Failin never left her side while she was being dressed.

As always, the kind matron brought an orange, which delighted the duke’s mistress.

“Thank you, Your Majesty.”

“Now then, let us begin the preparations.”

Watching his expression cautiously, the maids set to work with busy hands—dressing her slender frame in fine garments, brushing powder over her skin pale as cream, adorning her fiery waves of hair with pearls.

All the while, Failin’s gaze drifted toward the small chest of drawers in the corner of the room.

The medicine hidden inside—turning a blind eye to it had been an undeniable act of disloyalty.

“Protect her, and watch her closely.”

His lord had ordered it, yet every night he lay with the daughter of the barbarians he despised.

For a man who had always kept women at a distance, this was a startling change. Yet it was not Failin’s place to judge.

He was not to harbor opinions. He was not to have emotions.

“Didn’t I tell you not to look straight at me?”

That voice—too familiar.
When his foster mother had once cried those very words, Failin had seen in her face the image of his father—the man who had beaten him nearly to death.

Pity.
Even that was a feeling he should not allow himself.

And yet, when she clutched that tiny vial as though it were her only lifeline, he could not bring himself to refuse her plea.

It was that wasteful pity that had driven him to betrayal.

“I won’t trouble you with requests that put you in a difficult position.”

The gentle voice rang in his ears.

Never again. Never.

Failin clenched his teeth and steeled his resolve.

“Then, we will take our leave.”

The maids’ farewell pulled him out of his thoughts.

After they left, the young lady stood for a long while before the mirror, then turned awkwardly toward him.

“How do I look?”

“….”

“Do you think His Grace will like it?”

The sky-blue gown rippled at her ankles like small waves, as clear and elegant as the color of her eyes.

A pearl necklace lay across her straight collarbones, and Sveta smiled faintly, as if uncertain.

Failin lowered his gaze and answered flatly.

“Yes. He will.”

◯◯◯

“His Grace the Duke of Strilland, and Lady Sveta Luce!”

At the herald’s cry, the hall fell silent as if it were the middle of winter. Curious stares rained down on Sveta like snowflakes.

Accompanied by the duke’s escort, Sveta stepped gracefully into the banquet hall.

“Smile. Radiantly.”

Smile and speak as if thoughtless, like a woman of extravagance.

What he wanted. What he demanded.

And so, what she must become.

Sveta smiled softly, like petals in full bloom.

“Keep it that way.”

When Aiden lifted his handsome lips in a faint smile, she was finally able to smile sincerely.

Soon, the hall regained its bustle.

Guests surged around the Duke of Strilland like waves, moving in and out again.

Once the polite greetings were over, a group intent on serious business approached.

“I’ve heard troubling rumors about the trade ships. Have you considered my proposal?”

“Of course, Lord Matwood. Will you be free tomorrow?”

“Yes, Your Grace. Naturally. One must make time, even if it doesn’t exist.”

Aiden handled it all with practiced ease, while Sveta could only steal glances at him.

There was his golden hair, smoothed back; his straight brow; his thick dark lashes shadowing his brown eyes.

His tunic, made of rich navy fabric, stretched over his broad frame, and a golden cape was draped over one shoulder.

He had grown into perfect composure; he was as beautiful as a finely cut gem and as unyielding as a statue.

How could anyone be so brilliant? So impossibly…

“You seem to need a rest.”

Her dazed gaze was caught by his steady eyes.

“Yes?”

“You look tired.”

“Me?”

She asked back in confusion.

With his rich voice, he confirmed it and guided her toward the balcony.

“I’m just nervous, that’s all. I can do better.”

“….”

But Aiden paid no attention to her excuse. Instead, he looked down at the garden, cloaked in darkness.

It was covered in white roses that were in full bloom, filling the cool evening air with their fragrance.

“That day.”

He began, lowering his gloved hand to glance at it, his tone as flat as ever. The white gloves—unusual for him—looked large upon his hands.

“Did you meet someone?”

“That day… what do you mean?”

“The day you went out with me.”

The thought struck her at once—he was asking about Jace Gould. Instinctively, her shoulders shrank.

“No one…”

The feeble answer did not satisfy him. The duke closed in, cupping her cheek in his large hand, his thumb pressing against her lower lip.

Red lipstick smeared messily onto the white glove.

He crushed her lips beneath his thumb and whispered low.

“I’ll ask again. Whom did you meet?”

“….”

“Answer carefully.”

He was giving her a chance—a chance to tell the truth.

