The day of the Winter Ball approached with alarming velocity. Ira, unlike the rest of the students, didn't worry about it.

He spent his days the way that he always had and the time flew by.

Eventually, the highly anticipated day arrived.

With the new year, they had been given a whole week off from school again. The Winter Ball took place on a Friday this year, as it changed every year depending on which day the new year fell on.

On the morning of the Friday when everything would be going down, Ira slept in. He hadn't been dreaming, but the feeling of being able to relax and not concentrate on annoying things was a blessing in itself. Among the thoughts that often plagued his mind was the mess that his Host was making of the mission. He really didn't want to be blamed for her mistakes.

Thankfully, he was actually a really respected system (though he had no idea why) and as such wouldn't be.

But still, it was nice not to think about it.

So, by the time that Ira woke up, breakfast had already ended.

Ira stretched out his back where he stood in his pajamas, twitching his feet in his fluffy sandals. His gaze drifted to the clock above his door; it was barely an hour until lunch would open. Certainly enough time that he wouldn't starve.

In his mind, he could see his Host panicking about everything, from every little detail to all of the bigger things. She was having her roommate help her with her makeup and was already on the third version of it. Ira didn't understand what the problem was but, then again, he had never been able to understand women, much less humans, to begin with.

Relaxed as he was, he didn't hurry. Instead, he spent the morning in the bath until the water got cold, and then he just turned off his ability to feel it and stayed put anyway. By the time that he emerged, his skin was wrinkly and it was time for lunch.

Despite the fact that it was in the middle of the day and everyone was awake, the cafeteria was practically deserted. People were spending all the time they had on making themselves look pretty or handsome, using magic to enhance their looks or getting into complicated outfits. His Host was now in the process of trying to use magic to pretty herself up. Ira wasn't really sure if that was an improvement or not. At least she was getting practice.

But it wasn't really going that well.

After lunch, Ira didn't return to the library, as it was closed due to the Ball, but instead went back to his room. Which was just as well; he didn't want to have to deal with insecure, nervous humans.

They were like walking minefields.

The day before, another letter had arrived from Bran's mother, along with a pair of silver cufflinks that he absolutely had to wear.

There were a lot of threats.

Several hours passed while Ira was reading on his bed before dinner finally arrived, after which it was only an hour or two until the Winter Ball would officially begin.

Dinner was uneventful.

There were a lot of nervous, panicking people eating with pained faces.

When the time of the Ball finally approached, Ira put down his book and stood to take his outfit out of the closet. All parts of it.

He spread it out on the bed and started dressing.

He finished just a few minutes before the Ball was set to begin. Ira didn't bother to hurry up but carefully put on the earrings to make sure that he didn't tear anything, dragged on the mask, and, lastly, put the fedora on top of his head.

Once he had deemed himself ready after giving a glance to the mirror and straightening out his clothes a little, he left his room.

At the farthest of the school grounds, away from all the other buildings, was a large dome-like structure. It was in this building where the Winter Ball would take place.

Ira walked along the path that was hidden skillfully behind a series of bushes to make his way to the event. He was already several minutes late, but he saw no reason for that to be a big deal. Unlike his Host who was, for once, late on purpose. She wanted to make a big entrance, get everyone's attention — and the prince's — from the moment that she stepped in and the easiest way to do that would be to be fashionably late while looking utterly gorgeous.

There were no guards at the doors or anyone to call out your name, but there was that cliché descending staircase inside. Ira didn't bother to stand still and wait for anyone to notice him, he just stepped right down it.

A hush fell over the crowd below him.

If Ira had been a narcissistic or arrogant person, his first thought might have been that the silence and the attention were for him. As it was, he was a perfectly agreeable character and believed no such thing.

His map showed the dot representing his Host right behind him.

Ira didn't look behind himself. He continued his way down the stairs at an unhurried pace while everyone's eyes remained glued to the top of the staircase. Either his Host had succeeded in her self-given mission and she looked beautiful, or she had gone way off course and looked like something out of a horror movie. One or the other. He really hoped it was the other.

That would be hilarious.

Award-winning.

When he reached the bottom of the stairs, Ira finally gave in to his curiosity and turned around. He wanted to see it with his own — technically not — eyes.

His Host looked stunning.

What a complete let-down.

She stood at the top of the grand marble staircase, her hair like a halo around her face, her eyes glittering like jewels in the light. The dress brought out all of her curves without offending the sensibility of this world and the color made her look like a princess. Around her neck, a shining gem laid hanging from a silver thread. Gazing up at her, Ira felt the vivid urge to murder her.

