With a dull thud, Rhaion collapsed onto the bench. Blood from the gash on his forehead ran down, staining the wood, but he didn’t even flinch. Instead, he laughed loud enough to make the whole garden tremble, wiping the blood away as if it were nothing, and simply watched them.

Kyle’s expression darkened as he looked at Maude. Her face had gone deathly pale—shame and terror shaking her so hard she could barely focus her eyes. His gaze drifted to the red welt marring her skin.

‘No way…’

Kyle’s jaw tightened as his eyes fell on the discarded cigar rolling across the grass. He’d brought her here to escape the prying noblewomen and their petty talk, not to find… this.

‘That b*stard.’

The echo of a scream still clung to his ears, sharp and unrelenting. Without a word, Kyle turned Maude around, gently keeping her from seeing any more. Then he took out his handkerchief and pressed it into her trembling hand before striding toward Rhaion.

“What did you do?” he said quietly, his voice like a blade.

Rhaion scoffed, blood smearing the corner of his mouth. 

“Can’t you tell?”

“What?”

“She’s mine. Something you’ll never have.”

Kyle let out a short, hollow laugh—one that held no humor. 

“Coming from a rat who’s lived his whole life stealing from others?”

That was enough to snap Rhaion’s temper. 

“You son of a—!”

He lunged, but Kyle caught him with ease, forcing him down into the grass. The look in Kyle’s eyes had gone flat—emotionless. It was the same look he’d worn on the battlefield at the Strait of Bocatte, where death and life blurred together.

“If you still want to keep up that pathetic thievery of yours,” he said coldly, “don’t ever pull a stunt like this again.”

Rhaion sneered up at him, fear flickering behind the bravado. 

“What, still pretending to be the crown prince after losing everything?”

Kyle bent down, pressing him into the ground. 

“You’d best remember,” he murmured, voice low and dangerous, “my patience is the only thing keeping you alive.”

Without hesitation, Kyle tore the boutonnière from his lapel—a small sprig of myrtle—and drove it straight into Rhaion’s shoulder.

“Just like always,” he hissed.

“AAAH!”

Rhaion’s scream ripped through the tranquil summer garden, mingling with the scent of flowers.

“Quiet now.”

Kyle’s voice was almost gentle as he clamped a hand over Rhaion’s mouth. He wiped the blood from the white petals of his boutonnière, then twisted it deeper into the wound.

“Mmph—!”

“You talk too much,” he said softly. “Especially when you’re afraid.”

Watching Rhaion tremble and cry would’ve been pitiable—if Kyle had any pity left.

“Let’s talk about tonight… another time.”

He let go, and Rhaion collapsed limply to the ground. Blood dripped from the myrtle pin as Kyle straightened.

‘Maybe I’ll regret this,’ he thought. ‘But even if I could turn back time… I’d do it again.’

He closed his fist around the bloodstained boutonnière.

“Let’s get you home,” he said quietly.

Maude could only nod, her whole body trembling as he offered his arm.

“Just a little longer,” Kyle murmured, glancing at her pale face. His throat bobbed as he swallowed a dry breath.

***

“You said you couldn’t dance—looks like you lied!”

Azel’s voice was bright with laughter, echoing down the hallway. Dressed in an elegant black tuxedo, he grinned as he spotted Kyle near the back exit of the ballroom.

“You brought the car, right?” Kyle asked.

“Yes, sir. Shall I drive you?”

“Just lend it to me for a while.”

Azel blinked. 

“Sir?”

“I’ll return it in an hour,” Kyle said simply, patting him on the shoulder before disappearing through the door.

Something about the look on Kyle’s face made Azel uneasy. That faint hint of urgency—so rare for him.

***

The black car sped through the lamplit streets, heading toward Ryles House on Third Avenue. Dr. Lewis would be there at this hour—no better place to go.

Kyle glanced sideways. Maude’s hand still trembled in her lap, the once-white handkerchief now soaked red.

Freed from the scene, her thoughts began to clear—and rage began to burn. If only she’d stopped him sooner. She’d always excused Rhaion’s behavior as childish stubbornness, something born from weakness, not malice. She’d been wrong.

He was the same man who would someday place the crown on Saena’s head.

‘And yet he dared…’

Her fists clenched. The scent of acacia drifted in through the open window—soft, gentle, cruelly beautiful. What a night to be ruined by something so vile.

By the time the gates of Ryles House opened, Maude’s shoulders had sagged from exhaustion.

“Wait here,” Kyle said as he stepped out.

She nodded silently, watching his tall frame disappear into the mansion. Then—something outside caught her eye.

‘This place…’

It was like a mirror of Resphon’s Garden—the fountain, the line of myrtle trees, the drifting petals. For a moment, she saw him as he’d looked that night long ago, walking through the trees toward her.

And once again, he opened the door for her.

“You can come in now.”

She thought, ‘I’ll remember this scene too.’

Inside, a neatly dressed middle-aged man awaited them. Dr. Lewis’s face tightened when he saw the blood, but he quickly went to work.

“Please take good care of her,” Kyle said.

“Of course, Your Grace.”

When Kyle finally stepped out of the room, he exhaled a long, weary sigh. The wager, the gossipy ladies, the palace—all of it felt exhausting.

‘Maybe I’m just not cut out for this kind of life anymore.’

He rubbed his face and made his way to the adjoining lounge.

***

“It’ll probably leave a small scar,” said Dr. Lewis.

“It can’t be helped,” Maude replied quietly.

“Don’t worry. I’ll do my best.”

“Thank you.”

He assured her that the wound wasn’t too deep and that any scar would fade in time. They arranged for her to visit his clinic every few days—at night, when it would be quiet.

When the doctor left, Maude looked down at the white bandage around her chest and shut her eyes tightly. A soft knock sounded.

“You can come in,” she said.

Kyle stepped inside. 

“The doctor told me the scar won’t be bad. You’ll heal fine.”

“Thank you… for everything today. I’ve troubled you enough. I should go.”

“I’ll take you.”

“No, really—it’s fine. Just call Sarah for me.”

Kyle picked up the telephone, smiling faintly. 

“She’ll probably run here crying, but if you’re fine with that…”

“Then… I’ll owe you once more,” she said, managing a small smile.

Kyle chuckled.

On the drive back, he kept thinking of her—the woman who shone as beautifully as the city lights glittering outside. From afar, she’d seemed fragile, like a wildflower. But up close, he realized—she was myrtle through and through: steady, resilient, and quietly radiant.

She’d recover. He was sure of it.

And for the first time in a long while, a faint smile curved his lips.

His once-quiet world gleamed in the glow of the night.