Chapter 57: Chapter 53: Perfect Dance Partner

"My beautiful lady, may I have this dance?"

The moment Baron spoke, the whispers surrounding Freya quickly died down.

The young noblewomen who had been covertly watching Baron silently gritted their teeth, their hearts filled with frustration and annoyance.

They seemed surprised that a man as elegant and noble as Baron would take a liking to a girl like Windsor, one of questionable birth who knew nothing of proper etiquette.

Windsor, however, was startled by Baron’s gesture, her face instantly turning deathly pale.

Rather than a pleasant surprise, it was more of a fright.

She had, of course, noticed Baron’s elegant bearing when he entered the hall. He walked with a ramrod straight posture, courteous and refined, like a Knight on the march. In an instant, he had captured the attention of every man and woman in the room.

He was surrounded by glamorous socialites and beautiful young ladies of the Old Race. ’A girl like me, who never even received a formal noble’s education on the Inner Side... Is this really okay?’

Her instincts told her to refuse, but Baron simply took her hand, giving her no chance to object, and led her toward the dance floor.

She tried to say something, but the man whispered, "My dancing is actually terrible. I looked around at all the noble ladies and thought you might be the only one willing to teach me. I’m begging you, please just play along."

Windsor froze for a moment. She glanced up and saw her father looking down at her, then bit her lip and finally squeezed the man’s broad hand.

"I hope I don’t step on your toes," the young man said.

Windsor murmured her assent, and by the time she did, the young man was already leading her in a dance to the music. Just as he’d claimed, his movements were average, even clumsy.

Several times, he stepped not only on Windsor’s high heels and the hem of her dress but also on the gleaming leather boots and shoes of the men and women around them.

But just as they were about to get angry, their eyes would fall on the gold thread of his cuffs, and they would immediately go silent.

The men would mutter, "If you can’t dance, at least watch where you’re going!" The women, however, would elegantly tuck back their hair, size up Baron and Windsor, and, tilting their snow-white, swan-like necks, say, "If you don’t know how, I can teach you."

But the young man politely declined them all, saying, "Miss Windsor here is the best dance instructor I could ask for."

Baron wasn’t just being polite; he truly felt that way.

That very afternoon, Stella had hired London’s finest ballroom dance master—an expert in tango, Latin, tap, and modern—to give him a systematic crash course on all of them.

But in Baron’s most honest opinion, none of them danced as well as Windsor.

The girl’s steps were unhurried, her form elegant. Spinning in her white dress, she resembled a blooming daisy. Every step was dignified, yet every step was also full of life.

She moved as if walking a tightrope on a cliff’s edge—seemingly on the verge of falling, yet light and supple, like a bird in flight.

If, at first, all eyes had been drawn to Baron as the anomaly, then from the moment the music began, the young woman had become the true center of the dance floor.

From the dais above, Gold watched the spinning figure in the center of the dance floor, his expression cold and displeased.

Andy swirled the wine in his glass and said nonchalantly, "You hate seeing people from Westminster Cathedral that much?"

"Isn’t that obvious?"

"Why don’t you go down and mess with him a little? He looks like a beginner at dancing. You could play a little trick on him, put him in his place. With so many people around, he won’t be able to say a thing."

Andy clapped his hands, and a bewitching woman in a generously cut dress stepped forward. "Kesha. A Black Iron Demon Hunter, and also London’s finest dance partner."

Kesha naturally took Gold’s arm, her eyes darting flirtatiously, her expression full of seductive promise. "Do you tango?"

"A Demon Hunter doesn’t just know how to tango. We know how to dance on the edge of a blade."

Gold let out a cold snort, wrapped an arm around her waist, and strode proudly down the stairs.

...

Meanwhile, at the banquet tables off the dance floor, Jack was still gorging himself. His plate was piled so high with Boston lobster, escargot, and Spanish ham that it was about to overflow.

The surrounding guests were giving him and the young woman in the red dress beside him strange looks.

Although the young woman in red ate with poise and elegance, the amount of pig’s feet, pork belly, duck, and steak she stuffed into her mouth was no less than what Jack was consuming.

"I’m Jack. I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of learning your name, Miss."

His mouth glistening with grease, Jack seemed to have just remembered something. "We should eat together again sometime," he said, stuffing a piece of tuna sushi into his mouth. "Let’s exchange numbers so we can stay in touch."

