One moment Celestia had been seething with indignation; the next, the entire venue seemed to hold its breath. Her open palm stung from the force of the slap she’d just delivered across Crown Prince Damon’s face.

  A hush fell over the grand ballroom as nobles and dignitaries recoiled in shock. Gasps and murmurs rippled through the crowd beneath the shimmering chandeliers.

  After all the humiliation Celestia had suffered at Prince Damon’s hands this evening, that single slap felt like justice.

  For an instant, she glimpsed something unusual at the corner of her vision: faint, glowing text hovering in midair.

  [Story Relevance: 10/100]

  [Milestone Reached!]

  [System Activation Initiating.]

  But before she could focus on it, Prince Damon’s outraged voice dragged her focus back to him.

  “You contemptuous little bi—!” Prince Damon’s handsome face twisted with rage. However, he cut himself off just in time, swallowing the end of that vile word before it left his tongue.

  Even in his anger, some instinct for self-preservation stopped him from publicly calling the Duke of Reingarde’s daughter such a degrading name. Still, the partial slur hung in the air between them, and a collective gasp rose from the assembled nobles.

  Celestia saw outrage and scandal flicker across dozens of faces in the crowd; the prince had very nearly breached all decorum by almost calling his fiancée a “bitch”.

  A dark flush burned on Prince Damon’s cheek where she had struck him, and his eyes blazed with a mix of humiliation and fury. For a moment, Celestia thought he might completely lose control and strike her back—propriety and consequences be damned.

  His gloved hand twitched as if itching to retaliate. But he did not raise a hand. Instead, Damon straightened his dress uniform, and cast a furious glare at Celestia that could have ignited a lesser woman on the spot.

  Regaining a measure of composure, Prince Damon’s lips curled into a sneer. “Guards!” he barked, his voice sharp and ringing against the marble walls. “Seize her!”

  A murmur of disbelief rippled through the onlookers. Was the Crown Prince truly ordering the arrest of his own betrothed?

  Two imperial guards in polished breastplates stepped forward from the sidelines, then hesitated, uncertain if they should follow through. They exchanged glances with each other, clearly uncomfortable at the very idea.

  Celestia was not just anyone, she was the only daughter of Duke Armond von Reingarde, a central pillar of the Empire. Even for the Crown Prince, having a Duke’s daughter manhandled in public was a dangerous, unprecedented move.

  Damon’s face contorted in frustration at the guards’ reluctance. He jabbed a finger in Celestia’s direction. “Did you not hear me? Arrest her at once! She has assaulted the heir to the throne. That is treason!”

  At last, duty won out over the guards’ hesitation.

  Celestia stood alone in the cleared center of the ballroom floor, surrounded by a wide circle of gawking guests. She felt hundreds of eyes on her: some shocked, some gleeful at seeing the proud Lady Reingarde brought low.

  Celestia remained poised, chin high.

  “Your Ladyship—” a hushed voice said from behind her. Celestia’s maid, Martha, had pushed through the crowd to reach her side.

  Martha gave the folded fan back to Celestia.

  As the first guard neared, gauntleted hand outstretched to grab Celestia’s arm, Celestia acted.

  In one graceful motion, she flicked the fan open with a sharp snap. The crack of it cut through the tense silence like a knife. She raised the open fan to cover the lower half of her face, a gesture of casual disdain, as if utterly untroubled by the soldiers.

  The two guards hesitated again, with the nearest guard swallowing nervously, his boots scuffing on the marble as he tried to decide how to seize her without seeming too rough.

  No one in the audience dared to intervene, not that Celestia expected any help.

  Many of the female nobles had long envied her position as the prince’s fiancée; some no doubt relished seeing her in trouble.

  Prince Damon’s patience was at an end. “What are you waiting for?! Arrest her!” he shouted, voice cracking slightly. His mask of princely composure was slipping, he sounded more like a petulant child than an heir to an empire.

  The nearest guard finally made a decision and reached for Celestia’s wrist. Before his steel fingers could close around her, Celestia’s eyes snapped to him. She fixed the man with such an imperious, fiery glare that he actually froze in his tracks.

