The Extra's Rise - Chapter 560

Chapter 560: A Blue Rose Blooms (2)
The Springshaper estate looked magnificent in the evening light, its modern architecture seamlessly blending with carefully maintained gardens that stretched toward the horizon. As my transport pulled up the circular drive, I could see warm light spilling from the windows of the main hall, and the subtle glow of magical enhancement fields that provided both security and ambiance for tonight’s celebration.

Rose’s eighteenth birthday. The day we had all been waiting for, though perhaps none more than Rose herself.

I straightened my formal jacket—a perfectly tailored piece in midnight blue that complemented my eyes—and checked my appearance one final time in the vehicle’s mirror. Tonight had to be perfect. Not just because it marked Rose’s transition to adulthood, but because it represented the culmination of months of careful patience and growing anticipation.

The evening air was crisp as I stepped out of the transport, carrying with it the scent of the estate’s prize-winning roses and the subtle magical energies that always seemed to hover around places where powerful families gathered. I could hear the soft murmur of conversation and gentle music drifting from the main hall, indicating that the celebration was already well underway.

Marquis Everett Springshaper met me at the main entrance, his auburn hair neatly styled and his formal attire impeccable. His brown eyes—so like Rose’s—held their usual warmth, though I detected an undercurrent of something more complex. Pride, certainly. Parental protectiveness. And perhaps a touch of the melancholy that came with watching one’s child cross the threshold into adulthood.

“Arthur,” he greeted me with genuine warmth, extending his hand. “Thank you for coming. Rose has been anticipating your arrival all day.”

“Thank you for having me, sir,” I replied, clasping his hand firmly. “I wouldn’t miss this for anything in the world.”

He studied my face for a moment, and I had the distinct impression he was seeing not just the young man who had arrived for his daughter’s party, but the person who would play such a significant role in her future. “She’s in the main hall,” he said finally. “Though I suspect you already know exactly where to find her.”

I smiled at his perceptiveness. “I do indeed.”

The main hall had been transformed for the occasion. Elegant lighting fixtures cast a warm glow over polished floors, while arrangements of white and pale pink flowers—roses, naturally—decorated every available surface. The guest list was deliberately intimate, perhaps fifty people in total, consisting primarily of family friends, a few classmates from Mythos Academy, and several political allies whose presence was diplomatically necessary.

But my attention was immediately drawn to the figure standing near the hall’s center, engaged in conversation with a small group of well-wishers. Even from across the room, Rose’s presence seemed to command attention in a way that had nothing to do with her noble birth and everything to do with the quiet confidence she had developed over these past months.

She was wearing a designer cocktail dress in deep emerald green that complemented her auburn hair beautifully. The modern cut was both elegant and age-appropriate, striking the perfect balance between sophisticated and youthful. Her brown eyes sparkled with genuine happiness as she spoke with her guests, and I found myself momentarily mesmerized by the transformation from the uncertain girl I had first met to this poised young woman.

As if sensing my gaze, she turned toward the entrance, and our eyes met across the room. The smile that spread across her face was radiant enough to outshine every magical enhancement in the hall.

“Excuse me,” I heard her say politely to her companions as she began moving in my direction, her steps graceful and purposeful.

I met her halfway, aware that we had become the focus of subtle attention from the other guests. At events like this, every interaction was observed and analyzed for social and political implications.

“Arthur,” she said softly as she reached me, her voice carrying that particular warmth reserved for moments when we were together.

“Happy birthday, Rose,” I replied, producing a small, elegantly wrapped package from my jacket pocket. “Though I have to say, you look far too beautiful to be only eighteen.”

She blushed at the compliment, her cheeks taking on a becoming pink that made her brown eyes seem even more luminous. “You’re terrible,” she said, though her tone suggested she didn’t mind my flattery in the least.

Without hesitation, I stepped forward and wrapped my arms around her in a warm, lingering embrace. I felt her melt against me, her head finding its natural resting place against my shoulder. For a moment, the rest of the room seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of us and the comfortable intimacy we had built over these many months.

“I missed you,” she whispered against my ear, her breath warm against my skin.

“I missed you too,” I replied honestly. “More than you know.”

When we finally separated, I offered her my arm in the traditional gesture of escort. “Shall we make our entrance official?”