But the young woman in red just wiped her mouth and asked, "What’s his name?"

Jack was currently wrestling with a swimming crab. "Whose name?"

"The one who was standing with you earlier. The one from Westminster Cathedral."

"L... What, you’re interested in him, Miss? A shame, you’re too late... I’ll have you know, L is a hot commodity at Westminster Cathedral. I reckon our secretary, Stella, has already lost her heart to him... Why else would she be tying the guy’s necktie for him...?"

Jack was still muttering when he glanced to his side and realized the young woman in red had disappeared.

He scratched his head. ’How come no one ever lets me finish talking?’ he thought. ’Am I too long-winded?’

He thought for a moment, grabbed a crab, and slipped into the ballroom. A moment later, he shuffled back out, snatched a fresh lamb chop from a platter, and snuck back into the ballroom again.

Food in the United Kingdom was legendarily bad. After so many years of fish, chips, and bread, there was finally a chance for a decent meal. Jack Caesar Napoleon Hannibal Bismarck Tang was not about to let this opportunity slip through his fingers and past his stomach.

...

"You’re such a good dancer. Are you a professional?" Baron asked.

"My father hired a dance instructor for me," Windsor said softly. "He didn’t want me to embarrass myself at future banquets, so I studied very hard."

"And here I am, embarrassing you instead," the young man teased.

Windsor gave a small smile. She glanced up, saw her father nod gently at her from above the dance floor, and then lowered her head again.

The two whispered as they danced, and Baron used the opportunity to get a rough idea of the Constantine Family’s current situation.

The Constantine Family currently had no Patriarch, only clan elders.

There were seven elders in total, and their main responsibilities were overseeing the Constantine Family’s territory, ancestral temples, sacrificial rites, and tax collection.

Windsor’s father was one of those elders.

He had brought his daughter this time to represent the Constantine Clan at the banquet. It was to show that the Constantine Family was still on good terms with Lancelot’s Family, and also to prove to the outside world that the family had not declined in the absence of a Patriarch.

When Baron subtly brought up the legendary Baron Constantin, Windsor simply shook her head, saying she had never met him.

After a moment, Windsor finally worked up the courage to look directly at the young man’s face.

Just as the noblewomen around Freya had said, he was a young man whose aristocratic air couldn’t be concealed by a mask and long coat.

He was looking at her, too, his emerald eyes like a vernal pool.

Staring at him, she felt her face begin to flush. ’The way he’s looking at me... he’s either making fun of me, or he likes me.’ 𝒇𝙧𝙚𝓮𝔀𝓮𝒃𝙣𝓸𝒗𝒆𝒍.𝙘𝒐𝒎

But Baron suddenly said, "Watch out."

He threw an arm around Windsor’s waist, pulling her away from a powerful leg that had just sliced through the air. The leg, stretched taut beneath a form-fitting skirt, cut into their space with fierce, unmatched force. The path traced by the high heel was like a blade, separating Baron and Windsor from the other dancers.

Windsor, still reeling with a fluttering heart from the young man’s embrace, was completely oblivious to the danger. That high-heeled kick had been aimed directly at her.

Baron looked over. It was a scantily clad, seductive woman, dancing while half-leaning against a man’s chest like a butterfly drifting from a tree. Her gaze toward Baron was a mix of provocation and flirtation.

The woman’s partner, the man she was leaning on, shot Baron a faint smile—one that was both flippant and devilishly charming.

Women around the dance floor raised their handkerchiefs to greet the man.

Gold Walter.

Baron committed the name to memory.

Gold raised his chin at Baron and the Windsor in his arms, then pointed a finger at the band, signaling for more intense music.

Like courtiers receiving a royal decree, the band obeyed. The music changed, becoming more than just intense. To an unknowing observer, it might have sounded like a pre-battle anthem, as if the men and women on the dance floor were soldiers preparing to lay down their lives for king and country.

The couples on the dance floor exchanged confused glances. Though they found the music bizarre, they still adhered to the unspoken rule of ballroom dancing: as long as the music plays, you don’t stop dancing.

Though Baron wanted to lead Windsor off the floor, given his current identity and the image of Westminster Cathedral he had to uphold, he could only bite the bullet and keep dancing.

His gaze lifted slightly, and he noticed Freya watching him from not far away.

His heart stirred.

’So far, at least,’ he thought, ’the plan is going smoothly.’