Finally, the day of the royal banquet arrived.
Serena stood before the mirror, adjusting the folds of her lavender gown. The soft fabric shimmered under the light, perfectly matching her ethereal pink hair and eyes. She looked elegant, dignified—every bit a Duchess.
As she stepped outside, she was surprised to see Lucas waiting for her by the carriage. He turned, his eyes widening in subtle astonishment. Looking away quickly, he muttered, "You look beautiful, Mother."
Serena's heart swelled. It wasn't just the compliment—it was the word Mother. Though she could never take the place of his late mother, in that moment, she felt accepted… respected.
"Thank you Lucas," she said gently holding Lucas's hand.
They rode in silence to the palace.
At the grand entrance of the royal palace, the servants announced loudly, "Presenting Duke Selwyn and Dowager Duchess Selwyn!"
All eyes turned toward them.
Gasps and whispers followed.
"Is that the Duke with his stepmother?"
"She's stunning… Her pink hair and pink eyes—such a beauty she is…"
"I heard she's never attended a single banquet before."
As they stepped into the hall, Serena held her head high. She isn't someone to be looked down upon.
People hovered around them, eager to greet the elusive Duchess who had never once attended a banquet before. Serena smiled gracefully, responding with polite words and gentle greeting, but the crowd never seemed to thin. One conversation after another—each filled with pleasantries, veiled curiosity, and hidden judgment.
After a while, Serena felt the weight of it all—her cheeks ached from smiling, her back stiff from standing upright for so long.
Noticing her discomfort, Lucas leaned in. "Why don't you rest for a while, Mother?"
"Will it be alright?" she asked softly.
"Yes. Don't worry. I'll manage things here."
Grateful, Serena nodded and turned to a nearby servant. "Could you guide me to the resting area, please?"
"Of course, Your Grace."
The resting halls had been specially arranged for nobles—places to rest, or to recover if they felt unwell. The women's resting halls were located on the second floor, offering a quiet retreat away from the banquet's bustle, while the men's restimg halls were situated on the third floor.
Serena followed the servant upstairs, her footsteps light but steady, seeking a moment of peace away from the curious stares and endless murmurs.
The servant stopped at a door and gave a polite bow. "This is the resting hall, Your Grace."
Serena nodded, offering a small smile before gently pushing the door open and stepping inside.
The room was lit, adorned with plush furnishings and delicate floral arrangements. A wave of calm washed over her as she walked in and settled on a velvet sofa near the window. She closed her eyes for a moment, savoring the brief silence.
But it didn't last long.
Soon, the door opened again, and several noblewomen entered, their perfumes trailing behind them. They exchanged polite greetings, their voices hushed and honeyed. Though they smiled at Serena, their eyes lingered too long, curiosity thinly veiled.
Then came Marchioness Helena Ashford, draped in an opulent gown that shimmered with every step. Her expression was sharp, her posture rigid with pride. She didn't greet Serena—only glanced at her with faint disdain before turning to the others.
"I can't believe a certain noblewoman is so ignorant," she said, her voice light but cutting, "that she chose to leave the banquet hall so early. It's hardly appropriate behavior for someone of her status."
Though she said it to the other ladies, Serena knew—they were pointed and deliberate at her.
Serena remained still, her hands folded neatly in her lap. She had heard the insult loud and clear yet her expression remained calm.