Though Beatrice spoke lightly, as if joking, a bitter smile played on her lips.

Instead of pointing out that she was already disliked enough by Aveline, Kazerre gently patted her shoulder.

It hadn’t always been this way between them.

As children, Aveline would often accompany Kazerre to the palace and play with Beatrice. Naturally gentle by nature, Beatrice had followed Aveline well, and Aveline, for her part, had never outright rejected her.

But after Kazerre left for the north, their relationship completely fell apart.

Kazerre had assumed they had simply grown distant over time due to seeing each other less frequently. But Beatrice’s account was different.

‘One day, she just stopped visiting. She wouldn’t see me even when I sent people to call for her. She never replied to my letters either.’

‘Did something happen?’

‘No. It just… happened one day, all of a sudden.’

‘What could have caused it…?’

‘I wish I knew. Did I unknowingly say something that upset her?’

It was rare for Beatrice to express her feelings, but this time, she had voiced her distress. And rightly so—having been cut off overnight without explanation would upset anyone.

Even so, she still harbored a quiet hope that Kazerre’s return might help mend her relationship with Aveline.

But Aveline continued to keep her distance.

Unlike with other noble ladies, she did not hurl insults at Beatrice. Instead, she chose to ignore her completely. She neither spoke to her nor even acknowledged her presence.

Her complete disregard remained unchanged even when Beatrice was with Kazerre. Aveline would stick to his side as if unwilling to part, but the moment Beatrice approached, she would pull away first.

And so, in a twisted irony, Beatrice had become the only person who could pull Kazerre away from Aveline.

“You don’t need to concern yourself with Aveline so much.”

“But as your fiancée, she’ll become my family as well. And once, she was my dear friend, too.”

Her voice, filled with longing for an irretrievable past, sounded unbearably forlorn. Yet, she quickly brightened the mood, revealing her unwavering hope.

“I don’t think she avoids me out of hatred. Maybe there’s something else going on.”

“I’m skeptical about that.”

Aveline was the kind of woman who raised her thorns at others without reason. There was no exception just because Beatrice was her cousin.

Yet, seeing Beatrice continue to hold onto hope made Kazerre feel sorry for her.

She had been just a child when she received the news of Dominic and Elise’s deaths, and then, soon after, Kazerre had left for the north. Alone in the imperial palace, how lonely she must have been. That was why Aveline’s coldness must have hurt her all the more.

But what was the point in dwelling on it? Aveline was not one to change.

In the end, the one who always had to give up and resign himself… was Kazerre.

“…Come to think of it, His Majesty’s condition still hasn’t improved, has it?”

Not wanting to think about Aveline any longer now that he had finally escaped her presence, Kazerre deliberately changed the subject. It wasn’t exactly pleasant news, but the Emperor’s well-being was not something he could simply ignore.

“Neither divine blessings nor medicine seem to work, so it’s hard to hope for any recovery. If only Leo could act a little more confidently, perhaps it would ease His Majesty’s mind a little…”

Beatrice smiled faintly, tinged with bitterness.

At some point, whenever she spoke of her younger brother, that sorrowful smile would surface.

Prince Leonard Mazengarve, the late-born child who had lost his mother before he could even take his first steps, was naturally timid and shy, reluctant to be around strangers. But with Beatrice, at least, he would chatter away freely. He had been a weak, small, and simply lovable child.

Then, one day, Leonard had fallen gravely ill.

Feverish and teetering on the brink of death, he had finally managed to recover after two weeks—but tragically, he had lost his voice.

Perhaps as a result, Leonard had become even more withdrawn, avoiding people altogether—including his own family. The Emperor’s grief was beyond measure.

“I feel I’ve been neglecting the two of you too much lately. I should visit the Prince soon.”

“I know how busy you are. But if you come, Leo will be overjoyed.”

Since Kazerre had left for the north immediately after receiving word of Dominic and Elise’s deaths, he hadn’t had many chances to spend time with Leonard.

Still, at least Leonard did not reject him.

He wasn’t particularly affectionate, but considering how he refused to let most people approach him at all, it seemed he at least felt a certain level of trust toward Kazerre.

The two continued their conversation, discussing the details of a visit to the prince and exchanging updates about those around them.

When their talk finally came to an end, Beatrice slowly rose to her feet.

“Then, I’ll be going now, brother.”

“You’re leaving already?”

“I promised to read Leo a book tonight.”

Beatrice said with a gentle smile.