  Her fan remained elegantly poised, hiding any expression on her lips, but her eyes alone conveyed warning and contempt.

  Then Celestia spoke, “Are you truly prepared to face the repercussions of this, Your Highness?” she asked.

  The guard reaching towards her faltered and looked over his shoulder to the prince for guidance.

  Repercussions. Of course there would be repercussions. They all knew it.

  Arresting the Duke of Reingarde’s daughter, the Crown Prince’s own betrothed, at a public event? The political fallout would be explosive.

  Prince Damon’s nostrils flared. “Of course I am!” he snapped.

  Damon pointed at Celestia again as if accusing a criminal. “She dared to strike me, to sully my honor and, by extension, the honor of the Empire. That is tantamount to treason!”

  Celestia let out a soft, derisive laugh from behind her fan. The sound was icy, tinged with contempt. Slowly, she lowered the fan just enough to reveal the curve of a cold smile on her lips. “Treason, is it?” she repeated, voice dripping with irony. “You speak to me of sullying honor, Prince Damon… yet what of the honor you have trampled underfoot this very night?”

  Damon blinked, clearly not expecting such a brazen counterattack. “What are you prattling on about?” he growled. He took a step toward her, waving a dismissive hand as though her words were mere nonsense. “This is no time for your hysterics, Celestia. You assaulted the Crown Prince, you will answer for—”

  “Be silent, Damon,” Celestia cut in sharply.

  A collective intake of breath was heard around the room.

  Never in recent memory had anyone, least of all Celestia, spoken to the prince in such a manner.

  Damon himself looked stupefied that she’d dare interrupt and address him so informally, without his title.

  Prince Damon looked ready to explode with anger, but Celestia didn’t give him the chance. She stepped forward, turning in a slow circle to address the entire assembly. Her voice rang out clear as a bell in the breathless hall. “Honored ladies and gentlemen,” she said, “His Highness accuses me of treason for offending his honor. But I ask you, whose honor was truly offended tonight?”

  Whispers rippled through the crowd. Celestia’s sudden confidence and commanding presence were almost hypnotic; dozens of nobles were eager not to miss a word.

  Celestia’s eyes swept over the faces surrounding her, the very same people who had witnessed her humiliation earlier. She could see some of them recalling the events of the evening, nodding quietly. She turned her gaze back to Prince Damon, whose mouth hung slightly open in disbelief at her audacity. “As many of you have surely observed,” Celestia continued, “the Crown Prince saw fit to ignore basic courtesy and decorum at this ball. He disregarded our betrothal, favoring others with his attention while slighting me, his promised bride.”

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  Prince Damon’s face went pale, then flushed red. “You… you are making a scene out of nothing!” he sputtered. His eyes darted around and noticed more than a few heads bobbing in agreement with Celestia’s words.

  Indeed, many guests had noticed how Damon had spent the night interacting with a pretty countess and a couple of other young ladies, all while his fiancée, Celestia, stood off to the side, neglected.

  It had been the gossip of the evening even before the slap.

  Celestia’s chin tilted upward proudly. “Nothing, Your Highness?” Her tone grew hotter, each word clipped. “You call it nothing when you publicly dishonor your fiancée? When you abandon me, leaving me to endure the pity and mockery of the court while you flaunt yourself before other women?” Her voice continued. “You treated me with blatant disrespect tonight. Am I to tolerate such treatment, without complaint… without action?”

  Her challenge reverberated through the hall. A few of the older noblewomen murmured a quiet approval. They knew the slight she described all too well; in their eyes, Celestia had every right to be furious.

  Prince Damon looked truly at a loss now. He had expected tears or pleas like always, not this public flaying of his behavior. “Even if I… even if my attentions were elsewhere,” he said through gritted teeth, “that gives you no excuse, no right, to lay hands on your future husband, the heir to the throne! You’ve gone mad, Celestia, if you think slapping me in public is something you can get away with.” He straightened his posture once more, trying to maintain authority. “And I assure you, you will not get away with it.”

