It had been a week since their last meeting at the atelier. When Kyle spotted her again, he was the first to greet her—with that same formal, perfectly measured courtesy as always. Maude, graceful as ever, responded with an elegant bow of her own.

“I was planning to come fetch you myself,” she said brightly. The amber of her hair shimmered like threads of gold in the setting sun.

“That would be improper,” Kyle replied firmly, extending his hand.

Her smile didn’t fade. With his escort, Maude stepped up into the carriage, and thus the highlight of the long-awaited social season—the grand finale of the Founding Festival—began.

***

Beyond the neat rows of trees, the Etmore Imperial Palace came into view. The dusk that had draped itself behind the palace was slipping quietly beneath the horizon, bathing the world in a soft amber glow. It was a summer evening that could have been painted.

But as they drew closer, the traffic began to slow—then stopped completely once they reached the gates. Along the hydrangea-lined road stretched an endless row of carriages bearing the crests of noble families.

Maude glanced out the window at the congested line ahead before her gaze drifted toward Kyle. He sat as he always did—expression cool, eyes lowered toward the decorative shrubs along the roadside.

Cold though he looked, she found herself wondering if the trees and flowers his gaze brushed past were, perhaps, the kinds of things he secretly liked.

As the carriage finally rolled forward again, curiosity welled up inside her. Then, just as it halted once more, Kyle stepped down first and held out his hand.

“It’s going to be a noisy night,” he said. “Are you prepared?”

“Of course, Your Grace.”

Just for tonight, he had to play the part of the Grand Duke. The way she addressed him made him lift his chin slightly in silent acknowledgment.

The chatter around them was already rising, yet there wasn’t a trace of unease in his expression. When they reached the grand entrance, the attendant by the door froze, darting his eyes nervously between them.

He didn’t seem to know who Kyle was.

Maude glanced at Kyle, but his face betrayed nothing. A few moments later, hurried footsteps approached, and another attendant appeared. The instant his gaze met Kyle’s, the man bowed deeply.

“My deepest apologies, Your Grace. The boy is new to the palace—he meant no offense.”

“I-I’m terribly sorry, Your Grace,” the young attendant stammered, trembling.

Kyle merely brushed a hand over the boy’s shoulder. 

“It’s fine.”

Even added a polite nod before moving on.

He really wasn’t the kind of man to make a scene over appearances. The faint smile that tugged at Maude’s lips came naturally.

***

“Lady Maude Hablein and His Grace, Grand Duke Kyle Rizewell!”

The herald’s voice rang out, and the great white archway opened. Hundreds of faces turned toward the entrance as the chandeliers glittered above.

Arm in arm, the two of them looked every bit the perfect couple. The first gasps came from the ladies.

“My goodness… I didn’t know His Grace was so handsome.”

“Indeed! He’s been so reclusive, I thought there must be some flaw. But look at him! And he’s unmarried, isn’t he?”

The whispers multiplied, and Kyle’s reputation began to soar like wildfire.

“Will he attend more events, I wonder? Does he already have a fiancée?”

At the mention of Countess Harrison, every mother with a marriageable daughter turned their eyes toward the queen of the matchmaking scene—Marchioness Elizabeth Bell.

“Compose yourself, Countess,” murmured Countess Butler, her gaze flicking toward Maude.

“Remember, Lady Maude is right there. Though I must say, I didn’t expect them to be this close.”

“Well, what can she do?” Harrison sighed. “If the Empress wills it, Lady Maude can hardly refuse. In the end, she’ll be the crown princess anyway—”

“Shh! They’ll hear you!”

The soft waltz played on, its graceful notes weaving through the crowd’s gossip and sighs.

Maude clicked her tongue inwardly. ‘At least pretend to whisper.’ Idle rumors were the lifeblood of high society; she knew better than to take offense.

Her eyes drifted beyond the women—and met the Emperor’s smile. The radiant grin she’d imagined so many times before. That smile told her everything she needed to know about the state of their wager.

Her own lips curved upward in a crescent of quiet triumph.

Across the hall, Celeste’s golden eyes gleamed with icy venom. Her stare was fixed solely on Kyle—the wolf’s pup she had spent a lifetime trying to erase.

And now he stood before her—glorious, complete, holding the Holy Grail in his hand.

He’d grown into a man in full, eyes and all, a reflection of Leopold’s own. The same eyes that had once branded her with shame.

‘So it was all an act,’ she thought. ‘That calm, that indifference—it was all a lie. He’s come back to humiliate me… to destroy everything.’

Her golden eyes burned hotter, her whole body trembling with fury.

Kyle met her gaze. A faint, crooked smile lifted his lips—as if amused by the sight of a woman still ruled by her own emotions.

She clutched her fan so tightly her knuckles whitened. Kyle chuckled under his breath.

‘Still the same woman. Can’t control a thing inside her.’

Now they stood at the center of the grand ballroom. Maude’s eyes roamed over the glittering crowd—then down to the corsages and boutonnieres adorning each couple. Every pair wore matching flowers as custom dictated.

Except one.

Her breath caught when she noticed Kyle’s bare lapel.

“Oh no…”

Without hesitation, she reached up and plucked the boutonniere from her own hairpiece.

“Partners are supposed to match,” she whispered, offering it to him. “I meant to give this to you earlier.”

It was the same one from the atelier—white myrtle, delicate and pure.

“If it’s uncomfortable, I can just wear it myself,” she added quickly, tapping the back of her head with a shy laugh.

Her gentle smile, so understanding, made Kyle tilt his head slightly. Her readiness to retreat only made him feel a flicker of mischief.

Well, what harm was there in indulging the spirited filly a little longer? Especially when the scene was bound to be entertaining.

Turning lazily, Kyle caught Celeste’s furious glare—and smiled languidly back at her before extending a hand toward Maude.

“Here,” he said, handing her the boutonniere.

His refusal was polite, but something about it made her chest tighten. Still, she masked it with a playful grin.

Just as she moved to pin the flower in her hair again, Kyle caught her hand gently and drew her closer.

“It’s facing the wrong way,” he murmured.

“Huh?”

He glanced toward his collar. “Would you help me attach it properly?”

“Oh! I thought you didn’t want—”

“I never said that,” he interrupted softly, pulling her just a little nearer.

The movement drew every gaze in the room.

For a moment, Maude’s nerves fluttered—but she steadied herself and went to work, fingers quick and careful. When she was done, she looked up at him with a bright, satisfied smile.

“There. Perfect.”

A woman who seemed to carry the summer itself in her smile.

“Then,” Kyle said, bowing slightly, “may I have this dance?”

“As many as you like.”

He took her hand and brushed his lips across her knuckles.

Gasps rippled through the hall like a spark catching dry grass.

Celeste’s stare burned hotter. Kyle could feel it, the raw fury in that gaze—and he met it deliberately, smiling faintly as he bowed to her from across the room.

At last, her restraint snapped.

A drop of blood welled between her fingers, staining the red silk of her gown where she had crushed her fan too tightly.

To Kyle, it was perfect—an exquisite final scene for the festival, and a fitting little gift from an unfair game.