A Transmigrated Princess's Guide To A Fluffy Royal Life!-Chapter 50: What Could Have Changed?

Before anyone noticed.

She took one step sideways.

Then another.

Then—

She ducked behind a buffet table stacked with lemon tarts.

She peered out.

There he was.

Alone. Again.

His back was half-turned. He watched the musicians play, expression unreadable.

She adjusted her gloves.

Straightened her shoulders.

Then marched right up to him and—

Tugged his sleeve.

The fabric felt like midnight clouds.

"Your Grace?"

He turned his head.

One brow raised. "...Yes?"

She blinked.

Oh no. Up close, he was even more intimidating.

But she channeled all her inner fluff.

Tilted her head.

Gave the biggest, softest puppy-dog eyes she could manage.

And said, "Would you... perhaps... honor me with a moment?"

Altair stared at her for a long, long second.

Silence stretched.

Fluffy whispered, "Deploy charm. Deploy charm!"

She didn’t blink.

Didn’t flinch.

She just looked up at him with all the hope and polite mischief she could conjure.

And then—

A single corner of his mouth lifted.

Only a little.

But it was there.

"Very well, little lady," he said. "Lead the way."

He followed her.

Evelisse led him quietly toward the furthest arched window of the ballroom, where the moonlight spilled in soft white pools and the music softened to a gentle hum behind them. The chatter of nobles turned to background noise, muted by the heavy velvet curtains and crystal latticework.

She kept her posture perfect as Madam Hildegarde would have wanted, hands gently folded as she walked, her small slippers making light taps against the polished marble. But her heart was doing a full orchestra in her chest.

’What am I even doing?’ she thought. ’This is either really brave... or really dumb.’

Fluffy poked its head from her hair like a concerned cinnamon roll. "That’s usually how greatness begins."

They reached the wide window alcove, overlooking the palace gardens below. Petal lanterns floated through the hedges in a slow dance, their soft glow drifting like lost stars.

She stopped, turned, and gently faced him.

"I do hope this location is suitable for our conversation, Your Grace," she said, giving a tiny curtsy. "It’s not far from the ball. My brothers will have my head if they think I’ve gone rogue."

Altair gave a dry hum of amusement, his arms folding behind his back.

"Rogue is a strong word for someone barely past half my height."

"It doesn’t take height to cause trouble," Evelisse replied, her voice soft but matter-of-fact. "Just... a little intent and poor timing."

A corner of his mouth twitched again. She was starting to suspect that might be his version of a full laugh.

He looked past her, through the glass. "Must be nice. Having so many to worry over you."

She paused.

The way he said it—it wasn’t sarcastic.

It was honest.

And quiet.

Like someone remembering something they couldn’t touch anymore.

"I am very grateful to have them," she said gently. "They make it hard to sneak sweets... or leave a party window unnoticed... but I suppose that’s the price of love."

She caught the faint flicker in his eyes. Like a ghost brushing over glass.

Then—

"Evelisse."

Lucien’s voice.

She flinched. ’Oh no. Caught.’

She turned her head slowly.

Lucien was approaching, his expression calm, but his eyes—those familiar, storm-grey eyes—were scanning her from head to toe like a hawk. Behind him, Jared was mid-spin with a noble lady, but clearly watching with the corner of his eye.

"Forgive my sister’s unprecedented approach, Your Grace," Lucien said, offering a bow toward Altair. "We did not expect her to... engage without announcement."

"I was curious," Evelisse cut in before Lucien could lecture her in front of a national threat. "And I wanted to speak respectfully with the Duke. He’s been... very kind."

Lucien’s gaze narrowed slightly. "Still, Evelisse—"

"I would feel safer if you watched over Snugglewuff for me," she said with the sweetest, innocent blink she could manage. "He gets sad without someone familiar."

Lucien looked like he wanted to argue.

But then he glanced toward their mother and father across the ballroom.

Queen Seraphina met his gaze, and gave the softest of nods.

King Aldric followed suit, folding his arms as if saying, ’Let her handle it.’

Lucien breathed out through his nose and nodded, eyes flicking to Altair once more.

"Very well. But I will be nearby," he said at last, voice low and protective. "Call if anything feels... strange."

She nodded with a grateful smile, then turned back to Altair.

"I hope you’ll forgive my brother, Your Grace. He means well."

"I’d be worried if he didn’t," Altair said quietly.

There was silence for a moment, broken only by the soft hum of music.

Evelisse took a step closer to the window and looked out.

Then, with a careful breath, she spoke.

"I heard you used to smile often. The people say your smile was so bright, even battlefields felt warmer."

He didn’t answer.

But he didn’t scoff either.

"I would like to see that smile," Evelisse said, voice barely above a whisper. "Not because you owe it to anyone. But because I think the world is sadder without it."

Altair turned his head slightly.

And something shifted in his expression.

Not warmth.

Not exactly.

But something less frozen.

Less lost.

"You’re a strange child," he murmured.

"I am told that often, Your Grace," she replied politely. "But I rather enjoy being strange."

The moment lingered between them—soft, unspoken, wrapped in starlight and silence.

Then Altair looked back toward the ballroom, where golden lights and waltzing nobles spun in glittering circles. His voice, when it came, was low and a little rough.

"You remind me of her."

Evelisse blinked. "Her...?"

"My wife," he said, eyes still on the crowd. "Isolde."

Evelisse felt her breath hitch.

"I-I’m sorry, Your Grace. I did not mean to bring painful memories—"

"It’s not painful," he interrupted gently. "Not anymore. Just... sharp around the edges."

She stayed quiet, letting him speak at his own pace.

"She would’ve liked you," Altair said. "She always liked those who looked people in the eye, no matter their title. Said it meant you respected yourself as much as others."

He paused.

"She used to do that. Ask me to smile. Said I looked too serious even when I was happy."

Evelisse gave a tiny, hopeful smile. "Maybe that’s a Duke thing."

Altair’s eyes briefly glinted, almost amused. "Maybe."

Then he fell silent again, fingers curling faintly behind his back.

"The King, your father," he said at last, the words careful—measured—"was my closest friend once. I followed him into storms and wars, when we were both just boys given swords. We nearly died together more times than I can count."

She waited.

’What could have possibly changed?’

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