It was finally the day of the Winter Ball.

The evening sky above Camelot was painted in shades of gold and soft blue, the air a bit chilly with the promise of snow.

Noah stood before his mirror one last time, adjusting the cufflinks Nigel had given him.

The dark attire, with the black tailcoat, the waistcoat, and the white shirt beneath, fit him perfectly.

The cape hung over his shoulders, giving him an aura that was both regal and dangerous.

With a final nod at the reflection before him, he left the room.

When he stepped out of his dorm building, the palace carriage was already waiting in the courtyard.

Its silver crest gleamed in the light, and beside it stood Professor Cecilia, her long coat fluttering in the breeze. She turned as she heard his footsteps and smiled softly.

"You clean up well," she said, a faint note of pride in her voice. "Nigel's done a fine job."

"Thanks," Noah replied, offering a small smile.

Her expression sobered. "Remember, the Winter Ball may look like a celebration, but it's still a gathering of nobles, and that means politics. Keep your guard up."

"I will," Noah promised.

Cecilia studied him for a moment longer, then nodded, stepping back. "Good. Now go. Try to enjoy yourself, at least a little."

Noah climbed into the carriage, settling in comfortably. As the driver snapped the reins, the horses began to move, and soon, they passed through the academy gates.

The journey to the capital was long and quiet, the rhythmic clatter of hooves against the stone road lulling Noah into thought.

By the time the carriage rolled through the outer gates of the capital, dusk had already settled, a soft purple glow blanketing the city.

The streets shimmered under rows of lanterns, each flame reflecting off windows and cobblestone paths.

From afar, the royal palace stood like a crown of gold and marble, its spires reaching up into the sky.

The closer they came, the more activity filled the streets.

Carriages of varying colors and crests lined the palace road, their passengers being nobles and dignitaries summoned from all across Camelot.

The carriages moved slowly, one after another, up the grand road leading to the palace gates, where guards in white and gold armor checked each invitation.

When Noah's turn came, the carriage stopped before two guards bearing halberds adorned with the royal crest.

One stepped forward, opening the door and bowing slightly. "Your invitation, sir."

Noah handed the neatly folded envelope over.

The guard scanned the seal, nodded once, handed it back, and waved them through. "Welcome to the Winter Ball. Please proceed to the ballroom entrance."

The carriage rolled forward again, joining the others winding around the palace courtyard.

The palace itself was breathtaking, its many windows glowing warmly from within.

Music faintly echoed through the corridors even from outside, the sound of violins mingling with laughter and conversation.

Finally, the carriage came to a stop at the far end of the palace, before a wide staircase that led up to the ballroom entrance.

Noah stepped out, boots clicking softly against the stone.

A couple ahead of him was announced by name, their titles ringing out proudly as they entered.

Noah took a deep breath and ascended the stairs.

Inside the entry hall, attendants stood ready. One bowed politely, accepting his black cape and folding it neatly over his arm.

Another approached with a small smile, taking his invitation and walking to the podium beside the grand doors.

The announcer unfolded the invitation, then lifted his voice, clear and commanding.

"Introducing, Noah Webb of the First Heroic Class!"

As the grand doors opened, Noah stepped into the ballroom, and a wave of warmth and sound swept over him.

The first thing he noticed was the space. The hall stretched wide, its high and vaulted ceiling glittering with suspended chandeliers made entirely of ice.

The second thing he noticed was the beauty. Each crystal of the chandeliers on the ceiling refracted the candlelight into thousands of tiny rainbows, making the ballroom look like a world of light and elegance, dazzling in its beauty.

An orchestra played from the dais, the instrumentalists working their instruments with near perfection.

The music was soft and elegant, weaving perfectly with the laughter and chatter of the nobles scattered across the ballroom.

Waiters in neat uniforms glided gracefully through the crowd, balancing silver trays laden with golden goblets and crystalline flutes of wine.

Every nobleman and lady sparkled beneath the light, their jewels and enchanted fabrics catching and bending the glow in mesmerizing ways.

If there was anything he could admit about the people of Camelot, it was that they knew how to throw a party.

Noah felt momentarily out of place. Though Nigel's tailoring was perfect, and his own bearing polished, there was an aura in the air.

An aura of centuries-old refinement, of politics that extended even to dance and wordplay. He could feel it. If he engaged in these kinds of battles, he would lose more than he would win.

Then, a familiar voice reached his ears.

"You made it."

Noah turned to see Princess Ines, radiant in a flowing gown of silver and deep blue that shimmered like moonlight across water.

Her golden hair was pinned up with delicate sapphire ornaments, and a faint smile on her face as she approached him.

"Your Highness," Noah greeted, inclining his head slightly in a nod.

"None of that tonight," she said warmly, taking his arm before he could protest. "Come. You're my guest, and I'll introduce you to some people worth knowing."

He allowed her to lead him deeper into the throng. Everywhere they went, eyes followed them, all curious or appraising.

Nobles lowered their voices when they passed, but their glances spoke volumes. Noah could tell they recognized Ines's interest in him, and that alone painted targets on his back.

They stopped before a group near the base of the grand staircase.

The man at the center was imposing, with his salt-and-pepper hair neatly combed back. His tailored suit was understated yet impossibly fine in a way that Noah knew not just anybody could possess whatever fabric it was.

"Thomas Ramsay," Ines introduced, her tone polite but distant. "The First Premier of Camelot."

Noah inclined his head respectfully. "An honor, Lord Premier."

Thomas Ramsay's thin smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "The honor is mine, Mr. Webb. I've heard much about the summoned heroes of the First Class."

There was something in his voice that Noah couldn't identify, but the way he studied Noah reminded him of a man evaluating a weapon, weighing its sharpness and potential for danger.

Before Noah could reply, another voice cut in.

"Father, you give too much credit to rumors."

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