Lumine and Nikoly walked like two shadows of royalty among the chandeliers and columns of the gala hall.
The music in the background danced among the champagne glasses, but both were more interested in another type of melody: the symphony of gossip whispered in the corners of the global elites.
"There in the corner," murmured Lumine, slightly tilting her head, "is Duke Gabriel von Rheinhardt. Do you know how many wives he has had?"
Nikoly, without looking, answered. "They say he changes women like he changes wine: he only keeps them until the freshness is gone."
"The last one was an Austrian princess... disappeared from the map after the divorce. Literally. The family sent her to an abbey in the middle of the Alps."
"Classic noble method: erase the scandal by sending the victim to the mountains."
The two gave a mischievous smile, without guilt.
"And that one there?" asked Nikoly, discreetly pointing with her glass to a blond, tanned, and excessively perfumed man.
"Oh, Count Massimo della Torre. Italian. Handsome... until he opens his mouth."
"Why?"
"He was caught trying to bribe a minister using fake jewels. He thought no one would notice because they were 'too shiny'."
"My God," murmured Nikoly, "we are surrounded by diplomatic idiots."
Lumine glanced sideways to the other side of the hall. "Speaking of idiotic diplomats, there is Baroness Eliane de Sauveterre."
"The one with the golden dress?"
"Yes. She is trying to seduce the Northern Defense Minister just to get security contracts for her brother's company."
"She failed four times to get the official audience. Now she tries to seduce his personal security chief."
"We have to give points for perseverance," commented Lumine, mocking.
Nikoly rolled her eyes. "At least she is more subtle than Lady Miranda."
"Which Miranda?"
"The one who calls herself a 'political influencer' and records videos giving opinions about international treaties as if commenting on a reality show episode."
"Oh! The one who used a dog filter in a speech about a diplomatic crisis!"
The two stifled laughter.
Nikoly whispered through clenched teeth. "If that woman sat at a real negotiation table, she would cause a war just by existing."
Between a sip and another of distilled sarcasm, their fun was interrupted by a different murmur in the hall.
They turned their eyes towards the main entrance of the hall, where white and golden lights bathed the staircase like a stage waiting for its star.
"What was that?" whispered Nikoly.
"I think something, or someone, important arrived."
And then they saw.
Victória.
Entering with the firmness of a CEO, heels snapping on the marble like declarations of war, and the look of someone who did not have patience even for the oxygen around.
Accompanying her, holding her arm with an air too casual, was a tall man, light brown hair impeccably combed, amber eyes reflecting the light as if carrying dull fire. He wore a tailored suit of a dark gray almost silver tone, which highlighted the width of his shoulders and aristocratic posture. His smile was polished but... forced.
Nikoly and Lumine exchanged looks.
Without saying a word, the look between them already said it all: "Is this the idiot?"
The mental answer was unanimous: "Definitely the idiot."
Without wasting time, both walked toward their friend.
But on the other side, Victória was already at her limit.
"This man is a living metaphor for 'irritation on legs,'" she thought, squeezing the fingers on the companion's arm who seemed to be on a social tour, stopping to greet literally every person who passed.
"Oh, Count Weismann! What an honor to see you again! Ah, Duchess Clementine, radiant as always!"
"You don't have to greet all the global grandparents," murmured Victória through clenched teeth.
"Networking, dear. Diplomacy starts with a smile and ends with power," answered the idiot, still smiling like a robot trained by a LinkedIn coach.
Victória forced a smile to avoid committing a crime of passion right in the gala. "If anyone else interrupts my triumphant entrance, I will impose economic sanctions against them myself."
And it was at that moment she saw, walking in their direction with sharp looks and dresses shining under the chandelier... Lumine and Nikoly.
'Ready. Here comes the tribunal,' thought Victória.
She straightened her posture, looked at the idiot beside her and murmured. "Can you smile and pretend to be useful for the next five minutes?"
"With pleasure," he replied, still thinking he was killing it.
Victória smiled at her friends. "Girls... what a joy to see you."
Nikoly crossed her arms. "Is it him?"
Lumine just gave a look that said "Please say no."
Victória sighed but sustained the smile with the same energy as someone holding a bomb with duct tape.
Beside her, the man stretched out his hand to greet Nikoly. "You must be… a friend of Victória's. A huge pleasure. I am Liam Albrights, from the Albrights House of the Argall Shire. And you are…?"
