Even after Kazerre and Beatrice had left, Aveline remained in the banquet hall. The crowd that had once surrounded Kazerre had dwindled to half its size in his absence.

Seizing the opportunity of the sudden quiet, a young lady approached Aveline with a friendly greeting.

“That’s a stunning dress as always, Lady Croeta.”

“Thank you, Lady Myren.”

Aveline smiled, her delicate eye smile making her look almost angelic.

But beneath the seemingly amicable exchange, both knew they were on high alert.

Amidst the palpable tension, Lady Myren curved her lips into a subtle smirk and continued.

“His Grace’s attire was quite dashing as well. The two of you made a striking pair. I suppose you personally coordinated it once again?”

At first glance, it sounded like a compliment. But given the whispers in high society about Aveline’s excessive attentions toward the duke, it was hardly a kind remark.

A faint ripple of laughter passed through the gathered nobles, a breeze carrying whispers of ridicule.

Aveline ruled the social scene, but only because she was Evuteren’s fiancée.

In Mazengarve’s aristocracy, where most nobles lacked true faith, the name of God held little weight.

And so, stripped of her title as the duke’s betrothed, Aveline was a woman of little consequence. A woman with neither lineage nor power nor wealth—her only merit was her beauty.

‘And yet.’

How dare she be treated as an equal to those born of noble blood?

Lady Myren had always found that fact intolerable.

To her, Aveline was an impurity in high society—vulgar in nature, from an insignificant house, lacking in every way.

And yet, by mere chance of divine prophecy, she had claimed the seat of the next Duchess of Evuteren.

A woman of noble birth should be by the duke’s side, someone highborn and worthy. That could have been her.

Whenever she thought about it, Lady Myren burned with resentment, cursing even the heavens.

That was why she never tired of provoking Aveline. She didn’t care if she ruined herself in the process—if only she could tear off that saccharine mask.

But rather than showing the slightest agitation at the blatant hostility, Aveline only smiled more sweetly, more innocently.

“That’s right. There’s no better way to ward off scavenging hyenas.”

She met Lady Myren’s gaze head-on.

Lady Myren scoffed in disbelief. “Surely, you’re not referring to me as one of those hyenas?”

“Of course not.”

Aveline smoothly denied it, though her gaze left no doubt.

“As if a lady who once declared with certainty that His Grace wouldn’t return safely from the North would now claim to admire him.”

Lady Myren’s expression turned cold in an instant.

It was a topic she never expected to be brought up in a place filled with listening ears.

The nobles who had feigned disinterest in their exchange visibly stiffened.

Unbothered, Aveline leisurely swept her gaze over them.

Most avoided her eyes the moment they met hers.

Many of them had once speculated on the duke’s downfall.

“I-I would never say such a thing, Lady Croeta. You’ll cause a misunderstanding if people hear you.”

Lady Myren’s lips trembled slightly, unable to fully mask her panic. Her voice, which she tried to keep light, wavered with unease.

She had only meant to make a passing jab at Aveline’s obsessive displays over the duke—yet the retaliation was nothing short of brutal.

‘That wretched woman, bringing that up now.’

Lady Myren swore inwardly.

Now, Kazerre was an undeniable ruler of the North, but things had been different when he first inherited his title.

It was inevitable.

When he was abruptly thrust into the bloodied battlefield of the North after the sudden deaths of the late Duke and the Empress Consort, he had been only thirteen.

A mere boy, unable to guarantee his own future, had been more than enough to give distant relatives of the family a flicker of treacherous hope.

Even the divine prophecy proclaiming that the one chosen by fate would be of Evuteren’s bloodline had been insufficient to protect him.

After all, the prophecy had only specified an heir of Evuteren’s lineage—nothing more.

And Mazengarve’s nobles were far from devout enough to take the words of God at face value.

As soon as Kazerre left for the North, one of the collateral branches of the family adopted a child of the same age, claiming he was a long-lost illegitimate son.

Not long after, rumors began to circulate in secret—that the true child of destiny was not Kazerre, but someone from Evuteren’s collateral lineage.

For the young noblewomen who had been seething with resentment toward Aveline, who carried herself with an air of superiority, it was the perfect scandal to latch onto.

Of course, it was a terribly tragic and unfortunate thing to consider when thinking of the beautiful duke. But rather than worrying about Kazerre, whom they had not seen in ages, it was far more pressing to put Aveline in her place.

‘Oh dear, Lady Croeta. Without the Duke of Evuteren, you’ll be finished as well. Wouldn’t it be wiser to take refuge in the temple now?’

‘Well, you never know. I’ve heard that there’s a child of the same age as the duke in a distant collateral branch. Perhaps the partner God destined for you was never the duke to begin with, but rather that child.’

‘Oh, you mean that idiot who doesn’t even know how to write his own name?’

The young noblewomen laughed merrily, like songbirds, despite the cruelty of their words.

But at that moment, Aveline, who always held her head high and ignored them, suddenly flashed a fierce glare, her expression turning savage.

Her eyes were so chillingly sharp that the young noblewomen, despite their belief in their own superiority, almost stumbled backward in fear.

‘Kazerre.’

‘W-What?’