Ira turned away from her when she finally started descending the staircase, and it was like flowers were blooming into existence around her. That was very clearly magic, and sloppy at that. She was lucky most people wouldn't care because of the occasion, but if she did it anytime else, she might legitimately get killed from the outcry.

And there wasn't supposed to be any threat of death in this world.

Trust his Host to mess things up.

When his Host reached the bottom of the stairs, the sound returned and it was like people suddenly remembered they had the ability to speak. The women hit their dates to get back their attention and looked on with jealousy directed towards his Host while the men couldn't keep their eyes off of her. It seemed she had succeeded in making herself stand out. If things went well and she used whatever shred of charm that she had, she might actually be able to get the mission back on track.

He let his eyes slide over her and away, searching for some quiet corner to hide in until this whole thing was over with. It wasn't that he was afraid of Bran's mother, but he had replaced her son and he supposed that merited some compensation.

So despite the fact that he really hadn't wanted to come (he could just as easily supervise his Host from far, far away) Ira now had to find a place to lay low.

The large open hall wasn't exactly crowded, it was far too big for that, but there was certainly a lot of people scattered about; girls with elaborate puffy dresses and men with suits and masks. There were also those that chose to attend without any mask, those that were so sure of their looks that they felt it wasn't necessary. The Second Prince was one of those people.

His Host wasn't.

She wore a plain white mask that covered her eyes, with no gems or patterns, just white. It somehow just made her look purer.

Which Ira supposed was a good thing.

She was already dancing with some masked gentleman.

Ira ignored the buzzing sound that was all around him and walked between the various people that stood between him and a dark, shady corner. Just as he was about to cross the last barrier, a hand grabbed his wrist tightly and spun him around.

He was met with a man with a black mask over the top of his face, and no silly hat. The man smiled at him, seemingly pleased that he managed to get a hold of him, and Ira frowned.

"What do you want, Silas?"

What? Was he not supposed to know who that was? Even if he didn't have the capability to recognize souls (those he had an interest in, and bothered to remember, that was) there was still no mistaking those eyes.

Silas smirked at him, looking infuriatingly happy. "Really, Bran? You just arrived and already you're looking to go hiding in a corner. And I was under the impression you came to find a spouse."

Why did he sound pleased? Ira narrowed his eyes. "I'm very much aware that I have a limited selection and my H-Eliza just grabbed everyone's attention. There's no use looking now."

The man got a dark glint in his eyes as he dragged Ira around and started moving in what was apparently a dance. Ira didn't bother to protest. Silas bit out, "What has she got to do with you finding a spouse?"

Ira rose an eyebrow and let Silas lead. "I'm average. My family has no great wealth to speak of, nor are we based in a good location or have some great lands. There's nothing about me that would make anyone want to marry me. But mother insisted, and so I came."

He chose not to mention the fact that they appeared to be moving in the direction of that dark corner that he had spied earlier.

Silas' eyes only got darker. "So you're saying you would marry anyone interested?"

"Well, yes. I suppose so," Ira mused.

They arrived at that dark corner and before Ira had time to ask what the man was doing, he found himself pressed up against the wall, hidden from the sight of others. Ira frowned and was on the edge of voicing his questions when a harsh kiss left him dazed.

He made a sound of protest that was quickly silenced and Ira moved his leg to knee the man in the crotch. He wasn't some damsel in distress being taken advantage of.

Unfortunately, Silas moved out of the way before it could connect and pressed another kiss to Ira's mouth, a kiss that used his tongue. Ira pressed against his chest to get him to move away and groaned lowly when he felt not totally disgusted. Silas moved away slowly and looked unfairly satisfied with himself. While Ira was glaring at him, Silas spoke.

"The only one you'll be marrying is me."

Ira watched as he walked away, leaving him standing in a dark corner alone.

In the ballroom, a hush fell over the people as they watched the magical sight of two beautiful people dancing. The Second Prince and Eliza certainly had a royal air around them as they twirled in time with the music. In another corner of the room, a scorned fiancée was fuming with rage and envy.

Ira licked his lips, still able to feel the pressure on them. He wondered if the man was serious about that marriage he kept talking about. If he was, Bran's mother would certainly be happy with him.

Deciding that he had done his duty for the night, Ira walked along the walls of the ballroom to make his way out of the building and go back to his dorm. He needed a good night's sleep.

Come to think of it, the last person to kiss him was that demon.