The butler, Morris, entered through the slightly open door and announced,

“Your Grace, Lady Croeta has arrived.”

“…….”

The commotion from moments ago miraculously ceased. A cold silence, like a sudden frost, filled the room. Kazerre slightly furrowed his brows.

He considered speculating about her reason for coming but soon abandoned the thought.

It was meaningless anyway—whatever her reason, he wouldn’t be able to refuse her.

With a small sigh, Kazerre gave a slight nod.

“Let her in.”

Morris bowed before opening the door wide.

Soon, Aveline stepped into the office with graceful steps, like a butterfly flitting in search of a sweet flower.

Watching her soft pink hair bloom like a cascade of spring blossoms, Xenon corrected his thoughts.

‘Come to think of it, there’s another moment when His Grace becomes particularly sensitive.’

That was when he faced his fiancée.

“Kazerre.”

Aveline greeted him cheerfully by name before slowly scanning the knights who had been occupying the office.

All eyes were already on her.

Her presence instantly brightened the once overwhelmingly masculine space, yet no one seemed pleased about it.

Despite knowing that the gazes upon her were far from kind, Aveline offered a serene smile.

“Oh dear, I must have come at the wrong time. Given how stiff everyone’s posture is, it seems the future mistress of the duchy doesn’t even warrant a slight bow.”

“It has been a while, Lady Croeta,” Xenon quickly interjected, his tone respectful.

Based on extensive experience, avoiding conflict with this woman was always the wisest course of action.

In a battle of wits woven with intricate layers of malice, there was no defeating Aveline Croeta. No matter the response, one would ultimately end up ensnared by her. The best strategy was to yield and slip away unscathed.

“Indeed. Even though we reside in the same estate, it’s quite difficult to see you, Sir Xenon.”

Aveline’s voice was lilting as she responded. Fortunately, her sharp gaze didn’t linger on him for long.

Unfortunately, instead of withdrawing her barbs, she redirected them toward the most vulnerable target.

“My, Sir Thierry, your head still seems quite heavy. Given how you still lack the ability to show proper decorum despite all this time, I suppose there isn’t much in there to weigh it down.”

“What did you just say?”

Thierry’s face turned a deep shade of red.

Xenon, shaking his head, looked as if all hope was lost.

The animosity between Aveline and the Snowfield Knights was nothing new.

For starters, Aveline’s temperament made her fundamentally incompatible with knights. She harbored an innate fear of swords.

She was wary of other bladed weapons like axes and sickles, but her aversion to swords was extreme.

‘I heard she used to have full-blown seizures at the mere sight of one as a child.’

Because of her, even the kitchen knives at the duchy were deliberately dulled as much as possible. Steaks were served pre-cut so that they could be handled with butter knives.

It was easy to imagine how she viewed knights who proudly roamed the estate with swords strapped to their waists.

The problem was that Aveline never made the slightest effort to hide her disgust.

‘Why must you carry such grotesque weapons inside the estate?’

‘Carrying a sword at all times reflects a knight’s constant vigilance. And calling it grotesque—do you realize that’s an insult to knights?’

‘An insult? From just that? If knights have softer minds than pudding, I suppose they’ll start wailing in disgrace just from brushing shoulders with someone.’

‘How could you say such a thing…!’

The knights, never having faced such outright disdain before, seethed with anger.

In retrospect, Aveline’s insistence on avoiding swords was the right call—several knights had barely restrained themselves from drawing theirs in response to her words.

In Mazengarve, an empire revered as the land of knights, they were accustomed to endless praise, not such outright hostility.

In the end, Kazerre arranged for the knights’ barracks to be located as far from Aveline’s quarters as possible—at the far end of the right annex. Additionally, he acquired more estate land to move the training grounds beyond the back garden.

It was a drastic measure to minimize their encounters.

But no matter how vast the estate, it was impossible to avoid crossing paths entirely—especially when Aveline deliberately intruded upon the duke’s domain like this.

“Get to the point, Aveline.”

Kazerre ran a hand through his hair, his tone rigid. The rough gesture left his black locks tousled, casting shadows over his face. For the first time, his usually impassive expression revealed clear signs of exhaustion.

