As soon as her feet touched the ground, Sveta walked past Aiden without pausing.

All she wanted was to put distance between them.

The conservatory was as vast as the outer garden. Although she had never been inside before, she moved forward as though she knew the layout by heart.

Behind her, the slow, measured sound of his footsteps echoed softly across the soil she had just crossed.

When she rounded the corner formed by the rose-covered trees, a brown horse was waiting for her.

“Dongle.”

Dongle recognized Sveta and greeted her softly.

Sveta hurried forward and wrapped her arms tightly around the horse’s neck.

Only then did her anxiety subside, and the numbness that had overtaken her began to fade.

The scent of dry hay mingled with the heavy fragrance of roses, filling her lungs.

As soon as she felt at ease, she heard a low voice behind her.

“Shall I teach you how to ride?”

“……”

She already knew how to ride.

A long time ago, she and Beth had planned to flee together if Beth were ever pursued.

Unlike Beth, she had not learnt combat skills — neither attack nor defense — but she had learnt to ride.

And she had learnt the hard way.

There was no need for him to know that, though.

She shook her head in refusal, but he asked again.

“If you wish, I will teach you.”

“No. That won’t be necessary.”

“…I.”

“……”

“I will cherish you.”

His low voice burned as though it carried the truth of his heart.

Sveta tightened her arms around the horse.

“I will protect you. No one will ever dare treat you carelessly again.”

“……”

She didn’t want to turn around.

She didn’t want to see the look on his face when he said those words.

Instead, she thought of his eyes.

The eyes of the man who had never cherished her and had treated her with no mercy.

They were sharp, like those of a bird of prey circling in the sky, waiting for its prey to die.

The cruel face she had seen beneath the water.

***

The magnificent Matwood House garden pulsed with the vitality of spring.

Peonies imported from Sweenia bloomed in every imaginable shade, creating intricate bursts of color across the grounds.

Exotic statues were scattered throughout the garden, while a magnificent fountain sprayed arcs of silver water into the air. Rounded hedges bordered the winding paths and soft music drifted gently through the air.

The tea party held to celebrate the new season was the perfect showcase for House Matwood’s influence and prestige.

Five or six ladies who had arrived early exchanged subtle glances.

Lady Melville, the eldest among them, was the first to speak.

“I imagine the Marchioness of Matwood’s daughter is still at the entrance, receiving guests?”

It was a subtle remark—the hostess was not yet present.

As expected, conversation began at once.

“Is it true? What happened between the Duke of Strilland’s mistress and Lady Noma?”

“Of course it is. I heard it directly from Lady Luce.”

At the mention of Lady Luce, the women’s lips curled faintly in disdain.

“That Lady Luce—she seems determined to slip into society, does she not? As if that would ever happen.”

“She’s desperate to belong. Lately, she wouldn’t stop talking about how the Duke abandoned his own mother for his adopted daughter the day Lady Noma threw herself into the water. She showed no trace of shame.”

“How dreadful!”

The ladies gasped in unison, lifting their teacups.

“This goes beyond the limits of what is acceptable, even for a small society.”

“A mere handful of society.”

That was the dismissive name often given to the social circle of Aetania.

It was markedly different from those of other nations.

One reason for this was that many of the highest-ranking noble houses — including Strilland and Matwood — had foreign origins. They had taken brides from neighboring kingdoms, and these proud foreign ladies did not readily integrate into local society.

Furthermore, the rebellions that had claimed the king’s life twice within a few years drastically reduced social gatherings.

Nobles who chose the wrong side paid with their lives. And rightly so.

Renan’s society had been whittled down time and again until only a fragile skeleton remained.

Now, it endured only through the occasional meeting of younger wives.

Rumors were plentiful, but true influence was scarce.

Yet the newly crowned queen paid close attention to them.

This alone filled the ladies with quiet pride.

Lady Melville set her teacup down and lifted her chin.

“I, for one, will not accept Lady Luce.”

“Quite right.”

The women tilted their teacups gracefully once more, their conversation growing more animated.

“If the Duke truly left Lady Noma at death’s door to seek out his mistress… then the rumor that he took a false mistress to defy Her Majesty cannot be true, can it?”

The lady beside her covered her mouth with her fan and whispered,

“That rumor was most passionately insisted upon by the illustrious young lady of House Matwood, was it not? I imagine it is false.”

“I hear Her Majesty has commanded him to dismiss his mistress by the day of the May Festival. There are only two months left. What will happen then?”

