They momentarily lost awareness of their surroundings and unwittingly showed an embarrassing display before Russell, Aneta, and Carlos hurriedly left the imperial palace.

Unlike Carlos, who confidently claimed that His Majesty would generously overlook the incident, Aneta’s ears were tinged bright red with embarrassment.

But there was no use dwelling on an irreversible moment forever. Determined to propose to Carlos properly, Aneta led him to an empty garden where no one could interrupt them.

Then she spoke.

“Carlos, I can overcome anything life throws at me with you by my side. I’ve managed so far, and I’ll continue to do so. The love and trust you’ve given me have been the strength that’s sustained me until now.”

Though their love had taken a long and winding road, it had only grown deeper. It was a bond forged through trials, making their desire for each other all the more profound.

“But it’s no longer enough for me,” Aneta continued.

“I want all of you—every bit of your life, even the smallest emotions and mundane moments. I want to share everything with you.”

Nothing was prepared for the occasion—no grand gestures or elaborate plans. Yet, without hesitation, she spoke the words that had been on her heart.

“So, will you marry me?”

A faint tremor lingered in her voice, betraying her hidden nerves. She had stood before emperors and endured countless challenges without flinching, but this moment was different. It carried a weight she couldn’t ignore.

To Carlos, her vulnerability at that moment was utterly irresistible.

His answer had been clear from the moment he realized his feelings for her.

“Of course.”

It was a simple word, far too brief compared to the years they had waited for this moment. But Carlos poured all his emotions into that single word.

He then pulled her into his arms, holding her close as he whispered words of love.

When they left the garden, their hands were clasped tightly together. As Carlos gently caressed her interlocked fingers, a sudden thought occurred to him, and he spoke.

“But, Aneta, aren’t you going to give me a ring?”

He brushed his thumb across her bare ring finger, his voice tinged with playful longing.

“About the ring, I heard you’ve been keeping it safe, so I didn’t prepare a new one,” Aneta said, recalling the flowers she had arranged for Carlos, knowing he wasn’t fond of overly fragrant blooms.

“The bouquet should have arrived at the ducal estate by now. I sent it there since there were too many to carry.”

She didn’t mention that she had sent enough flowers to fill an entire room. It would be better for him to see it himself.

“But if you want a different ring, we can pick one out right now.”

Worried that not preparing a new ring might have been a misstep, Aneta carefully observed his reaction. Carlos immediately shook his head.

“No. Any ring will do. The meaning comes from the fact that it’s shared between us.”

There wasn’t the slightest falsehood in his words.

Aneta nodded. In truth, no ring was more meaningful than the one he had chosen, which made it all the more precious.

Starting with the ring, Aneta and Carlos discuss and decide on various matters as they leave the imperial palace. From minor issues like the dowry to major ones like their future residence, they settled everything quickly, almost effortlessly. Their decisiveness might have seemed indifferent to an outsider, but every choice was made with sincere care.

***

Words are intangible. With no physical form to contain them, they spread with ease. All it took was the movement of lips; no effort was required.

The news of Aneta and Carlos’s reunion spread widely, even though they hadn’t intended to announce it.

The primary source of the rumor? None other than Carlos himself.

Carlos hadn’t forgotten the faces of the young nobles who had fawned over Aneta on the day she returned from her journey. Spreading the news himself was both a warning to them and a way to solidify his claim.

Few were surprised by the news. Most had anticipated this outcome since they’d noticed the change in Aneta’s attitude toward Carlos.

Among those with idle time, debates broke out about who was the luckier in the relationship. And it wasn’t just the leisure class of nobility engaging in such trivial disputes. Even common folk couldn’t resist taking sides in this matter of little consequence.

“Are you really going to do this? I won’t back down.”

“I have no intention of backing down either. You should give up.”

Aneta watched the intense standoff unfold before her eyes.

The two locked in this heated exchange were the stewards of the Adenauer and Baltimor estates.

When Linden arrived at the marquessate to meet Isabel, their greetings were swiftly followed by serious discussion.

From living arrangements to the wedding venue and preparations, both were determined to increase their respective roles in this long-anticipated event. Their battle of wits was relentless.

However, the issue that drew the most focus was the matter of the couple’s residence. Aneta recalled the arguments they had initially made.

Isabel claimed that, since the first marriage was spent in the ducal estate, it was only fair for the marquessate to host them this time.

But Linden wasn’t about to let that slide. He countered that, since the couple hadn’t been able to live a proper married life during their first union, such a claim couldn’t be justified.

Unable to bear the escalating argument any longer, Aneta had informed them of the decision she and Carlos had reached: they would alternate between the two estates on a set schedule.

Now the stewards were locked in a new debate—over who would host them first.