‘My destiny is Kazerre Evuteren. Even if he returns to me as a corpse.’

Her voice, low and cold like a blade being sharpened, spilled out with a deliberate, biting intensity. The frail young girl’s sheer presence was as ruthless as a knight charging forward to behead an enemy commander.

After taking one last, even gaze at each of the noblewomen, as if memorizing their faces, Aveline turned on her heel and left.

Behind her small, delicate frame, a storm of belated whispers erupted. Lady Myren was among them.

“Oh my, I heard that Lady Myren was the first to spread that bizarre rumor. Wasn’t that true?”

If one were to speak strictly of facts, it was indeed true. However, Lady Myren felt deeply wronged.

“Well, at that time…”

She had only repeated the words she had heard from her parents and other adults.

At the time, believing that Kazerre would return safely had been seen as naive and foolish.

“And to think, it happened at a tea party hosted by the Crown Princess, no less. My goodness. If His Highness the Crown Prince, who encouraged the Duke of Evuteren’s safe return, were to learn of this, how sorrowful he would be.”

At the mention of the Crown Prince, Lady Myren fell silent as if she had swallowed her tongue. The injustice of it all made her want to cry.

After all, the widespread negative sentiment toward the Duke of Evuteren at the time, and the very reason she had been able to spread such rumors, had all been sanctioned by the Crown Prince himself.

Without such approval, how could she, a mere count’s daughter, have dared to speak ill of a noble duke?

It was an open secret that the Crown Prince was eager to undermine Kazerre in any way possible.

Naturally, those seeking the Crown Prince’s favor openly discussed Evuteren’s downfall, and the prince made no effort to stop them.

But then, one day, the Crown Prince abruptly changed his stance. When a few people who had flattered him with slanderous words were suddenly dragged away and charged with treason, the nobility fell into silent confusion and quickly shut their mouths.

“Of course, it was a deeply regrettable slip of the tongue. I was young at the time…”

Unable to shift the blame onto the Crown Prince, Lady Myren simply lowered her head in resignation.

When Kazerre finally returned to the capital, having driven the monstrous beasts to the edges of the North, the city’s nobility greeted him with open arms—while secretly dreading that the rumors they had spread might reach his ears.

Though they were all complicit, there was one person who wasn’t afraid.

Aveline Croeta.

If they could, they would have killed her just to silence her.

Yet, contrary to their fears, the vile words spoken against the duke never resurfaced. Aveline merely clung to Kazerre’s side more openly than ever, parading around high society with renewed confidence.

Puzzled, people soon realized why.

‘Too prideful for her own good—she simply can’t bear the humiliation of admitting what was said about him.’

‘How foolish. As if it could ever erase her wretched origins.’

‘How amusing that someone of such lowly birth has finally found a reason to be grateful for her status.’

Those quick to adapt silently agreed to erase that part of history entirely, amused by Aveline’s supposed foolishness.

And so, the capital’s nobles easily swept their disgraceful words about Kazerre Evuteren under the rug.

Yet now, Aveline had unexpectedly unearthed that long-buried taboo.

As if to declare: I remember every single one of your misdeeds. And I will never forget.

“I deeply regret that my careless words have caused you any discomfort, Lady Croeta. It was entirely my lack of refinement. I do hope you can be gracious enough to overlook it.”

“I’m glad you understand.”

Aveline responded with a cold sneer, opening her fan to conceal her lips—a clear sign that she had no intention of continuing the conversation.

Lady Myren quickly withdrew.

She had no idea why Aveline had suddenly chosen to bring up a story she had kept buried for so long.

But she had not even the slightest desire to find out.

Perhaps because of the example that had been set, those who had followed in the footsteps of the Lady Myren began cautiously watching Aveline and gradually distanced themselves.

Observing the people slowly withdrawing, Aveline remained composed and dignified in her place.

At last, when she was left alone, she closed her fan with a rather bored expression and began walking away at a leisurely pace.

‘It’s nothing new…’

Petty provocations like that were a constant occurrence—nothing worth being bothered by at this point.

And yet, for some reason, her heart was strangely restless today. The feeling was unsettling, like the ominous foreboding that precedes something terrible.

Her measured steps were graceful and unhurried, revealing no sign of distress.

But her eyes, darting about with urgency, betrayed her—she was desperately searching for something.

‘Has Kazerre not returned yet?’

The man who was always absent when she needed him. The man who was endlessly heartless, but only toward her. The man she couldn’t bring herself to resent, no matter how much she tried.

‘How utterly thoughtless.’

He showed her nothing but his cold, retreating back—so why was she still longing for him like this?

It was beyond comprehension, and yet all she felt was affection. If this wasn’t fate, then what was?

Scoffing at her own foolish destiny, Aveline stepped into the outdoor garden and began searching for him in earnest.

From the wide pathways leading to the fountain to the narrow, hidden trails scattered throughout the grounds—she knew them all.

These were the paths she had walked alone on the nights of every banquet, searching for him, the man who never came to her.

She no longer hoped for him to come to her first.

She only wished that the path leading to him would never be severed.

“Kazer—”

At last, she spotted Kazerre at the end of the pathway. Instinctively, she called his name—only to stop herself mid-sentence.