“It is with my lord’s permission.”

“…Your lord?”

“The duke himself, of course.”

The man in a navy work uniform stretched his mouth wide in a crooked grin, his small eyes narrowing into slits.

He looked to be about thirty. From the ill-fitting uniform and awkward posture, he seemed to be no more than a stable hand’s assistant.

“That one’s a fiery beast. If you’re worried, I can accompany you.”

“No, I’ll go alone.”

“As you wish. Then I’ll open the gate.”

He swung the door wide.

“Thank you…”

“Ah—Pablo, that’s my name.”

“Thank you, Pablo. I’ll just take a short walk nearby.”

Sveta led the horse along the lake’s beautifully landscaped edge.

Glancing back, she saw Sir Failin following at a distance in silence.

The shimmering surface of the lake reflected her, the horse, and the knight.

Looking at it, her thoughts turned to Aiden.

“…He’s kinder than he seems, isn’t he, Dongle? He spared you and me, and even placed a knight to guard us.”

She suddenly wondered—

Had his wound healed?

Had his temper cooled?

She wanted to hear that low voice again.

She wanted to see that beautiful face.

Following the fresh scent of flowers carried on the breeze, Sveta reached the entrance of the garden and stopped short.

Between the riot of golden daffodils in bloom, she caught sight of a familiar face.

Through the blazing shafts of afternoon sunlight, Aiden was walking with two companions. For a brief instant, as he strolled with a look of boredom, it seemed their eyes met.

‘It must have been a mistake.’

Just as Sveta began to turn away, Aiden shifted direction toward the garden’s entrance. Before she could even decide what to do, he was already approaching.

His straight, elegant bearing and the sharp, commanding air that clung to him made him seem like a god of light ruling over the world.

“Good afternoon, Your Grace.”

At last close enough for her voice to reach him, Sveta offered a shy greeting. But the reply that came was a sharp one—and not Aiden’s.

“This young lady doesn’t seem to know her place.”

The young woman at his side sneered openly. In that moment, Sveta realized her mistake. To be accused of not knowing her place meant the woman must be of high rank. She should have paid her respects first.

She bent her knees slightly toward the duke’s guests.

“…It is an honor to meet you.”

Even then, she clutched the reins tightly in one hand, afraid the horse might suddenly move. Yet her awkward posture embarrassed her; her ears burned hot, no doubt visibly red.

Looking down at her, Aiden’s crimson lips curved faintly. After gazing at her for a moment, he turned with effortless grace and spoke in a low voice.

“She is only a mistress. Do not expect grand manners from her.”

“Is that so? I heard she was the baron’s daughter…”

Aiden cut the woman’s words short, his tone firm.

“Did I not say? She is my woman.”

“…But!”

The middle-aged man beside her laid a hand on her arm, whispering softly.

“His Excellency says it is fine.”

“……”

“Do not speak further.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line as if in protest, but she said no more. The contempt flashing from her ash-gray eyes stung like a lash. Sveta lowered her gaze, able to do nothing but tighten her grip on the reins.

After a long while, she straightened, staring blankly at the three figures as they receded into the distance.

‘Marquess Matwood, was it?’

Sveta recognized the genial-faced, middle-aged man walking with Aiden. With ash-gray hair swept neatly behind his ears, he was the very marquess she had spoken with at the last banquet.

The young woman at his side resembled him so closely she could only be his daughter. A true noble lady—highborn, exalted, untouchable.

Her mouth went dry. Her throat tightened, and it felt as if her heart were being crushed.

“I should never have come this way…”

She stroked the horse’s neck as she whispered softly. Though three people were walking away, it was only the backs of the duke and the marquess’s daughter that filled her vision.

On her way back to the stables, Sveta lashed out at the pebbles underfoot, kicking them again and again. But the pain was not in her feet—it was in her heart.

◯◯◯

Aiden sat beneath a gazebo, surrounded by lush white hydrangeas.

In the distance, beyond the sea of yellow blossom, the orange-haired woman appeared to grow smaller with each step she took.

He lifted his teacup, his expression impassive, and kept his gaze fixed in that same direction.

The Marquess of Matwood was talking non-stop across from him.

“…It is unfortunate about the Bayton affair. Yet with this, we now have the chance to extend our reach into Swenia. What good fortune!”

