BURNING CROWN | A Dark Royal Romance

BURNING CROWN 08- This Is My World

The atmosphere in the palace was unusually bustling. Since early morning, servants had been rushing about everywhere. The grand hall was filled with fresh flowers. New carpets were being laid out in rows. The sound of orders rang out without pause... Everyone was preparing for the banquet the following evening.

In the kitchen, the aroma of baking bread and roasting meat filled the air. Greda lifted a hand towel to dab the sweat from her brow, then turned to look at her, hunched over a notebook in the corner.

"Nicha," Greda called in a serious voice. "You need to prepare a nice outfit for tomorrow night. A banquet of this scale — you, as the duke's secretary, must attend. In case His Grace needs you."

Nicha froze. Her large, round eyes rose from the notebook before she gave a dry smile. "I don't have a dress. And I don't intend to go. Nathan alone should be more than enough."

Greda's voice rose immediately. "Absolutely not! How could the duke's secretary not attend the banquet!"

The maids standing nearby nodded in agreement, as though they supported every word Aunt Greda said.

She merely raised her hand in a gesture of surrender, speaking softly. "I'm really not suited for that sort of thing. Please leave it to someone else."

With that, she closed her notebook, stood, and walked out of the kitchen, Greda's grumbling trailing behind her. The path back to the cottage was quiet, peaceful in the afternoon light. A cool breeze carried the faint scent of grass. She walked on until she reached a small fork between the gardens. There...

The sound of hooves drew near.

She looked up to find Elliot riding in on a black horse. His tall, regal figure wore hunting attire — a white shirt fitted close to his body beneath a dark brown leather vest, riding trousers that hugged his thighs, and polished black leather boots gleaming in the light. His brown hair was styled handsomely... He pulled the reins until the horse stopped right in front of her. His sharp eyes looked down. His curved lips lifted slightly.

"You must already know... tomorrow there will be a banquet to welcome the return of the Fenhardt dynasty," the deep voice spoke amid the silence.

Nicha lowered her head, trying to keep her voice steady. "Yes... I'm aware. But I don't intend to go."

Elliot raised an eyebrow slightly before chuckling softly in his throat. "Not going? Or is the truth that you're afraid you don't have a dress good enough to wear?"

She looked up slightly, her voice hardening. "I'm not—"

But he cut in immediately, the mocking half-smile unmistakable. "A banquet like that is for the upper class. To step inside, one must dress to match the occasion... but looking at your plain state right now—" His sharp eyes swept over the simple cotton skirt she wore. "I'm not entirely confident you'd 'pass.'"

She clenched her fists. Her cheeks flushed with both anger and shame. Her heartbeat was so loud she feared he might hear it.

He gave the reins a gentle tug, bringing the horse closer than before. His sharp eyes gleamed with challenge. "But if you'd like to try... I'd be happy to let you prove yourself."

The next day, the Fenhardt Palace was once again in a state of commotion. Silverware was polished to a mirror shine. The grand hall was adorned with flowers of every color. A red carpet stretched from the marble staircase down to the front door. Everyone was diligently preparing for this historic evening.

In the small cottage, it was quiet — a stark contrast to the atmosphere outside. She sat writing in her notebook at the small wooden desk, her eyes following the letters with concentration, as if trying to escape the reality that today was the day of the grand banquet.

A knock came at the door. Knock knock!

"Nicha, open the door, dear," Greda's voice called.

She got up and walked to the door in bewilderment. What she saw was Greda and four or five other maids standing there with wide grins, each holding wooden boxes and cloth bags in both hands.

"What is all this?" she asked in alarm.

Greda lifted her chin slightly, her eyes sparkling. "A surprise! Did you think we'd let the Duke of Fenhardt's secretary miss the most important banquet of the night?"

Before she could refuse, everyone streamed into the room and shut the door firmly behind them.

In moments, the small wooden desk was cleared. A dress box was opened, revealing a light pink spaghetti-strap gown, fitted at the bodice and adorned with fine silver lace tracing delicate lines across the chest and waist. The skirt fell in soft tiers of sheer chiffon, the hem shifting from pale pink to a deeper rose. It brushed the floor just so. The color softened against her fair skin—delicate, almost luminous.

"No... I'm not going. I'm really not," she shook her head, nearly backing away in retreat.

But two maids grabbed her arms with a laugh. "You can't get out of this, Nicha. His Grace could call for you at any moment. What would happen if you weren't there?"