  Celestia met his glare with one of her own. “Perhaps I have been mad,” she announced, “mad to have started this farce of a marriage long in the past. But make no mistake…” She snapped the fan shut and leveled it at him like a pointer. “I am quite sane now, Your Highness. Sane enough to stand up for myself.” Her eyes narrowed to icy slits. “If defending my honor and demanding your respect is a crime, then by all means, call me a criminal.”

  A stunned hush fell. No one even dared whisper.

  Celestia’s transformation from meekly devoted fiancée to fearlessly confrontational was as thrilling as it was baffling to the audience.

  They could hardly believe this was the same Lady Reingarde who had never contradicted Prince Damon.

  Prince Damon’s temper finally boiled over. “This is absurd,” he spat.

  His earlier embarrassment hardened into vengeful determination.

  If she would not bend, then so be it, she would be broken. He reached up and yanked off one of his white leather gloves, roughly crumpling it in his fist.

  Damon declared, raising his voice to the entire hall. “Since you are so intent on action, Celestia, let us settle this properly, here and now, as nobles of honor have done for generations.”

  Celestia’s eyes flicked to the balled glove in his hand.

  “I will not have my reputation tarnished by your outrageous behavior any further,” Prince Damon proclaimed. “By ancient tradition, I, Crown Prince Damon of the Empire, challenge you, Celestia von Reingarde, to a duel of honor!”

  With that, he hurled the crumpled glove to the ground at Celestia’s feet. It landed with a soft flap against the floor.

  Another wave of gasps swept the room. A duel between the Crown Prince and his betrothed? Such a thing was unheard of in modern times. Nobles exchanged alarmed glances. This had escalated far beyond a lovers’ spat; it was now a formal matter of honor that could not be ignored.

  Celestia stared at the glove on the floor.

  Prince Damon would almost certainly name a champion to fight for him. The rules allowed it, after all. And many expected Celestia to do the same.

  Celestia drew a breath, ready to announce her decision regarding the challenge loud enough for all to hear.

  But before she could speak, a booming male voice rolled across the ballroom, laced with fury: “What is the meaning of this?!”

  All heads turned toward the grand door at the inner ballroom. There, standing at the top of the red-carpeted steps was the Emperor himself. Beside him stood the Empress, and two other figures who were equally important, Duke Armond von Reingarde and his wife, Duchess Evelyn.

  Earlier, Martha had slipped away from the crowd after giving Celestia her fan back and reported this matter.

  The Emperor’s sharp gaze swept over the situation: the scattered guests, the two guards around Celestia, the glove on the floor, and his son standing opposite his son’s fiancée in a confrontational stance.

  “Prince Damon,” his voice thundered as he descended a few steps, “explain yourself immediately. Why do I witness my son throwing down a glove at Lady Celestia’s feet, in the middle of an imperial ball?”

  Prince Damon stiffened, clearly caught off guard. “Father, I—”

  He got no further. With long, furious strides, Duke Armond broke away and moved ahead of the Emperor, striding straight into the ballroom.

  Normally, he was the picture of calm dignity, but now his face was dark with barely contained rage.

  “You dare to disgrace my daughter in public and then challenge her to a duel?” Duke Armond’s voice was deep as it carried across the silent hall.

  He stepped between Celestia and Prince Damon, interposing himself protectively in front of his child.

  Celestia peeked around her father’s broad shoulder to look at Damon’s face. The prince had gone slightly pale.

  “Your Majesty,” Duke Armond said, turning slightly toward the Emperor but never taking his eyes off Damon, “I apologize for this disruption, but as a father, I cannot remain silent.” He gestured angrily at the scene around them. “I find my daughter threatened and insulted by her own betrothed, of all people.

  Armond’s lips pressed into a thin line of barely restrained fury. “What, may I ask, does His Highness take House Reingarde for? Does he think he can treat my only child with no consequence?”

  Prince Damon’s temper, already high, flared again at being dressed down in front of everyone. “This is a private matter, Duke Reingarde,” he retorted, though the quaver in his voice undercut his bravado. “Celestia overstepped herself. She struck me, in front of the whole court! Surely even you can see that her actions are intolerable. I had to respond to such an affront—”

  “Respond?” Duke Armond took another step forward.

  Prince Damon instinctively moved back.