“Did you just call that fortune?”

The tone was anything but mild.

At the words, the marquess faltered, quickly studying his expression, then added in a defensive rush—

“It will soon be summer, Your Grace. Bayton wool tapestries may be the finest on the continent, but it feels too early to load them on the outgoing trade ships.”

“….”

“By contrast, Swenian porcelain is a commodity so scarce it can hardly be found. And with prices rising in the aftermath of the recent war…”

“The rarest of all is Bayton tapestry, Lord Matwood.”

Bayton was located in the far north, bordering the Levaižan lands belonging to Aiden. He had spent days travelling back and forth, establishing Levaižan as the hub through which to link Bayton with the island nation of Muwieo and thus securing this trade route.

But now the deal had collapsed. Determined to seize the opportunity, the Marquess pressed his case with fervor.

“They have refused to supply. Time is short; a second course must be considered.”

‘A second course…’

He was not wrong. Aiden had summoned the Marquess of Matwood for this very reason.

The Matwoods were responsible for diplomatic relations with the western nations, including Swenia. Opening up trade with them would undoubtedly be highly profitable.

“A second course—and, for now, the best one.”

And yet, every reasonable word grated on Aiden.

He knew why.

Despite the vast profits at stake, his mind had been clouded by a mistress’s lie.

He was disgusted by the fact that he was acting like a lovesick boy.

And then there was Alyona Matwood, sitting there like some demure lady, when in fact she was the last woman he could stand.

“…I have heard you, my lord. I will give it serious thought.”

“Thank you, Your Grace. I shall not disappoint you.”

“Then let us end here.”

There was no reason to remain any longer.

As Aiden rose, the marquess and his daughter followed suit.

“Oh!”

The cry came at the same time as the teacup toppled over.

It was a calculated mistake, paired with a perfectly timed exclamation. Alyona Matwood was playing a shallow trick.

Her carefully fanned lashes fluttered upwards as she cast sidelong glances at him.

Staring at her father’s white trousers, now stained with spreading tea, she spoke in a pitiful tone.

“Father, I am so sorry. I reached for the table in a faint and—”

“It is nothing, my dear.”

“But still… what shall we do!”

The marquess, soft-tempered by nature, sought always to smooth over such matters. He dabbed politely at his clothes, but the white fabric was already ruined, stained dark with red tea.

“You cannot depart like this, my lord. You must change before leaving.”

In response to Aiden’s gesture, one of the waiting attendants came forward to escort the Marquess into the manor.

As Alyona watched her father walk away, she lowered her lashes in a show of concern.

“My apologies, Your Grace. The fainting spells come on me without warning…”

Yes, that was the reason.

It was why his taut nerves had crumpled like paper.

This sly, insolent marquess’s daughter had been a thorn in his side forever.

His voice was cutting as he spoke.

“Wouldn’t it be better to stop these transparent theatrics?”

“Theatrics? Your Grace, I am offended. To describe a mistake as…”

She smiled, masklike. A shameless smile.

Always the same.

With an indifferent expression, Aiden summoned the attendant standing at a distance.

“…My servant will remain to attend your father.”

“Wait!”

Just as Aiden was about to turn and leave, Alyona grabbed his arm.

He felt a sensation like lightning striking down his spine: hot, jarring, and unbearable. He pulled his arm away sharply.

“This is the third time.”

She said, feigning tears with practiced ease. Her eyes drooped in that same cloying manner that he had grown sick of.

By now, you would think she would relent, but she seemed incapable of giving up.

“You mean, you have grabbed me three times already.”

Heat gathered at the nape of his neck, a mingling of sweat and chill. He suppressed the stinging sensation and smoothed his expression.

“If you have nothing more to say, you should go back now.”

As he turned away, Alyona reached out to him once more. This time, he anticipated it. With a swift twist, he evaded her touch.

Pretending not to notice the blade-like sharpness of his blue gaze, she continued,

“It’s about the mistress you’ve taken in.”

“….”

“She is beautiful. Seductive.”

Her storm-gray eyes slid over his face, slow and deliberate.

“And what are you trying to say?”

“I was surprised.”

“….”

“Who would have thought? That Your Grace would bring in a false mistress.”