Greda giggled. "Stop being stubborn. This is your chance to show that the Duke of Fenhardt's secretary is as elegant as anyone."

Nicha sighed heavily but was dragged into a chair before a vanity table they had set up on the spot.

And then the warm chaos began... Her long, silky hair was carefully brushed, curled into soft waves, with delicate tendrils framing her cheeks. Someone was dusting light powder and brushing her cheeks with a rosy blush. A soft coral-pink lipstick was applied.

When she had finished putting on the dress and looked up at her reflection in the mirror, she was struck speechless. Her large, round eyes went wide.

"Is that... really me?" she whispered, barely forming the words.

Greda beamed with pride. "Of course it's you, Nicha... so beautiful that anyone who sees you will be stunned."

The maids clapped softly, admiring their own handiwork. She smiled weakly, but her heart pounded erratically. Tonight... she would step into a banquet of the elite as the Duke of Fenhardt's secretary. No longer the orphan in the small cottage.

The Fenhardt Palace blazed with the light of crystal chandeliers and hundreds of candelabras. Flames reflected off the ivory marble walls until the grand hall resembled a castle from a fairy tale. The gentle melody of an orchestra blended with the murmur of conversation from the nobles and distinguished guests who had gathered from far and wide.

Gentlemen in dark tailcoats and ladies in lavish, colorful gowns moved through the hall. The clink of wine glasses sounded in a soft rhythm.

And then... a quiet murmur rippled through the room as a side door was pushed open. A young woman in a pink dress stepped in silently. She was not a noblewoman. She was not a lady of high birth that anyone watched for or recognized. But on this night, every light in the room reflected off the carefully pinned curls of her brown hair. Her large, round eyes shone. Her fair, smooth skin was set off by the flowing fabric that swayed with her every step.

The conversations around her stuttered to a halt for a moment. Many heads turned to follow her without realizing it.

Elliot, who had been conversing with a group of privy councilors, looked up at that exact moment. His deep, sharp eyes caught the sight instantly. His tall figure in a black tuxedo that emphasized his status as Duke stood frozen for just a second. His curved lips lifted slightly, but the tremor in his gaze could not quite be hidden.

He excused himself and stepped away from the group, walking directly to stand in front of her. His sharp eyes took her in from head to toe.

"Not bad... for a commoner like you," the deep voice spoke slowly.

Nicha bit her lip. Her cheeks flushed — from both embarrassment and anger. She averted her eyes, but her heart pounded beyond her control.

Elliot tilted his head down slightly, his lips nearly brushing her ear, whispering mockingly — just for her to hear. "But be careful... tonight, every eye is on you. If you stumble and do something clumsy like you always do, it won't be just me who sees it anymore."

Nicha drew a deep breath, trying to stand tall — even though her heart was trembling. This was a night from which she could no longer retreat.

The scent of red wine drifted throughout the hall. Voices and laughter of the distinguished guests echoed around. A long table at the center was lined with exquisite cuisine — spiced roasted meats, smoked ham, and imported cheeses of every variety. Everything was arranged as beautifully as a painting.

Nicha stood stiffly against the wall, her large, round eyes scanning the room nervously. Several pairs of guests turned to look at her before leaning in to whisper to one another with smiles that were impossible to read.

I shouldn't have come here, her heart raced. Her small hand gripped the glass of water so tightly that sweat seeped out.

The familiar deep voice sounded beside her ear once more. "Don't make a face like a lost child. Everyone is watching."

She flinched. She turned to find Elliot standing beside her — she hadn't even noticed when he had drawn so close. The faint trace of cigarette smoke on him mingled with a luxurious cologne that drifted to her nose.

"I... I'm just not used to this kind of atmosphere," she mumbled, her voice shaking.

Elliot raised his wine glass for a slow sip, then tilted his face toward her. A sly half-smile appeared. "Of course, not... A banquet for the upper class was never a place for a commoner to begin with."

Those words cut deep. She pressed her lips into a thin line. But before she could retort, he stepped closer. His razor-sharp eyes held her so firmly she couldn't move.

"But since you've chosen to stand beside me... then endure the stares and the whispers. Because this... is my world."

Nicha lowered her head, trying to hold back the burning heat on her cheeks. She didn't know if it was from humiliation or the crushing pressure. Around them, the clink of wine glasses sounded. Several guests stole glances at the two of them in turn, as though trying to read the mysterious relationship that no one dared to speak of aloud.