  “By ordering your guards to lay hands on her? By challenging her to combat?” Armond’s fists were clenched so hard the leather of his gloves creaked. “Your Highness, do you think House Reingarde will accept our daughter being dragged away in chains, or put at risk in a duel over such a petty squabble?”

  A few courtiers flinched, the Duke’s raw anger was a frightening thing.

  The Emperor raised his hand, commanding silence. “Enough,” he said firmly.

  Duke Armond went quiet, though outrage still smoldered in his eyes. The Emperor stepped down onto the ballroom floor, moving to stand near Prince Damon, opposite the Duke and Celestia.

  The Empress followed a pace behind, looking desperately worried, and Duchess Evelyn hurried to her husband’s side, immediately reaching for Celestia’s hand. Evelyn’s face was pale as a sheet, she squeezed Celestia’s fingers tightly, silently conveying her terror over what might have happened.

  “It appears,” the Emperor said slowly, choosing his words carefully, “that passions have run exceedingly high at what should have been a joyous occasion.” His gaze flickered in obvious disappointment between his son and Celestia. “A lovers’ quarrel, I presume, seemingly spiralled out of control.” He exhaled. “Duke Reingarde, I understand your anger. And Damon—” he gave his son a withering glare—“I understand your wounded pride. But this is neither the time nor place for such disgraceful conduct.”

  Prince Damon lowered his eyes, chastened by his father’s rebuke. Duke Armond gave a stiff nod of agreement, though he still bristled with protective ire.

  The Emperor continued, raising his voice so that all could hear his decree. “But, be things as they may, a formal challenge has been issued and witnessed…” he glanced at the glove on the floor, his next words were a direct contradiction to what he had just said, “…perhaps it is best to let this matter be settled between the two parties directly involved.”

  He held up a hand toward Duke Armond, who looked ready to protest. “We will treat this as an affair of honor between young individuals, albeit one that I shall personally oversee to ensure fairness and prevent excess.”

  A ripple of surprise and confusion passed through the crowd. The Emperor was going to allow the duel?

  Duke Armond’s eyes flashed. He opened his mouth, about to protest, but before he could speak, he felt a gentle tap on his back.

  “Father,” Celestia said softly. She stepped forward from behind him, slipping her hand out of her mother’s trembling grasp. “It’s alright.”

  Armond turned to his daughter, astonished. Alright? None of this was alright!

  But as he looked into Celestia’s face, he paused; her eyes were clear, focused, and alight with an almost predatory confidence he had never seen in her.

  The Duke suddenly realized that Celestia, during the Emperor’s speech, had been oddly quiet and composed.

  In truth, Celestia had used those precious moments to do something no one else could see: she turned her attention toward the faint glowing text that still hovered at the corner of her eye.

  Upon focusing and with a blink, she somehow mentally summoned the mysterious System that had activated minutes ago. In an instant, she saw information about herself. A grin threatened to tug at her lips.

  Celestia gently laid a hand on her father’s arm. She said more firmly, “His Majesty is correct. This has become a matter between Prince Damon and myself.” She gave Duke Armond a soft glare, silently pleading for him to trust her.

  Duchess Evelyn’s eyes brimmed with tears as she clutched Celestia’s other hand. “Celestia, my darling, you can’t mean to go through with this,” she whispered frantically.

  “Mother,” she answered back, “I will be fine. I promise you.” There was such certainty in Celestia’s voice that it managed to steady the Duchess a little.

  Celestia turned and curtsied gracefully to the Emperor, as if this were a normal courtly proceeding and not a potential life-or-death confrontation. “Your Majesty,” she said, her tone perfectly respectful, “you are gracious to permit us to address this disagreement in the traditional way.” She rose from her curtsy. “As the challenged party, and as the one who received offense, I, Celestia von Reingarde, accept the Crown Prince’s duel.”

  A collective hush greeted her declaration.

  Some could scarcely believe their ears. She actually accepted. And with such poise!

  Celestia snapped her fan open with a decisive clap, punctuating her words. “Wholeheartedly,” she added, letting that single word ring out.

  Chapter 5: "The Bark Before the Bite"