young Wolf's partner."
A bitter smile crossed Amelia's lips.
"I might yield my place to the Princess, but not to anyone else. Besides, the Young Wolf is my aunt Christina Silverwood's comrade. It's obvious he would rather dance with me."
"What did you say?!" Annerose snapped, and before anyone could intervene, her hand struck like lightning.
The slap cracked sharply across Amelia's face, sending her tumbling to the floor. Tears welled in her eyes as she clutched her burning cheek, trembling on the verge of sobbing.
The scene unfolded before nearly everyone's eyes. Nearby guests watched in shock as two scions of great noble houses clashed openly in the very heart of the ball. Christina Silverwood, who had been keeping a close watch on her niece, leapt up at once to defend Amelia. At the same time, Botond, Annerose's loyal retainer, rushed forward to stand by his lady.
The atmosphere of the ballroom changed in an instant: tension vibrated in the air, whispers rippled among the guests, all wondering what the next move would be. The royal dance had not even begun, yet already a scandal threatened to cast its shadow over the celebration.
Under the glittering lights of the ballroom, tension erupted in an instant. Amelia Silverwood sat on the floor, clutching her tearful face, while Annerose Redwood, frightened by her own actions, began to cry as well. Guests gathered in hushed whispers around them, the scandal spreading like wildfire.
Christina Silverwood's eyes blazed as she stepped to her niece's side.
"What is the meaning of this?! Why did you strike Amelia, Redwood?" she shouted, her voice cutting sharply through the murmurs.
Annerose trembled, trying to speak.
"I…," she began, but the words died in her throat, her tears betraying her fear.
That was all it took. Botond, Captain of the Red Wildrose Knights, rushed forward to defend his lady. His broad shoulders and furious gaze loomed as he stood before Christina.
"Do not shout at my mistress! Can't you see how terrified she is?"
But Christina did not retreat.
"She struck our Amelia, and now you dare to act offended?! Do you want a duel? You think yourself a great man? You're not half the size of the Ogre! Let's see if you can entertain me half as well!"
Botond's face twisted with rage.
"You dare compare me to that filthy Ogre?! Do you think I'll cower before you, Silver whore?!"
The words cut the air like blades. Christina's eyes widened, her face flushed crimson with fury.
"What did you say?! Take it back, at once!" she cried, her voice ringing like a thunderclap.
The people of the ballroom watched in stunned silence. The royal dance had not yet begun, but already an open clash threatened to plunge the celebration into scandal. Between the representatives of two great noble houses, words clashed like swords, and all could feel it: a single wrong move, and the quarrel would erupt into a bloody duel.