But Sveta could not say it. She could not confess that she had met Jace Gould, that she was not his daughter, that the real Beth Gould still lived.

As he had once demanded of her, she could not betray the only family she had.

She forced her lips to move.

“I… met no one—”

“….”

He pushed his thumb into her mouth without warning and pressed down on her tongue. Her words were cut short.

Slowly and deliberately, he moved around inside her mouth, rolling against her tongue. Moisture welled up and spilled past her lips.

Her cheeks and eyes burned. He pulled her tightly to him by the waist, pressing their bodies together.

“Ha…”

She exhaled in ragged bursts, her breath escaping through her mouth and nose. The heady sound clinging to her ears hardly felt like her own.

‘Why is he doing this…?’

Sveta pushed desperately at his unyielding chest. Finally, he released her, leaving a long, silvery thread stretching between her lips and his gloved hand.

Quelling her trembling, she managed to whisper,

“…My lord, what are you—”

“I understand.”

“…W-what do you mean?”

He leaned close, lips brushing her ear, and spoke with calm precision.

“Your true feelings.”

“I…”

She fumbled for a protest—but suddenly, someone stepped onto the balcony.

“Duke of Strilland.”

“Your Majesty.”

The Queen. Did he know she was coming?

He bowed properly and with composure. Startled, Sveta hastily bent her knees.

The Queen’s eyes swept over his soiled glove and her red-stained jaw.

“My apologies. I didn’t notice Your Majesty’s arrival. When I am with my lady, I see no one else.”

At his brazen words, the queen blinked in surprise, then swiftly composed herself.

“It is fine.”

She did not spare Sveta a glance, stepping closer to him instead. Looking up, she said,

“…They say I am infatuated with you.”

“I never thought Her Majesty would heed gossip.”

“Rumors widely spread become public opinion.”

Aiden pulled Sveta’s hand close and gripped it tightly. The Queen’s expression stiffened at once.

Her eyes drifted towards Sveta’s reddened lips and chin, stained and glistening, and towards the dampness in her gaze and the duke’s strong hand, which was locked around her wrist.

Sveta flinched and tried to pull away, but his grip only tightened.

The provocation was deliberate.

Had he smeared her lips and forced that answerless question just to create this very moment?

‘No. No… it can’t be.’

Struggling to fathom his malevolent intentions, Sveta forced herself to dispel the thought before it could reach its dreadful conclusion.

Mocking her hidden fears, the Queen raised her lips in a benevolent smile.

“I see this marriage as an extension of politics. For this reason, I will turn a blind eye to your love affairs for the time being.”

“….”

“I will give you one year.”

It was a declaration that they would wed on the day of next year’s May Festival.

Upon hearing this, a fine crack spread across the duke’s icy countenance. He furrowed his brows and brazenly revealed his displeasure.

“Enjoy yourself while you can.”

“….”

“But in one year, you will put it all in order. Cleanly.”

“And if I do not?”

The queen closed her eyes, lifting the night’s rose-scented air deep into her lungs, calm as though sipping a cup of tea.

“The fate of my two brothers was tragic, but both loved only one woman. I grew up watching that.”

“….”

“So when we are married, I expect your loyalty as well.”

“….”

“My three conditions remain unchanged.”

His grip tightened.

A sharp pain shot through Sveta’s wrist, but she dared not make a sound; she merely flinched under his grip.

“If you fail to end it within the time given, the matter will change greatly.”

“…Is that a threat, Your Majesty?”

Aiden’s low growl rumbled, and the queen’s blue eyes deepened like a bottomless well.

Beneath the majesty shadowing her youthful face, Sveta shrank even further.

How small she must seem. How base.

Powerless, she lowered her gaze.

The queen, watching, spoke firmly.

“This is an order.”

“….”

“An order, Duke.”

◯◯◯

On the ride back, Sveta sat so quietly that not even her breath could be heard, stealing glances at Aiden’s expression.

“So desperate, are you.”

Those were the only words he said after the Queen had left. Since then, there has been silence.

He seemed composed, but perhaps that was just an illusion. His beautiful, expressionless face seemed fragile, as if it might shatter at any moment.

Had she not begged him to help her break off the engagement? Now that the plan had been ruined, she could not guess what he was thinking — and the uncertainty was eating away at her.

As the carriage neared the ducal estate, Sveta could no longer bear it.

“My lord…”

“Silence.”

“…Pardon?”

“Until I speak first, you will remain silent.”

The tone was casual, but the weight behind it was not.

“I am in a foul mood.”

“….”

“So keep your mouth shut.”