Nikoly stared at the outstretched hand as if it were a suspicious piece in an illegal auction.
"Nikoly Takahira-Hoshinami," she answered dryly, not shaking the hand.
Liam hesitated. His smile wavered half a millimeter.
She took advantage of the gap. "One of the descendants of the imperial lineage of Eastern Japan. And you said you were from where again?"
Liam cleared his throat. "One of the most traditional families in Europe. Our investments support the arms industry and infrastructure of the last three governments."
"Hmm. Fascinating," said Nikoly with a tone that meant the exact opposite of 'fascinating.'
Lumine then smiled, but it was that smile diplomats train to disarm bombs with words. "I am Lumine von Edelweiss. And I am surprised they still allow marriage alliances between nobles without emotional consent."
Liam, visibly annoyed, let out a forced laugh. "Ah, these alliances are part of tradition. And tradition is the pillar of any enduring empire."
Victória crossed her arms. "Funny… tradition also used to imprison women for studying books. And now look where we are: me, trapped in this lousy tradition called you."
Silence.
Liam did not answer. He just adjusted his tie like someone trying to smother fire with a wet napkin.
Nikoly and Lumine exchanged looks and raised their eyebrows. "Direct hit," the two thought.
"Victória," said Lumine, "we need to talk. About... alliances. In particular."
"Sure," answered Victória. "Liam, go get me more champagne?"
Liam hesitated for two seconds but went. After all, he still thought he was in control.
As soon as he disappeared from sight, the three moved away near a decorative fountain with golden carp swimming under delicate lights.
Victória snorted. "He talks like every sentence was a quote from a book he never read."
"He talks like every word went through a committee of advisors," completed Nikoly.
"At least he's handsome... in silence," Lumine tried to soften.
"Worse is that my father loves this idiot," murmured Victória. "Because he plays the political game. But no one can stand listening to him talk for more than five minutes."
Nikoly looked at Victória seriously. "Do you want this, Vic?"
"No," she answered. "But I don't want to start a family war now."
"If you want," Lumine said with a dangerous smile, "we can start the war for you."
Nikoly nodded. "Let us plant seeds of social chaos at the ball. He will stumble alone."
Victória laughed. "You are evil."
"We are your friends," corrected Lumine.
And then, the hall shook again. Not from sound, but from presence.
Glances turned.
Murmurs arose.
There was Luna.
Pure, elegant, sparkling under the crystal light. High heels touched the floor like subtle bells. Hair enhanced the flawless face and the blasé look of a billionaire bored with humanity.
Lumine was the first to see her.
"...My living gods," whispered the duchess, placing a dramatic hand over her chest.
"Luna Malroth... you have the audacity to show up like that and expect anyone else to get attention?"
Nikoly turned her face, and her cold eyes widened for a moment. "I don't know what's more dangerous... that dress or her look. A goddess of beauty. Or maybe a cosmic entity of mockery."
Victória crossed her arms with a cynical smirk but could not hide pride. "I hope you notice the audience. All men within a fifty-meter radius are drooling. Including that French duke who looked like an ice statue... he is literally sweating."
The three friends laughed softly, not out of envy, but pure venomous sisterhood among female titans.
Luna stopped in front of them, raised an eyebrow with performative boredom, and placed a light kiss on each cheek, like a queen greeting her favorite princesses.
"You are... decent," she commented, with a lazy smile.
"Thank you, Supreme Highness," replied Lumine, theatrically bowing.
"This hotel is hell away from my mansion," said Luna, looking around with displeasure. "Seriously. I almost ordered a helicopter to cross the traffic. Someone explain to me how New Yorkers live in this chaos?"
Victória raised an eyebrow. "We'll explain after you admit you almost forgot the gala."
Luna opened her mouth to retort but then thought better and just... sighed. "Maybe."
Nikoly looked around. "Did you notice? Women are measuring you with hatred in their eyes and men... with lust. Seems the Gala turned into an exclusive runway for you."
Luna took a champagne glass from the tray of a waiter who flew by and took a sip unhurriedly. "I can't help being the gravitational center of the planet."
"You can't," agreed Lumine, laughing. "But at least pretend you don't notice."
"Impossible," said Luna. "My perfection does not allow humility."
The girls burst out laughing. And at that moment, the most feared and loved alliance of the ball was officially gathered.