But Kazerre knew it was just a convenient excuse.

Just as Kazerre did not get along with the Crown Prince, Beatrice, too, felt uneasy around him. No—cautious was a better word.

The Crown Prince was not affectionate toward his half-siblings. He had a strained relationship with Empress Consort Elise, and perhaps because of that, his attitude toward his half-brother and sister was nothing short of cold.

As a result, Beatrice had grown into someone who barely dared to breathe in his presence. The one person who could have protected her, the Emperor, was bedridden, and her only younger brother was not a sibling she could rely on but someone she had to protect unilaterally.

Yet, Beatrice herself was still just a young girl who had not even come of age. Every time Kazerre was reminded of that fact, he was overwhelmed by his own helplessness.

“Are you going back to the banquet hall, brother?”

“I’ll take a walk before heading back.”

“Then I’ll go in first.”

“I’ll escort you to the entrance.”

“It’s fine. The banquet hall is just a short walk away.”

Beatrice politely declined his offer and bid him farewell with composed grace.

Kazerre silently watched as she walked away, her figure growing smaller in the distance. Each time he let her go like this, a dry rustling feeling, like stepping on withered leaves, scraped at his heart.

The oath he had sworn when he first took up a sword in the biting cold of the northern snowfield—his vow to protect everything with his own hands—remained unchanged. Yet, moments like these left him feeling utterly powerless.

Kazerre deliberately recalled a conversation from his childhood with his father.

‘Kazerre, what is the difference between a knight and a bandit?’

‘Do they have something in common?’

‘They both wield swords and take lives, do they not?’

‘But…’

‘Yes. But there is one key difference—their purpose. A bandit raises his sword to take, while a knight raises his sword to protect. It’s a simple distinction, but for that very reason, you must never forget your purpose. If you do, you’ll be no different from a gang of thieves.’

To protect—that was the chivalry of Evuteren, the creed his father had passed down.

Among all the teachings his father had imparted, that single principle had taken the deepest root in Kazerre, sustaining him through everything.

Before the bodies of his father and aunt, he had vowed to uphold their will and protect all that was Evuteren. That oath had not faded with time.

The burden of responsibility, though rightful, was not always easy to bear. But no matter how heavy, he could never cast it aside—for he loved the North.

Even if he had not been born into Evuteren, he was certain he would have joined the Snowfield Order. That barren land of ice and frost had an inexplicable pull on his heart.

Perhaps, then, being born into Evuteren had been a blessing. He would gladly carry the weight of that name.

But what was he to do about the things he could not protect, even as Evuteren?

“…Sigh.”

Once Beatrice had completely disappeared from view, Kazerre turned and began wandering in the opposite direction of the banquet hall.

A cool breeze swept through, stirring his dark hair in the moonlit night, but it did little to ease the frustration tightening his chest.

He had no idea how long he had walked when he suddenly came upon a white gazebo bathed in moonlight.

The scene was undeniably romantic, but with no trees nearby to provide cover, it was an unsuitable place for secret rendezvous.

For Kazerre, however, it was the perfect retreat after slipping away from the imperial banquet. His feet had unconsciously led him there, as if by habit.

But…

‘A woman?’

Tonight, for some reason, the place already had a visitor.

A woman with long, soft, light brown hair—reminiscent of autumn wheat fields—sat on one of the benches inside the gazebo.

Her back was turned to him, so he couldn’t see her face. But her relaxed posture suggested that, like him, she had come here seeking solitude.

‘I suppose I should leave.’

Kazerre was about to turn away without hesitation when—

“Who’s there?”

A voice, laced with both curiosity and fear, cut through the quiet night.

Kazerre turned back toward the woman. She was now staring straight in his direction from within the gazebo.

“If I disturbed you, I apologize. I must have taken the wrong path.”

“I was simply out for a walk alone. I assume you were doing the same?”

He had no intention of continuing the conversation, but since she had responded, ignoring her would have been impolite. Kazerre gave a small nod instead of answering.

At that, the woman let out a soft chuckle.

Perhaps because of the stillness of the night, even such a small sound seemed to echo in his ears.

“It seems we’ve both run away from the banquet. Wouldn’t you call that a sort of fate?”

Before he knew it, she had stepped out of the gazebo and was approaching him.

Then, suddenly, she halted, her eyes widening in surprise.

Kazerre had seen countless women become mesmerized by his looks upon first meeting him. He was tired of it.

But the way this woman looked at him—it was different.

“You are…”