Azalea, trailing a light trail of perfume with the scent of ripe, sweet cherries, leisurely greeted the arriving guests. Her confident manners and flawless style instantly anchored every gaze upon her. Elena and Marcus, meanwhile, were already in the center of the hall, effortlessly maintaining conversation with representatives of influential families.

The manager of the auction house struck a massive bronze gong softly yet resonant. The sound drifted beneath the high vaults, announcing that the time had arrived for the primary speech of the evening.

Azalea placed her glass smoothly upon the tray of a footman walking past and strode confidently toward the center of the hall. The dense crowd of aristocrats and merchants parted soundlessly before her, blending in the air the rustle of expensive silks, whispers of surprise, and concealed curiosity.

When a servant respectfully extended a small, whimsical device trimmed with polished silver into her hands, a wave of astonished gasps swept through the rows of guests. Someone leaned forward, breath held, attempting to comprehend what sort of rarity the mistress of the evening was holding.

Azalea smiled confidently with the corners of her lips. Tapping her finger lightly against the metallic membrane, she tested the sound.

“One. Two.”

Her clear, well-projected voice, amplified by the artifact, carried unexpectedly loud and full across the entire vast hall, causing even the most hardened gossipmongers whispering behind a column to shudder in fright.

“Dear guests, I am delighted to welcome you today to the opening of our auction house,” she commenced, sweeping a calm, radiant gaze over the gathered crowd. “I know how long the capital has awaited this moment, how many rumors and expectations hovered around our walls. And today I can announce with immense pride officially: The Rosenthal Auction House is open! Welcome to the future.”

As soon as the final words stilled beneath the dome of the pavilion, a barely audible click rang out overhead. Slicing down from the high ceiling of the exhibition hall, like light snow shimmering in the light of hundreds of candles, thousands of multicolored confetti cascaded downward. Golden and silver sparks swirled in the air, settling upon the shoulders of the ladies and the costly doublets of the gentlemen. The guests, spellbound by such an unprecedented, almost magical spectacle, froze with mouths agape from astonishment.

Azalea took a new glass from a tray with an elegant movement and raised it high, meeting the gazes of Elena and Marcus. The two smiled warmly and responded in kind, saluting her with their glasses.

Amidst the stunned public, a silhouette flashed that did not escape Azalea’s gaze. A certain young lad wearing a livery clearly tailored for someone else's shoulders, far too large for him, was squeezing in haste toward the service exit. Looking around clumsily, the lad slipped behind a massive oak door and dissolved instantaneously in the semi-darkness of the servants' corridor.

The musicians seated upon a dais swept their bows in unison, and the space filled with a solemn, rich, and deep melody that set the proper tempo for the evening. Azalea, meanwhile, passed the microphone into the hands of the chief auctioneer - a short but unbelievably charismatic man with a well-projected voice.

“Ladies and gentlemen! Lords and ladies! Permit me to welcome you to our grand opening. I, your faithful servant, Julian de Clerm,” the presenter introduced himself, offering a light bow to the crowd. “Henceforth and forever, this voice shall become the conductor of your victories and the chief instrument of all bidding. And I possess a small but intriguing announcement for you before we proceed to the further program!”

Julian maintained a flawless theatrical pause.

“All the exhibits displayed in this hall today are those exact lots that shall constitute the foundation of our first auction! Look closely, examine every detail, for it is over them that the first great battle shall erupt in the main hall in precisely one week!”

His booming, confident voice echoed across the pavilion, instantaneously provoking a new wave of animated discussion. The guests moved closer to the display cases, examining the rarities with greedy curiosity.

The Rosenthals, meanwhile, found themselves at the very epicenter of the social whirlpool, surrounded by a dense ring of aristocrats ravenous for news.

“Regrettably, His Majesty and the Queen were unable to attend in person, yet they shall unquestionably honor us with a visit at the auction itself,” Azalea pronounced politely yet firmly, answering someone's latest question.

“No, Lady Azalea is unmarried and entirely devoted to the affairs of the house,” Marcus parried with a smile, fending off persistent questions regarding her marital status.

“Of course, my dear, we shall unquestionably arrange a private meeting for you prior to the start of the official sessions,” Elena babbled tenderly and lightly at the other end of the group, skillfully conversing with the wives of influential lords.

The music shifted rhythm, a light, soaring melody sounding forth. Invited vocalists filled the space with pure, flowing voices that caused the guests' hearts to skip a beat for a moment.

And when the time arrived for the chief cultural event of the evening, a short but spectacular theatrical performance, the public crowded around the low stage in a dense throng. Actors in magnificent masks enacted fragments from ancient legends, while artfully woven magical projections wrought wonders: directly above the heads of the astonished spectators, golden sparks of “falling stars” scattered and whimsical winter gardens bloomed.

“Oh, look, is that not Lord Lazarus?” a young lady standing not far from Elena gasped quietly, pointing her fan toward one of the distant rows.

“And is he still pursuing that wench? What poor taste and what a pity,” another sneered disdainfully, snapping her lace fan sharply. “Whatever did he find in that actress? That vixen must have simply bewitched him!”

“Or worse yet - dosed him with a love potion,” a third agreed.

Elena Rosenthal listened to this gossip with restraint and interest, preferring for the moment not to intervene in other people's secrets.

“Indeed, poor Lord Lazarus has completely lost his head... But how fares the girl herself under such pressure?” another lady said unexpectedly with indignation, shutting her fan with slightly more force than decent behavior demanded. She turned to Elena, seeking support. “Imagine, this seemingly 'noble' man besieges Naomi at every single performance! How is the poor girl to stand up for herself in this world at all?!”

Elena blinked in surprise, shifting her gaze to her interlocutor.

“It is not often one hears such a sensible opinion in high society, Lady de Valois,” she pronounced with a soft smile, recognizing in this woman instantaneously that exact same brave lady who had been the first to support Azalea's greeting back in Rosenwald.

The woman inclined her head embarrassedly.

“Oh, I implore you, simply Josephine. Toward what purpose these redundant formalities between us?”

Ophelia Hansen picked her way through the crowd of guests quickly, yet striving not to draw redundant attention, apologizing politely for disturbing their idle merriment. She needed to be beside Lady Azalea as soon as possible.

Reaching the mistress of the house, Ophelia apologized briefly to Azalea's interlocutors and requested her mistress step aside for a couple of words. Azalea was slightly surprised by such haste, but followed her.

“You appear anxious, Ophelia. What happened?” she asked quietly once they had moved slightly away from the noisy company.

Ophelia swallowed, casting a frightened glance around at the festively dressed guests.

“Milady... men from the royal guard have arrived. Your father has been found dead.”