It's Too Late for Regrets - Chapter 9.1

It was a man dressed in a white suit embroidered with silver threads. Like Ines, he wore a mask that covered more than half of his face.

 

He gave a hearty laugh and bowed deeply to the Countess.

 

“Would it be rude to say I could guess your identity as soon as I saw you?”

 

“Oh my.”

 

“Today, you’re not a white lily but a black crow.”

 

When the man mentioned the lily, symbol of Irope, the Countess laughed like a young girl.

 

“Let me enjoy the ball too, White Gentleman. It wouldn’t be fun to take off your mask the moment you arrive, right? My daughter feels the same.”

 

The smiling man turned his head toward her.

 

“Of course, Lady Crow. As long as you allow me a dance with your beautiful daughter.”

 

“That’s up to her, not me.”

 

The Countess winked and pushed Ines forward. Caught off guard, she took the man’s extended hand.

 

“Ah… Ah, yes. It’s an honor.”

 

The man in white led her to the dance floor.

 

He gently pulled her among the dancers already twirling to the music, placing his hand against hers.

 

“It seems you’re not used to balls, my lady.”

 

“Yes. This is my first time attending.”

 

In truth, if she had still been Celia, once called the queen of the social world in Lezan, she would’ve been tired of such balls. But to Ines, this was all unfamiliar.

 

“You’re quite good at dancing for a first-timer.”

 

Before she could respond, his arm wrapped around her waist.

 

Ines floated up like a small bird, then landed softly on her feet.

 

She was surprised at how easily he lifted her, with such little effort.

 

“Maybe I learned once. I don’t remember, so I might be a little clumsy…”

 

“It’s fine. I’m used to it.”

 

The man was blonde, but darker than the shade she was looking for — a dirty blonde.

 

His eyes looked gray or brown depending on the chandelier’s light.

 

Because they kept moving, the color of his eyes seemed to change constantly.

 

Leaning closer, he whispered playfully.

 

“Such a beautiful lady, and it’s her first time in society? What a shame. Since it’s your first time, let me guess. Lady Ariana of Mendes?”

 

“You’re wrong, White Gentleman. Try harder.”

 

“Then… Jeanne of Berge?”

 

Cheerful music. The crisp clinking of glasses. A playful voice close by.

 

Ines unknowingly let out a laugh.

 

“No. They must be far more beautiful and noble than me. But, you seem to know quite a lot of noble ladies, don’t you?”

 

“Oh dear, I wouldn’t want to be mistaken for a womanizer.”

 

The song ended, and with a change in partners, their conversation paused briefly.

 

The middle-aged gentleman beside them had already removed his mask, his identity evidently revealed.

 

When Ines returned to the man with dirty blonde hair, he still welcomed her with a bright smile.

 

The music continued.

 

“Now, my lady, why don’t you try guessing? It wouldn’t be fair if only I played the game.”

 

“Hmm…”

 

Ines recalled the Countess’s descriptions of Lezan’s notable nobles as she prepared for the ball.

 

A young, unmarried man with dirty blonde hair…

 

“Justus of Caliban?”

 

“Wrong.”

 

“Penellion of Leches? James of Dunkan…?”

 

“Neither. At this rate, we might not have to take off our masks until the ball ends.”

 

Again, her body lifted with the beat.

 

She didn’t even need to push off the floor. Normally, dancing a volta would leave her breathless, but this time, she moved without effort.

 

As she let herself go and trusted him, Ines slowly came to a realization.

 

This man…

 

The defining moment came when he gently held her waist and lifted her once more.

 

Underneath the mix of brown and gold in his hair, she saw a warm, honey-gold glint — and in the gap of his mask, melted chocolate eyes.

 

Their eyes met for only a few seconds, her feet suspended above the marble floor.

 

As her hand slipped from his shoulder, she felt a momentary drop, and the distance between them closed in an instant.

 

To keep her from falling, he pulled her into his arms.

 

Their foreheads were almost touching.

 

As if enchanted, Ines placed her hand on his mask.