For a man to keep a mistress and indulge in romance was commonplace. It was hardly even considered a flaw.

But all of them remembered the queen’s condition.

‘A chaste and faithful husband.’

Queen Elvita’s demand had been clear.

“If His Grace fails to dismiss his mistress within two months, what will Her Majesty do?”

Regardless of her political stance, she remained a queen.

Each of her words carried the weight of the law and could not be defied.

The ladies recalled seeing their brother’s body hanging from the castle walls.

Who would bear the brunt of the Queen’s wrath? The disloyal Duke of Strilland or the Baroness Luce, who had betrayed him?

“In my opinion—”

Just as one of the ladies began to speak, movement stirred at the garden entrance.

Every mouth snapped shut like a clamshell.

‘The Grandly Madwoman of Renan, Alyona Matwood, had appeared—accompanied by several young ladies.’

Seated at the head of the table, Alyona savored the tense, rigid glances that met her.

“There is a rumor circulating that I find rather amusing.”

When she spoke, the women exchanged stiff looks.

Clearly forced smiles, an attempt to ingratiate themselves, appeared awkwardly on their faces.

In a way, it was exhilarating.

Lady Melville, who was at least fifteen years older than her, faltered as she spoke.

“We are not certain which rumor you mean…”

“That country hen sniffing about society. What was her name—Dalia?”

“Ah, ha… you must mean Lady Luce?”

Lady Melville forced a smile. The sight reminded Alyona of a clumsy puppet show, which prompted a faint smile.

At the same time, she took satisfaction in their obvious deference.

She liked the power that the name Matwood carried and the charged atmosphere of tension that accompanied it.

“She is quite ambitious, it seems. To place her adopted daughter as his mistress.”

When the words “his mistress” left Alyona’s lips, the ladies’ eyes widened slightly.

“A fleeting indiscretion is something I can overlook.”

“My, I would never have imagined you held such a view, Lady Matwood.”

“It is better for me if he is more experienced.”

“Ex—experienced…?”

The women stared at Alyona, their eyes nearly the size of fists, unable to find the words. They watched her carefully, gauging her mood.

They were undoubtedly admiring her generosity.

‘A mistress is nothing.’

Alyona was determined to forgive the duke for his mistake.

Whenever she thought of him, her heart, which had once been as sharp as a winter mountain peak, melted completely.

Of course, she did not condone the fact that he had slept with another woman.

However, compared to men who kept multiple mistresses without restraint, this was not unforgivable.

‘Yes. Better experienced than inept.’

He would become a more perfect man—and come to her.

With that thought, she found she could endure a mistress for a while.

‘For a while…’

Gathering her thoughts, Alyona smiled like a queen who possessed the world.

***

Although spring had arrived, the wind was still cold.

It was too cold to take Sveta outside.

So, on days when he didn’t have urgent duties to attend to, Aiden would bring her to the glass conservatory.

His lover loved pink roses.

She cherished the brown mare.

She preferred bitter tea.

He enjoyed walking through the conservatory with them both.

“The wound on my face has healed.”

Tilting his head slightly, Aiden presented his now-smooth cheek to her.

“…Ah.”

Sveta let out a quiet, indifferent sound and pressed her lips together again.

She took the same path as always.

Although the conservatory was as vast as the outer garden and divided into many sections, Sveta always walked the same route.

This was one of the few ways in which her stubbornness was evident.

Pretending not to notice, Aiden followed at an unhurried pace.

As expected, she stopped where she always rested.

With one hand concealed behind his back, he approached the chair on which she was sitting.

Before he could speak, she did.

“Please stop picking flowers.”

“Have you grown tired of roses?”

“They’ll wither anyway.”

“So that’s why you throw away every flower I give you?”

“…Yes. Because they’re meaningless.”

Unbothered by her cool reply, he lifted her slender wrist.

“That works out well.”

“……”

Her large eyes narrowed, thin as crescent moons, as though trying to discern the meaning behind his words.

“If you dislike them for that reason…”

Aiden carefully fastened the bracelet he had prepared around her wrist.

Several strands of tiny pearls had been twisted together, and at their center lay a pink rose carved from coral.

“This flower will not wither.”

“……”

“I’d prefer it if you didn’t throw it away.”

Her lips parted in visible confusion. After a long moment, she finally spoke.

“…No. I don’t want it. Please take it off.”

“When we return to the bedchamber, ask the head maid to remove it.”

“Take it off now.”

The corner of Aiden’s mouth tilted faintly.

“I’m afraid that would be difficult.”