Watching the two quarrel, Aneta couldn’t help but feel like she and Carlos had become modern-day Persephone from Greek mythology.

Unable to stand by any longer, Aneta decided to intervene.

“For now, the wedding should be held at the ducal estate,” she declared.

“My Lady!”

Linden’s face brightened at her words, while Isabel looked as if she’d been betrayed, her voice rising in protest.

But Aneta wasn’t finished.

“In exchange, we’ll start by living at the marquessate. No objections, right?”

The moment she finished speaking, their expressions swapped—Isabel beamed with satisfaction while Linden’s excitement dimmed.

However, knowing the decision was as fair as possible, neither dared to raise further objections.

“None at all.”

“Nor do I.”

Linden and Isabel readily agreed to Aneta’s decision.

If Isabel were to assist the couple during the early days of their marriage, Linden would take charge of the overall wedding arrangements.

“And speaking of which,” Aneta began,

“Carlos and I are thinking of having a small, private wedding, just the two of us.”

Every decision Aneta had announced was based on prior discussions with Carlos. The two had resolved most matters during the carriage ride home on the day of Aneta’s proposal. Their political experience had honed their ability to make swift and decisive plans.

The grandiosity of their first wedding had been excessive, and they saw no need to repeat it. This new decision, born from their mutual desire for simplicity, felt like a thunderclap for Isabel and Linden.

“Please reconsider, My Lady.”

“If you revoke that decision, we will perfectly handle the rest.”

The stewards, who had been clashing moments earlier, now united in a shared plea to Aneta. Their determination made it clear they wouldn’t back down easily.

“Lady Aneta, Viscount Raphaeli has arrived to see you.”

The unexpected savior of the moment came as a maid standing at the office door, announcing the visitor’s arrival.

Aneta noticed a peculiar glint in Linden’s eye upon hearing the name.

Seizing the opportunity to leave, she rose from her seat, stating that she should see her guest.

Having already conveyed all necessary decisions and information, she deemed it a good time to end the meeting.

“Carlos has already agreed to this, so I’m counting on you,” she said, leaving those words behind before making a hasty exit from the office.

Upon asking the maid about the visitor’s whereabouts, Aneta learned he was waiting in the drawing room.

She quickly made her way there. As she stepped through the open door, she caught sight of Serce’s face.

“It’s been a while. I can’t even remember the last time I saw your face properly. I almost forgot what you looked like. You didn’t even come to Chris’s wedding.”

“I had my reasons.”

Serce chuckled softly at Aneta’s typically blunt tone. There was an unspoken plea in his demeanor, asking her not to press further. She suppressed a sigh.

“So, what brings you here without a heads-up?”

“I thought we could share a drink after so long.”

“You came here in the middle of the day to ask me to be your drinking buddy?”

“Yeah, that’s right. A friend.”

Those three short words carried an inexplicable weight.

Aneta watched him silently for a moment before pulling the bell cord to summon a maid.

Though it might have been surprising to see her mistress asking for alcohol in the middle of the day, the maid skillfully masked any reaction and promptly left the room.

She returned with an amber-hued malt whiskey from a specific region, accompanied by what appeared to be hors d’oeuvres prepared by the head chef.

Aneta expertly dropped a few cubes from a clear ice bucket into her glass and opened the whiskey bottle. Once she filled her own glass, Serce took the bottle and returned the gesture, pouring her a drink.

As the whiskey cascaded down the sides of the glass, the ice clicked softly, shifting inside.

They both drank in silence. The warmth of the whiskey spread down their throats, leaving a faint bitterness that gave way to a rich, fruity aroma lingering in their mouths.

Unlike the rapidly emptying whiskey bottle, the carefully prepared snacks remained mostly untouched.

For a while, the two simply drank, saying nothing. With their tolerance, neither worried about losing control.

“So, you’re getting married,” Serce finally said after a few drinks.

“For someone who’s been hiding away, you sure managed to hear about that,” Aneta replied.

“My steward told me yesterday. Congratulations.”

Serce emptied his fourth glass as he offered his congratulations.

The strong liquor seemed to make words flow more easily—words he thought would be hard to say. But the most important words remained stuck. The very ones he had hoped the alcohol would help him express only became clearer, refusing to be spoken.

“Thanks,” Aneta replied lightly, accepting his congratulations with a smile.

Watching her smile, Serce wrestled with himself repeatedly.

Should he say it? Or not?

His lips moved as if to speak, but no words came. Eventually, he sighed resignedly, his face reflecting a quiet sense of defeat.

Whether fortunately or unfortunately, Aneta didn’t notice. She was busy refilling their glasses, oblivious to the turmoil behind his silence.