 

A dazzling white mask adorned with colorful jewels… She had definitely seen it somewhere before.

 

Long before the day she first met him.

 

In the small, neglected back garden of a lonely castle.

 

<What’s your name?>

 

<My name is…>

 

He slowly lowered her back to the ground.

 

Ines looked up at him, dazed, and murmured.

 

“Your name is…”

 

Memories overlapped — of a warm summer day, in a dining room filled with sunlight streaming through glass walls.

 

<Edgar Ruseliger, at your service.>

 

Edgar of Lezan.

 

Once a crown prince who had met her — now the ruler of the Empire.

 

A warm finger gently pressed against her lips. The emperor leaned down and whispered in her ear.

 

“Isn’t it too soon to take off the mask?”

 

In a masquerade ball where guessing identities was the fun, removing your mask meant stepping out of the game.

 

And those words also meant… he recognized her.

 

As Ines struggled to find the words, he gave her a playful wink.

 

“I’ll let it go this once, so enjoy yourself more. Dance with others, eat as many sweets as you want, drink until you’re tipsy. You’ve missed out on so many things.”

 

There were so many things she had wanted to say — so many things she wanted to hear — if she ever met the only person who survived her broken past.

 

“But be careful not to give yourself away. You’re not her — you’re you. And there are surely things you can enjoy tonight, only as yourself.”

 

But now that she saw him again, she felt like she would burst into tears.

 

Her guess had been right. Even with the mask, even in someone else’s body, Edgar recognized her.

 

Ines barely managed to speak through the lump in her throat.

 

“…Your Majesty.”

 

“We’re both still wearing masks. Don’t use such cold titles.”

 

“How could you tell, just like that…?”

 

“You can learn a lot by looking into someone’s eyes.”

 

Suddenly, he raised his thumb and brushed it beneath her mask, just below her eye.

 

Though she couldn’t feel his touch through the mask, it felt like he was caressing her face.

 

Not Celia’s face — but her own, Ines’s face.

 

The man winked and whispered in her ear.

 

“Then, Lady Butterfly. Welcome to a new world.”

 

“…”

 

“Let’s meet again at midnight.”

 

He gently swept back the red hair that had slipped from her veil, then took her hand and kissed its back.

 

His lips brushed her skin ever so lightly.

 

“I trust you’ll save the last dance for me?”

 

Her heart slowly began to warm.

 

It turned golden. Deep, chocolatey.

 

The man gave a small smile and straightened up.

 

As he took a step back, Ines instinctively reached out.

 

“Wait, just a moment—!”

 

But at that moment, a plump noblewoman with five large peacock feathers blocked her view.

 

By the time Ines stepped around her, the man in the white jacket had already vanished.

 

 

She soon realized what he meant when he said the ball would be fun.

 

With a mask on, she didn’t have to pretend to be Celia.

 

This was the only time she could truly be Ines.

 

With her face hidden, she could say whatever she wanted. Her words, glances, and gestures would all disappear into this moment.

 

She danced like mad.

 

Volta, galliard, minuet — she moved freely to the music without caring which dance it was.

 

As if she had once practiced until her feet ached, her steps flowed like water, spinning like a butterfly.

 

No one looked at her strangely or pointed fingers.

 

In fact, those around her burned with even more passion.

 

“Shall we toast, Lady Butterfly!”

 

“To the sun of the northeast!”

 

Ines clinked glasses with a stranger.

 

Everyone was a stranger, after all.

 

Of course, a few men subtly suggested secret meetings in the garden.

 

But Ines surprised even herself by accurately telling apart those who showed genuine curiosity from those with impure intentions.

 

It felt like something she had learned before.

 

A man’s gaze, a touch full of desire — those things.

 

Probably not pleasant memories, but useful now.

 

“Sorry, Gentleman of Chains. Our meeting ends here.”

 

When she firmly pushed away a hand creeping toward her waist, a man wearing a mask with thin silver chains backed off with a regretful look.

 

One graceful sentence was enough to send even Lezan’s proud nobles away quietly.

 

Then, young ladies with bright smiles pulled her into their group.