Every time Aveline and the knights clashed, it fell solely on Kazerre to mediate.

For the knights, it only took a single command to resolve issues. With her, however, it meant enduring endless, drawn-out conversations—making her a far more troublesome opponent than the boorish men.

“I want you to accompany me to a tea party in four days.”

“What?”

“It’s a tea party hosted by the Marchioness of Bourville. The invitation states that bringing a partner is allowed.”

Aveline neatly placed the invitation on his desk.

Kazerre found himself momentarily speechless, unsure of what to object to first as he watched her composed movements.

Well, barging into a room with guests without warning, issuing commands without asking for his opinion, and trying to make him a spectacle at a tea party clearly meant for ladies—none of these were acts of discourtesy to Aveline.

After all, it was so natural for him to prioritize her that she didn’t even see it as a form of consideration.

And Kazerre found himself growing weary of it all, to the point of cynicism.

Perhaps he should have made it clear to her that the things he had yielded so easily were, in fact, acts of his consideration.

Before they became something she took for granted. Before it became so unquestionable that she wouldn’t tolerate him doing otherwise.

But in the end, Kazerre would give her the answer she wanted.

Not for her sake, but because he had no idea where to even begin untangling the mess their relationship had become.

“I can’t. I have prior arrangements that day.”

“What kind of prior arrangements?”

“…I’m meeting with Prince Leonard in the morning.”

The royal family—especially the siblings Beatrice and Leonard—were the best possible cards to play against Aveline. He never thought he’d have to use his promise to Beatrice in this way, but here he was.

Aside from the bitter taste it left in his mouth, Aveline predictably backed down.

“Then I won’t need you to see me off.”

“I’ll send a knight to escort you instead.”

“Will you?”

Aveline’s voice curled up slightly at the end as she glanced toward the spot where Thierry and Jacques stood. Her gaze, laced with blatant mockery, subtly curved.

“Then at least send one with proper dignity. It would be troublesome if the standard was too low.”

Thierry’s face turned as red as his hair, burning with humiliation.

However, instead of displaying his anger outright as he usually did, Thierry silently stepped in front of Jacques, as if shielding him from her view.

Fortunately, Aveline turned back to Kazerre and added,

“And make sure you’re the one to pick me up.”

“…I haven’t decided when I’ll return.”

“It doesn’t matter. The tea party will last all afternoon, after all.”

Her determination to parade him around was evident.

Kazerre silently observed Aveline, who showed no intention of backing down.

‘If it’s just a brief appearance, it’s not too bad.’

He felt a wave of resignation at how such a compromise had come to seem reasonable. But in the end, he nodded without hesitation.

More than anything, he had no desire to continue this pointless back-and-forth with her.

“I’ll stop by if I have the time. Is that all you needed?”

His tone was so cold that it would be impossible to continue the conversation even if she had more to say.

Of course, Aveline Croeta was not the type to be concerned with such things.

“Yes. I’ll be going now. My ears are tired from sitting in a room full of ignorant men who think they can win just by being the loudest.”

Even without much perception, it was obvious whom her words were aimed at. Thierry, who had only just managed to suppress his anger, bit his lip and glared at her.

But Aveline simply tilted up the corner of her lips in a crooked smirk before turning away, leaving the room with such grace that it almost made one forget how rude her intrusion had been.

The knights followed her retreating figure with their eyes.

“…She really is like a storm every time,” Jacques was the first to break the silence.

The freckled genius scrunched his nose and grinned, looking oddly entertained.

“You’re the only one who finds this amusing.”

Thierry, still visibly fuming, scolded Jacques, his frustration evident in his furrowed brows.

The more he replayed the earlier exchange in his head, the angrier he became, and his voice rose in frustration.

“And no matter how much of a lady she is, if she calls you a fool, you should be angry! You may only be a squire now, but you’re still a proud member of the Snowfield Knights—”

“Pardon? Were you speaking to me? I could’ve sworn she was talking about you, Sir Thierry.”

“…What?”

“This little—!”

Thierry finally exploded again, his temper snapping. Xenon let out a deep sigh, shaking his head.

Just then, from beyond the now-quiet doorway, the sound of approaching footsteps echoed once more.