Her smile was brilliant as she slipped her hand through my arm. “I would be honored.”

We moved through the room together, stopping to greet various guests and accept their congratulations on Rose’s milestone birthday. I was struck by how natural she seemed in this environment, engaging with family friends and political acquaintances with the kind of diplomatic grace that spoke to years of careful training. There was no trace of the uncertain girl who had once worried about her worthiness or struggled with the shame of her heritage.

The other three princesses were present, of course. I caught glimpses of them throughout the early evening, each stunning in their own distinctive way.

Cecilia Slatemark stood near the refreshment table, her golden hair catching the light like spun sunshine while her red eyes surveyed the room with the kind of sharp intelligence that made her such a formidable political ally. She wore a dress in deep crimson that complemented her coloring perfectly, and I could see several young nobles attempting to engage her in conversation with varying degrees of success.

Rachel Creighton was holding court near the hall’s large windows, her own golden hair styled in an elegant updo that showcased her graceful neck. Her deep blue eyes sparkled with amusement as she spoke with a group of family friends, her dress in royal blue bringing out the sapphire depths of her gaze. Even from across the room, I could sense the warm affection in her glances toward me.

Seraphina Zenith stood somewhat apart from the main crowd, her silver hair seeming to shimmer with its own inner light and her ice blue eyes observing the proceedings with characteristic analytical precision. Her dress was a pale silver that seemed to have been designed specifically to complement her ethereal beauty. She caught my eye and offered a small, knowing smile that sent a familiar warmth through my chest.

As the evening progressed and dinner was served, I found myself seated at the head table beside Rose, with the Marquis on her other side. The conversation flowed easily, touching on current events, Rose’s plans for her final year at Mythos Academy, and carefully neutral topics that avoided any potentially controversial subjects.

“Arthur,” the Marquis said during a brief lull in conversation, “Rose tells me you’ll be graduating this year as well.”

“Yes, sir,” I replied. “My commitments with Ouroboros have grown to the point where continuing at the Academy would be impractical.”

“And what are your plans after graduation?” he asked, though something in his tone suggested this wasn’t idle curiosity.

I glanced at Rose, who was listening with obvious interest. “I’ll be focusing on expanding Ouroboros’s operations. We have several major projects in development that will require my full attention.”

“Important work,” he acknowledged. “Though I hope it won’t keep you too busy to visit us occasionally.”

The meaningful look he gave me suggested that his concerns extended beyond simple social visits.

“Never too busy for that, sir,” I assured him.

As dinner concluded and the formal portions of the evening wound down, the musicians began playing more contemporary music suitable for dancing. This was the moment I had been anticipating—and the moment that would solidify tonight’s significance in the eyes of everyone present.

I rose from my seat and extended my hand to Rose. “Would you honor me with the first dance?”

Her face lit up with pure joy. “I would love to.”

The other guests cleared a space in the center of the hall as we moved onto the impromptu dance floor. The musicians, clearly prepared for this moment, began playing a waltz that was both classical in structure and modern in arrangement.

As I took Rose in my arms, positioning my hand at her waist while she placed hers on my shoulder, I was struck by how perfectly we fit together. She had grown taller over these past months, though she was still delicate enough that I felt protective holding her.

“You’re an excellent dancer,” I murmured as we began moving to the music.

“I had excellent instruction,” she replied, her brown eyes never leaving mine. “Though I have to admit, this feels different from all those practice sessions.”

“Different how?”

“More real,” she said simply. “More… significant.”

She was right, of course. This wasn’t just a dance between friends or even between a young man and woman who cared for each other. This was a public declaration, a statement to everyone present about the nature of our relationship and our intentions for the future.

As we moved together across the floor, I was aware of the watching eyes of the other guests, the whispered conversations that would undoubtedly follow tonight’s display. But more than that, I was conscious of the three other young women who were also watching, each understanding exactly what this dance represented.

When the music ended, the applause was warm and genuine. I bowed slightly to Rose, who curtsied with the grace of someone trained in traditional etiquette, before escorting her back to the edge of the dance floor.

“That was perfect,” she whispered as we rejoined the crowd.

“The first of many, I hope,” I replied, earning another brilliant smile.