“How pathetic must she be to lose her fiancé to some commoner girl who never received proper upbringing?”

Oscar slowly lowered the glass from his lips. Not far away, he could hear the chatter of young noblewomen huddled together. Their voices weren’t particularly loud, but just enough to grate on his nerves.

“I know! She hardly appeared in society, nor did she attend the Academy. I heard she didn’t even have a governess.”

“Don’t get me started. People gossiped that the Count treasured her so much he kept her hidden away, that she was an incomparable beauty and all that. Turns out none of it was true. Otherwise, would she have been married off like merchandise?”

“Now that you mention it, that makes sense.”

Oscar glanced at the women who kept checking if he was listening while making no effort to lower their voices. He took a sip of wine, maintaining an indifferent expression. Encouraged by his apparent disinterest, the women burst into laughter and continued their animated conversation.

“Oh! Everyone, look over there. It’s Young Master Colin!”

“My goodness! He’s much more handsome than I expected.”

“Oh, my lady must be seeing Young Master Colin for the first time.”

“Yes! I’ve attended every social gathering in the South, but this is my first time seeing him.”

Just as they said, Eric was entering the banquet hall alone. He was the man who had nearly become Oscar’s brother-in-law. Though Oscar held no personal grudge, he couldn’t deny that the sight of Eric was unpleasant.

“Didn’t you know? Young Master Colin… doesn’t resemble the Count at all.”

“Oh? Then… illegiti—”

“Come now, why take rumors so seriously?”

Oscar was growing increasingly tired of the salon hosted by the Hopper family’s third wife. The Hopper, Veritatis, and Colin families maintained an inseparable alliance in the South. There had been some trouble between the Colin and Veritatis families recently, but that matter was concluded when Brote safely departed for the North.

The Count had only one request for Oscar today: attend the salon hosted by the Hopper family’s third wife without causing any disturbance, and simply grace the occasion with his presence.

Oscar suddenly recalled those unfathomable dark eyes and felt a tightness in his chest.

“Should I try my luck with him?”

“Oh, my lady! I was thinking the same thing! I could probably win over a commoner without any backing!”

More shrill laughter.

“Exactly! The Veritatis family set the bar too high!”

“Yes! The ‘family’ standard was too high.”

“Above all, it’s nearly impossible to find someone as handsome as Young Master Colin in the southern social circles. Everyone else looks like frogs, toads, or worms!”

Their vulgar laughter now carried clearly even from a distance. Oscar placed his nearly empty glass on the railing and loosened his cravat. A lukewarm evening breeze blew past.

“Everyone! Please exclude Young Master Veritatis!”

“Oh, I almost forgot. Thank you, my lady. I nearly lumped the Rose of the South in with those worms.”

“Ah! Everyone, hush! It’s Lady Hopper! Quiet, everyone! Unless you want to end up like Lady Emelda!”

With those words, the messy chatter finally died down. Oscar didn’t bother fixing his loosened cravat as he slightly pulled back the terrace curtain.

Edith was entering the banquet hall, her auburn hair neatly twisted up. Her piercing gaze swept toward those who had been laughing moments before. Each time her eyes landed on someone, their headache-inducing laughter ceased, much to Oscar’s relief.

And so, he let his guard down.

Between the center of the banquet hall where Edith stood and the terrace where he was positioned, numerous people were spinning around in dance. All around him, various groups discussed poetry, politics, culture, or simply enjoyed their drinks.

He was certain Edith’s dark green eyes wouldn’t turn his way. They certainly shouldn’t have. And yet…

Their eyes met. Edith’s lips moved slightly.

‘Hypocrite,’ she seemed to say.

Oscar unconsciously bit his lip at her words. His grip on the curtain loosened.

He recalled the party from that day—the wedding celebration held for Brote after she had been sent to the North, with neither Brote nor the Duke in attendance.

He remembered the nanny crying with a flushed face, teardrops falling as she lamented, “Young master! Please… please save the young lady. How could the Count do this to our young lady! What did she do wrong to deserve this? To be sent to such a man…!”

What had he done then? He had hesitated, taken aback by her face, her intensity that seemed to pierce his skin.

