The Yellow-Haired Villain in Soaring Phoenix's Novels Also Desires Happiness

That night, the imperial palace was ablaze with lights.

This was the most extravagant residence in the entire city, even in the entire Empire. Tonight, countless expensive mana stones adorned it, illuminating everything like broad daylight.

Carriages bearing all manner of family crests rolled along the avenue wide enough for a hundred horses to ride abreast, passed through gates guarded by exquisite sculptures, and headed toward the vast, imposing palace ahead.

Knights in polished, immaculate armor had long since taken up their posts, faces solemn as they stood guard. Carriages were forbidden to proceed any farther inside, and so the noble lords in crisp formal wear linked arms with finely made-up noble ladies, chins lifted, and walked slowly into the palace.

The hosts were already waiting inside, offering greetings that were courteous yet reserved. From time to time, a casually tossed joke would provoke laughter that rose amid the clinking of glasses—laughter that sounded as though it too had been carefully trained, arriving at exactly the right moment.

But there were still some people lingering at the entrance. The ones they wished to greet—or flatter—had not yet arrived, so they could only wait. Of course, among them were those who had received instructions: when any truly heavyweight figure arrived, they were to report back immediately so the hosts inside could prepare their reception.

“Oh, that’s Marquis Angus. Has he already returned from abroad?”

“Indeed. To be able to see the Minister of Foreign Affairs at a ball—how rare.”

“Count Rodd is here too. Hm? I don’t recognize his companion tonight.”

“I heard it’s his newlywed wife. His previous wife died of illness after grieving over the accidental death of their youngest son. It’s only been a few months and this woman’s already taken her place—she must’ve latched on long ago.”

“Tsk. That fellow Shaun Jones is here too. Bad luck.”

“A dirt-footed nobody. He thinks becoming governor of the lower district lets him squeeze into high society? Ridiculous.”

“And that illegitimate daughter of the Bugaard family is here as well.”

“Shh... she’s now officially acknowledged as the next heir of the Bugaard family. Saying things like that in public will offend them.”

Noisy whispers passed between twos and threes. Even at a royal ball filled with the lofty and the noble, slander and gossip about others were unavoidable.

But those voices came to an abrupt halt when a black carriage arrived.

At first glance, it looked like an ordinary carriage, jarringly out of place among the surrounding opulent ones. Yet the crest hanging from it so casually caused every person here with even a modicum of status to fall instantly silent.

It was a magnificent crown, suspended above a gem-inlaid sword.

Crown and royal sword—this was the royal insignia. Only members of the imperial family were qualified to bear it.

And as for which member of the imperial family would now be entering the palace from the outside, no one needed to guess.

A servant stepped forward and respectfully opened the carriage door.

Tap.

With a crisp sound, a slender, fair leg entered everyone’s view first, a crystal-colored high heel coming down firmly on the ground.

Then, a tall blonde beauty emerged from the carriage. She cast a shy yet strangely sharp look around her. Her flawless face carried a hint of gloom, yet it made the hearts of those nearby skip a beat all the same.

Only...

“Huh? That’s not Princess Celicia?”

Someone couldn’t help but cry out in surprise.

Though she had indeed stepped out of a carriage bearing the royal crest, that eye-catching head of golden, wavy long hair could not possibly belong to the silver-haired princess known to all.

As confusion spread among the crowd, the blonde beauty suddenly rubbed her face, took a deep breath, and the faint gloom on her expression shifted into a sunny, handsome smile. Then she turned and extended a hand toward the carriage.

A slender hand wrapped in a white lace glove slowly reached out and settled into the blonde girl’s palm. With a graceful pull, the silver-haired princess finally stepped lightly out of the carriage.

Two peerlessly beautiful «N.o.v.e.l.i.g.h.t» faces shone side by side, leaving no one knowing how many people were left staring blankly.

So much so that after several full seconds of stunned silence, they finally remembered to bow and greet Her Highness.

“Your Highness.”

“Greetings, Your Highness.”

Celicia gave a slight nod in response. “Greetings.”

“Ah, Cia, you’ve arrived.”

At that moment, a familiar figure emerged from the palace at just the right time, calling Celicia by her childhood nickname with an air of intimacy.

The Second Prince, Andrew, wore a smile as he personally came to receive his slightly late-arriving younger sister.

“There were no problems on the way, I hope? You insist on living in the lower district these days—it’s not exactly safe there.”

“I’ve troubled Imperial Brother with worry. The journey was smooth.”

Celicia elegantly pinched the hem of her skirt. Beside her, the blonde beauty froze for a moment—and only after suffering a light-speed kick to the calf that no one else could see did she seem to react, awkwardly and stiffly tugging at her own skirt.

“And this is...?”

Andrew had naturally noticed the unfamiliar blonde girl at first glance. He found it puzzling that his normally aloof sister would bring someone along to the ball—and such an eye-catching beauty at that, one he somehow didn’t recognize.

“This is Count Rudoen’s youngest daughter, Muse Rudoen. She is a close friend of mine,” Celicia introduced her. “She has been bedridden for many years due to frail health and never had the opportunity to appear in social settings. I took advantage of this occasion to bring her to the ball.”

“So that’s how it is. I didn’t expect you to have a close personal friend, Celicia. How rare. Greetings, Miss Muse,” Andrew said.

“Y-you... hello, Prince Andrew.”

The blonde girl offered a stiff, unfamiliar smile.

That slightly odd demeanor made Andrew knit his brow... This didn’t look like the comportment of a well-raised noble lady.

“Muse has been bedridden for years and never had the chance to learn proper lady’s etiquette. If she offends in any way, please be magnanimous, Imperial Brother,” Celicia explained quickly.

“Oh. I see,” Andrew said with understanding, nodding. “Then since you’re Cia’s friend, you’re my friend as well. Please enjoy the ball, Miss Muse.”

“Th-thank you.”

After a few words of polite exchange, the blonde beauty clearly didn’t wish to linger. Together with Celicia, she walked into the palace.

Only her gait remained somewhat awkward, as though she were deeply unaccustomed to being looked at this way by others.

“Celicia, this isn’t what we agreed on!”

The blonde beauty was, of course, Muen. Before they entered the ballroom proper, he hurriedly lowered his voice and demanded,

“Didn’t we agree I’d be a maid? What’s with ‘friend’? That’s way too conspicuous!”

“You think I wanted this?” Celicia’s gaze landed on Muen’s currently flawless, devastatingly beautiful face. Her eyes narrowed as she said coldly, “With a face this eye-catching, if I said you were my maid, do you think others wouldn’t suspect something?”

“...So being good-looking is my fault now?”

“Shut up.”

“...”

“In any case, you’ll act under this identity for now. Count Rudoen is my man; I’ve already made arrangements on his end. Even if others investigate, there won’t be any problems with your identity. And the status of a count’s daughter will give you much greater freedom of movement.”

“...Fine.”

At this point, Muen had no room to back out anyway. He could only steel himself and follow Celicia into the ballroom.

Before Celicia could be noticed and draw a crowd, Muen quickly swept his gaze across the hall and realized that the target of this trip had not yet appeared.

“Prince Albert... hasn’t arrived yet?”

Muen murmured under his breath. But just as he turned his head again, about to say something to Celicia—

“Celicia!”

That familiar voice made Muen’s expression change drastically in an instant.