"And what is your opinion?" Monica asked.

  "I certainly wouldn't be as short-sighted as they are," the male sorcerer replied, casually selecting a glass of white wine from a passing tray. The female server caught his eye, blushed crimson, and hurried away. "Developing the magical arts cannot be accomplished through the efforts of a select few. Only through systematic education can we offer children born with arcane talent the opportunity to truly flourish. Ideally, practitioners from different cultures, nations, and even races—such as the elves—should unite to preserve and wield this power responsibly."

  "I'm glad you think so," the red-haired sorceress said with a gentle smile. "Were you being deliberately provocative earlier, then?"

  "I was genuinely impressed by your... mathematical prowess," Augler smiled in return. "Concurrently, I sought to shield you from the vexation of those who denigrate the 'academy-trained.'"

  "I prefer directness," she said. "Lately, I've grown weary of circuitous speech."

  "Yet you seem quite taken with Augler," Deborah interjected, seemingly materializing behind Monica. A blonde woman stood at her shoulder. "His unfailing politeness is but a gilded cage for his true intentions." She continued smoothly, "Allow me to make an introduction. This is Delores, from Ellytra."

  "From Lovitt, to be precise." The blonde woman smiled warmly and embraced Monica with gentle familiarity. She wore a lavender gown devoid of lace or excessive ornamentation, adorned only with pristine white trim at the neckline. Her pale golden hair was elegantly braided at the back, with several strands falling carelessly across her shoulders—a perfect balance of dignity and nonchalance. "Deborah has told me about you, dear Monica," she said, her azure eyes twinkling. "We're both academy-trained. Bookworms, the pair of us."

  Monica Dunston returned the smile, finding herself unexpectedly captivated. It was not the woman's attire, nor any age-defying cosmetics, that captivated her, but rather an ineffable grace and refinement radiating from her eyes, lips, and very essence. Her beauty surpassed most present, yet her bearing eclipsed them all. Monica detected a subtle fragrance of lilies. (If she represents academy training, then the gulf between us is vast indeed.)

  "A pleasure to meet you, Miss Zimmerman," Augler deliberately emphasized her surname.

  "The pleasure is mine, Augler Prescott," Delores Zimmerman countered without hesitation, extending her hand for him to kiss. "I was unaware that Ellytra's representative would be the headmistress of Lyrarod Academy."

  "Deborah's invitation intrigued me sufficiently to attend this gathering. Besides, my duties as headmistress allow for occasional diversions," she said, turning to Monica. "Tell me, how fares Bella Coren these days?"

  "You know her?" Monica asked, surprised.

  "We've had our associations." The headmistress smiled warmly. "She provided invaluable assistance when I was establishing a magic academy. She's an extraordinarily experienced sorceress—my time with her proved immensely enlightening."

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  (She's struggling,) Monica thought. (All of Cynthia struggles.) "She's managing well enough. Just occasionally overwhelmed by troublesome students."

  "Students of that age invariably present challenges," Delores remarked with an elegant shrug. "Well then, Delores and I have social obligations to attend to elsewhere." Deborah Borealis's lips curved into a knowing smirk. "Do continue your courtship, lovebirds."

  "She appears less than pleased by our company," Monica observed as Deborah departed.

  "It's not our association that troubles her—it's your association with someone like me."

  "Nonsense. I find her quite charming," Monica Dunston replied, now half-sated and browsing the selection of fruits and vegetables. "Delores is beautiful, isn't she?"

  "She approaches perfection," he murmured. "But only approaches it."

  "What does she lack?" Monica asked, popping two cherry tomatoes into her mouth at once.

  "It's not what she lacks, but what she possesses in excess," Augler Prescott replied, his voice rich with emotion. "Were you absent tonight, perhaps she would be the most perfect woman at this banquet."

  The red-haired girl laughed heartily, covering her mouth with one hand, cherry tomatoes still clinging to her lips. "Good heavens! I find myself increasingly delighted by our exchanges, Augler."

  The male sorcerer chuckled appreciatively and offered her a napkin.

  A delicate melody began to permeate the banquet hall—initially fragmented, but soon coalescing into a fluid, sophisticated composition. Delores Zimmerman sat at the harpsichord, playing without sheet music, guided purely by inspiration. Though her scales were simple and her combinations seemingly spontaneous, the result was remarkably harmonious, evoking profound contentment. The music initially captured attention, but guests soon resumed their conversations naturally, as though the notes had become an essential element of the atmosphere—indistinguishable from the air itself.

  "Only the academy-trained would perform so," Augler observed admiringly. "Their education encompasses not merely magic but the finer arts as well. Music originated with the elves, yet humans have demonstrated remarkable aptitude for the discipline."

  A nobleman approached the headmistress as she played. "Madam, your wine has no place atop this instrument," he admonished, tapping the harpsichord's polished surface. "This is an exceptionally valuable piece, transported at great expense from Illuviλofer and crafted by high elven artisans. Dwarves and goblins could never produce its equal. Should wine spill upon the keys, your entire fortune would prove insufficient compensation..."

  Delores continued playing, seemingly oblivious to his presence. "Mind your elbow," she cautioned tersely.

  Before the man could respond, his elbow knocked against the wine glass. As the crimson liquid cascaded outward, the nobleman's face drained of color. With languid grace, Delores Zimmerman extended her left hand, murmuring a brief incantation. The glass and its contents froze mid-air, suspended in defiance of natural law. With a subtle twist of her fingers, everything reverted to its original state. The nobleman retreated hastily, visibly unsettled, while Delores remained focused on her music.

  "That was Prince Robert, the banquet's ostensible host," Augler noted.

  "But Deborah informed me that King Royce was hosting," Monica said, confused.

  "She spoke truthfully," the sorcerer explained. "Prince Robert serves as a convenient fa?ade. This banquet merely conceals our true gathering, providing a natural context for our assembly. King Royce prefers to keep his involvement in arcane matters discreet, particularly from other monarchs who might take excessive interest in his designs. For the moment, at least."

  "Other monarchs?" Monica's gaze sharpened. "You mean..."

  "Indeed. The sovereigns of the northern realms. This very morning, King Royce summoned them to the palace to deliberate on strategies against the Godmans."

  A sudden, icy dread seized the girl's heart.