Noah's POV
The Augustus mansion had never shone brighter.
The sprawling estate, a symbol of timeless nobility, stood bathed in the golden hue of floating crystal lanterns. Vines of glowing flowers curled around the grand columns, their petals blooming with soft radiant light, casting a dreamlike warmth upon the marble paths. The air shimmered with a gentle floral fragrance, a result of enchantments cast by the court magicians and elven gardeners hired specifically for the event.
The courtyard was transformed into a sea of velvet-cloaked tables, glittering with crystal goblets and golden cutlery. An orchestra enchanted with magic floated near the stage, playing a soothing classical melody with occasional bursts of festive energy. Every note was carefully tuned to match the current mood of the guests.
Tonight, the air itself carried celebration.
Guests had started to arrive, nobles from nearby cities and foreign lands alike. Their carriages, elegant and intricate, rolled in one by one, stopping at the crimson-carpeted entrance where they were warmly greeted by butlers in white and gold. With each guest, the air buzzed with the scents of exotic perfumes, silk rustling, and light-hearted chatter.
Inside the Mansion:
The ballroom glowed with enchantments. The chandelier overhead wasn't lit by candles but by floating crystal shards swirling slowly in a circular motion, mimicking constellations above. The floor was polished to perfection, mirroring the ceiling like a still lake. Tables were lined with an assortment of heavenly dishes: golden-glazed mushroom soufflés, silver-leaf salad, honey-glazed root vegetables, elven breadsticks with mana-rich herbs, and of course, desserts like moonberry tarts, layered berry mousse, and the legendary "Dragon's Breath" chocolate—served cold but melting in the mouth like fire.
Scarlett, in a flowing crimson gown with black velvet accents, drew attention the moment she walked in. The dress was subtle yet fierce, much like her personality. Her scarlet eyes shimmered like rubies under the chandelier, and her hair had been elegantly tied with small black roses to match Noah's cufflinks. When she saw me, she smiled, the warmth of a thousand suns in that look.
Lyra had stunned me next. She wore a dress of soft frost-blue, sleeveless, and speckled with silvery snowflake motifs that sparkled like stars. A choker of white crystal hugged her neck, matching the serene elegance of her gaze. She looked confident tonight, perhaps even hopeful.
My mother, Julia, had taken charge of the party. She wore a regal violet dress with golden embroidery, her blue hair swept into a stylish bun adorned with amethysts. Her poise commanded the room.
My father, Richard, wore his formal robe—a rich navy with silver runes stitched into the hem. He stood proud, shaking hands, smiling politely but keeping a keen eye on everything. Occasionally, his gaze flicked toward me, a subtle smile playing on his lips.
Olivia, when she arrived, was breathtaking in an emerald gown embroidered with light-threaded patterns. She looked like a high priestess descended from the stars, her long platinum hair tied into a loose side braid. Her emerald eyes scanned the hall until they found me, and she nodded with quiet grace.
Charlotte had arrived fashionably late. Dressed in a white dress woven with void-black lace, she resembled royalty incarnate. Her appearance drew murmurs from the crowd. Her expression remained poised, almost cold, but when our eyes met—just for a second—I saw something stir behind that royal façade.
Layla's parents arrived in subtle grandeur. Her mother, with long dark hair, wore a refined green-and-black gown while her father, dressed in formal knight's attire, radiated both strength and kindness. They looked proud—though a bit emotional. After seeing me, her father gave a pointed look, and I swore I heard him mutter: "Don't let her cry, boy."
And then—
The music stopped.
A gentle breeze passed through the open windows as flower petals, conjured by subtle wind magic, fluttered into the room. All eyes turned toward the grand staircase.
Layla.
She stood at the top of the stairs, draped in the Fallen Bride set.
The gown was unlike anything the world had ever seen—an elegant blend of gothic grace and divine elegance. The black silk flowed down like liquid night, embroidered with glowing red patterns that pulsed like a heartbeat. Her shoulders were bare, with lace gloves running up her arms, and a veil of shadowy silk trailed behind her, embroidered with roses that shimmered like blood rubies.
The centerpiece was the scythe strapped across her back—black and crimson, exuding a haunting beauty that matched her aura perfectly. It was the weapon of a goddess of death, and tonight, she owned it with pride.
Her amber eyes shimmered under the low light, a faint blush on her cheeks as she descended with the grace of a queen. Every step she took was in sync with the gentle music that resumed—slower now, melodic, almost reverent.
In her hands, there was a bouquet of blood roses embedded like gems making her the perfect bride in existence.
I stepped forward and offered my hand with a smile.
"Shall we?"
She placed her hand in mine, her touch soft but firm. Her eyes sparkled with mischief, affection, and something deeper—something only I understood.
As I led her toward the center of the ballroom, whispers spread like wildfire.
"She looks divine…"
"Who made that dress?"
"Are they… engaged?"
But we didn't care.
Tonight wasn't about rumors or appearances.
It was Layla's night.
And as the first dance began—her hand in mine, her eyes on me—I knew something for sure:
She was no longer just the teasing girl who clung to me.
Tonight, she was a queen.
And I was honored to be the one by her side.