Succubi Chapter 225. Pride in Noble Suit
Succubi Chapter 225. Pride in Noble Suit
The butler stepped closer and folded his hands behind his back. “While you are prepared, I will explain etiquette expectations.”
“Please tell me there won’t be fork rules.”
“There will be fork rules.”
I closed my eyes. “Of course.”
Alyra leaned slightly closer, smiling. “Relax. You don’t need to master everything. Just don’t look intimidated.”
The hair artist circled me with professional focus, looking at my hair like it was a puzzle she wanted to win. The makeup artist dabbed something lightly near my eyes, and I endured it with the dignity of a martyr.
The butler began.
“You will enter on Lady Alyra’s left. Do not walk ahead unless invited. When introduced, give a slight bow. Not too low.”
“Because dignity?”
“Because rank.”
The butler continued, “Do not accept drinks from unknown servants.”
That made me glance at him.
“Poison?”
“Possibly.”
I stared at the mirror. “Nobles are worse than monsters.”
“Yes, sir.”
Finally, something we agreed on.
He adjusted one cuff from the mannequin and continued, “Your role is intimate but controlled. Hand on her waist is acceptable. Touching her lower back implies possession. Holding her hand implies affection. Allowing her to touch your arm implies trust.”
I slowly looked at Alyra.
She smiled sweetly. “Why does this sound like combat positioning?”
“Because it is,” she said.
Okay. Noble romance was warfare.
Got it.
The suit was handed to me piece by piece. I changed behind a folding screen, and when I stepped out, the room went quiet for one second too long.
That silence?
Yeah.
My Pride noticed.
Alyra’s gaze traveled over me slowly.
Not like prey this time.
Like investment confirmed.
The makeup artist whispered, “Perfect.”
The hair artist nodded proudly.
The butler adjusted my collar and stepped back.
“Devastating,” Alyra said softly.
I looked into the mirror.
And almost didn’t recognize myself.
Not because I looked different.
Because I looked like the version of myself my pride had always insisted existed underneath poverty, bad luck, and borrowed chances.
Like I belonged in expensive rooms and knew exactly which noble to ruin first.
The reflection staring back at me was still me.
That was the terrifying part.
The suit hugged my shoulders perfectly, making me look broader than usual without looking bulky. The coat fell clean around my frame, dark and elegant, with silver embroidery catching the light whenever I moved. The vest fit close, emphasizing my waist and posture in a way that made my body look deliberate. My collar sat high enough to look refined, but not stiff. The tie was dark, pinned with a small silver piece shaped like a blade or maybe a thorn. My hair had been swept back slightly, not too neat, leaving enough strands loose near my forehead to make me look less like a stiff noble statue and more like someone who could smile politely while planning a murder.
The tiny bit of makeup around my eyes made them sharper.
Too sharp.
My gaze looked heavier now. More commanding. Like I was used to being obeyed.
And then there was my expression.
That one wasn’t the makeup artist.
That was me.
Somehow, I could do it naturally.
That prideful expression.
The slight lift of my chin. The calm mouth. The eyes that looked forward as if the room already belonged to me and everyone else was just borrowing space. It matched something inside me too well. The Pride demon part of me, the royal thing beneath my skin, stretched slowly like it had been waiting for someone to dress the body properly.
None of them knew that.
They thought they had dressed a scholarship academy student into noble elegance.
But the truth?
They had accidentally polished a crown.
I turned toward Alyra, ready to say something sharp, maybe joke about the price of the suit, maybe ask if the banquet had insurance.
Then I stopped.
Because Alyra was staring at me.
Her lips were parted slightly. Her eyes, normally full of control, had lost that smooth edge for half a second. A faint blush colored her cheeks, subtle but real, and for once, the woman who circled me like prey looked like she had forgotten the next line.
My Pride purred.
I didn’t say anything immediately.
Sometimes silence was better than words.
If she wanted me to play noble tonight, then fine.
I would.
Besides…
I was a noble.
No. Not noble. Royal.
Whether this world knew it or not, my blood remembered. My body remembered. My instincts remembered. And if tonight was a stage full of arrogant nobles waiting to sneer at her, then I would walk into that place like I had been born above their ceilings.
I stepped toward her slowly.
Alyra’s gaze followed me.
I stopped in front of her and bowed.
Just enough.
A noble bow.
Respectful, elegant, but never submissive.
My hand lifted, palm open, waiting for hers. “Shall we go now, my lady?”
The room went completely still.
The makeup artist looked like she wanted to squeal but had professional dignity holding her hostage. The hair artist smiled into her sleeve. The butler’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes sharpened faintly.
Alyra stared at my hand.
Then at my face.
Her blush deepened just enough to confirm victory.
“…Do you know etiquette?” she asked.
I smiled faintly. “A bit.”
Her brow lifted.
“Although my appearance might suggest otherwise,” I continued, “I like learning things.”
That was true.
Painfully true.
I had watched a lot of things from the internet before. Noble dining etiquette. Formal greetings. Ballroom posture. How to bow without looking like a servant. How to sit. How to walk. How to hold a glass. What certain touches implied in high society. How to compliment someone without sounding either desperate or insulting.
Official reason? Curiosity. Emergency preparation. Just in case.
Real reason? Pride.
I didn’t want to look dumb.
Ever.
Not in front of rich people, teachers, girls or anyone.
So I learned.
Secretly.
Like everything else.
Alyra studied me for a moment longer, then placed her hand in mine.
Her fingers were cool. But her grip had strength.
“Fine,” she said softly. “Then you’re ready.”
“I was born ready.”