“Terminal illness… she said she has a terminal illness! The woman who seduced Young Master Eric… she claimed to have a terminal illness… Using her own life as a weapon… to take Young Master Eric from our lady…”

Had he patted her shoulder a few times and apologized? Or had he said nothing at all?

In that fleeting moment, the nanny wiped her tears and stood up. Her brown eyes, growing distant, clouded with quiet resentment and resignation. From her tightly closed lips, a small whisper seemed to escape.

‘Hypocrite.’

He could almost hear that voice saying those words.

Oscar downed the rest of his wine and leaned against the railing. The southern night was neither cold nor hot. A breeze carrying faint warmth lazily swept through, licking between strands of his hair. His curly red hair fluttered messily before his eyes.

Oscar knew it too. He was indeed a hypocrite.

If Brote, his sister, had truly wanted to escape…

That day. The day he had tossed her that velvet pouch. Instead of placing that pouch in her hands, he should have taken her hand and fled the mansion.

The day he heard from his father about his sister’s marriage arrangement. Instead of questioning her about “Eric,” speaking of love to ease his own guilt, he should have gone to his father and directly opposed the marriage.

Before his sister left the South, left Veritatis, completely.

But he…

“…Damn, this is really pathetic of me.”

He hadn’t done any of that. He had been afraid. Afraid that if Brote changed her mind and decided to become the Veritatis heir, there would be no place for him. Afraid that the family elders who valued legitimacy would rally behind Brote and push him aside.

He hadn’t wanted to lose what he already had in his grasp. Just like his sister said, he had ignored everything like a child throwing a tantrum.

‘Oscar. My beloved son. Don’t worry.’

He had ignored how his mother, Madame Poporani, had deliberately approached his sister and dominated her childhood. He had ignored what his sister had sacrificed for him.

‘Oscar, is that rumor true? You know, about you and that commoner girl…’

‘Shut your mouth.’

He had kept silent about the rumors that Eric had been seeing Ariel for some time.

Because he feared his sister might change her mind.

He feared that Brote, his sister, might belatedly develop an interest in the family, and thus take his position. Feared that he might lose the glory he believed was rightfully his. He had ignored it all.

If asked whether he loved the family as much as his sister did, he couldn’t even answer “yes” with conviction. Yet he had acted that way. He had pretended to hold back his sister, who wouldn’t hesitate to walk into danger for the family’s sake.

“…But, well. Everyone does it…”

Oscar tried to tilt his glass, driven by a burning thirst, only to find it empty. He ran his hand over his face. It was a night when he couldn’t forget his own disgusting past behavior.

* * *

‘…ric!’

A massive chandelier pouring starlight, pristinely white walls. Crowds huddled in corners, covering their mouths and whispering.

Villainess, witch, saint, our poor princess.

His gaze slowly turned to the woman kneeling on the floor. On either side of her slender neck, crossed sword tips gathered dark red blood, dripping steadily like tears, falling sorrowfully.

Dark, deep eyes like a night sea with no visible end stared directly at him. The blind affection that had poured like a downpour. The soft fingertips that had brushed his ear. The low, deep voice that had called his name.

‘You… were my everything, Eric. Remember me. Don’t forget me…’

She was crying. Her body was collapsing.

Like rain pouring down, like flower petals falling. Just like that. Gradually.

“…ric!”

“Ah…”

Brote. No, the princess.

Eric blinked his drowsy eyes. The familiar dark eyes were gone, replaced by stormy blue-gray eyes looking down at him. Her long hair completely blocked his view, and Brote’s face no longer came to mind.

Eric squeezed his eyes shut. Dark eyes like the night sea, soft fingertips brushing his ear. The voice that called him…

“Eric! Are you really alright? Look at your cold sweat…”

“Ah, I’m just tired. Haven’t been sleeping well lately…”

“If you’re not feeling well…”

“…This much is fine, Ariel. Of all things… we’re visiting your territory.”

“Yes, yes! I’ll get ready! Just wait a moment!”

Smack. Eric slowly rubbed his cheek where the princess’s lips had touched. Then he sat up, reached for the blanket, and roughly wiped the spot where her lips had been.

Like he was cleaning off filth.