Henrik made his way toward the most secluded balcony. It was, after all, the most fitting place for a woman left out of the banquet.

A warm summer breeze stirred the curtain that led outside, setting it swaying softly. Bathed in the light spilling from within, her ebony hair gleamed with quiet elegance.

“What a coincidence. We meet again.”

Henrik smiled as he greeted her. Sveta Luce turned around slowly.

She offered an awkward smile.

“Good evening, Viscount Meriner.”

“You’re alone again today.”

“Yes.”

“May I keep you company for a moment?”

“…”

Her hesitation suggested she was searching for a polite refusal. Henrik quickly added.

“The other balconies are quite crowded. Just a few minutes will do. It’s been a long time since I attended such a grand banquet—I can hardly breathe.”

“…Very well, then.”

“Thank you.”

Henrik seated himself on the couch placed to one side and loosened his cravat. He even fanned himself lightly with his hand.

Sveta moved slowly, placing distance between them by standing at the opposite end.

“Oh my, you’re treating me as though I’m dangerous.”

When their eyes met, she gave him a faint, embarrassed smile.

“Does it look that way?”

“Yes. Very much so.”

“I simply wish to avoid unnecessary misunderstandings. It’s for your sake, Viscount.”

“I say this for the same reason—to avoid misunderstandings.”

Henrik smiled brightly and leaned slightly toward her, resting his elbows on his knees as he spoke in an easy tone.

“I’m not making advances. I have a wife, and only a wife. If I so much as entertained improper thoughts, my terrifying father-in-law would not let me live.”

“…I see.”

She looked down at him with clear skepticism. Sensing her doubt, Henrik hurried to elaborate.

“As for my father-in-law… he is the uncle of the Queen of Prisada. Which also makes him the uncle of my liege, the Duke of Baiton.”

“…I see.”

“In short, he possesses every form of power one could imagine to bury a man alive.”

“Ah, is that so.”

“…And my wife is equally frightening.”

“…”

“…Truly.”

When he fell silent, a calm stillness settled between them. She was as quiet as water.

Henrik decided it was better to speak plainly.

“Do you truly not remember me?”

“I’m sorry, Viscount Meriner. I simply cannot recall.”

He sighed in visible disappointment, and Sveta asked gently.

“Is it important that I remember you?”

“Perhaps it is.”

“…”

“Because then we could speak more openly.”

As Sveta turned his cryptic words over in her mind, his thick brown brows curved softly.

Henrik rose with a courteous smile.

“Shall we return inside?”

“Yes. In truth, I came to ask whether you remembered me.”

She searched her memory once more, but not even the smallest fragment surfaced.

“I truly can’t recall. I’m sorry, Viscount.”

“No matter. It can’t be helped. It was a pleasure seeing you.”

“The pleasure was mine.”

He bowed politely and soon left the balcony.

“He approached you with a purpose. It would be wise to keep your distance.”

Aiden’s warning about Viscount Meriner resurfaced in her thoughts.

“He doesn’t seem like a bad person.”

Murmuring to herself, Sveta moved to the center of the balcony and leaned back against the railing.

Behind her lay the stillness of the night; before her, the golden banquet hall glittered with opulence.

Breathing in the heavy scent of roses drifting from the garden, she slowly closed her eyes and opened them again.

Then she saw a familiar head of red hair. Her stepmother was approaching, shoulders trembling.

‘Is she angry?’

Tension tightened Sveta’s fists.

But just then, a middle-aged man brushed past her stepmother and rushed onto the balcony.

“…Who are you?”

The knight who followed him swiftly pulled the curtain closed.

The middle-aged man glanced back briefly—then, without hesitation, swung his sword toward her.

Instinctively stepping backward, Sveta’s heel caught on the railing, and her body tipped backward.

***

Dalia’s jaw slackened, words failing her.

“No—no. This isn’t the time… this isn’t the time for this.”

Her breath came in choking gasps. A suffocating dread engulfed her. It seemed the neurosis she had long suppressed had returned.

As if she were once again facing the intruder who had broken into the baron’s estate years ago, her heart pounded violently against her ribs.

Dalia shook her head violently.

“The duke—yes… I have to tell him. Quickly.”

Muttering like a madwoman, she scanned the hall in search of him.

Finding him was not difficult. He stood a head taller than most men, impossible to miss even from afar.

Gripping her skirt tightly, Dalia forgot all decorum and ran toward him.

But when she faced the duke’s broad back, the sheer force of his presence stole her voice.

It felt as though the blood drained from her body in an instant. She spoke in a thin, trembling whisper.

“Your—Your Grace…!”

It was barely louder than a breath, but he must have heard. He turned.

At once, horrified stares from those nearby fell upon her. Shame burned her cheeks, yet this was no time to worry about appearances.

“It’s Sveta. My daughter—”

Her words tumbled out incoherently. Half out of her senses, Dalia stammered.

“My daughter… on the balcony… someone with a sword—”

Her breathing grew more labored by the second. She collapsed heavily onto the floor.

Her heart pounded so violently it seemed to strike against her eardrums, the sound deafening her.

Just before losing consciousness, Dalia lifted her head with effort.

The duke was already gone.

***

The moment her back struck the railing, the world tilted.

The black night sky, studded with countless stars, filled her vision.

Sveta shut her eyes instinctively.

A sharp slicing sound tore through the air—steel cutting into flesh—followed by a low groan from a man. A voice she knew.

“Kh—!”

A solid shoulder pressed firmly against her. One large hand supported her back, the other gripped the railing.

When she came to her senses, Pailin was shielding her with his body.

“Sir Pailin?”

“You nearly fell… my lady…”

Carefully setting her upright, he slowly turned.

“How dare you!”

The middle-aged man who had attacked him roared. Pailin’s body blocked her view of their assailant.

Unlike usual, Pailin wore only his formal banquet attire.

Through the torn fabric, his skin was crimson. Blood streamed from a deep wound slashed across his back.

His body swayed to one side.

“Sir—!”

Horrified, Sveta seized his arm.

“Stand aside, Pailin.”

“…I cannot.”

“Do you wish to die?”

“If you intend to harm my lady, you must kill me first.”

Even staggering, Pailin spread his arms wide to block the way.

A merciless kick struck him. Unable to withstand it, he crumpled to the floor.

The man who had drawn the curtain stepped forward and pressed a sword to Pailin’s throat, preventing him from rising.

Sveta looked up at the middle-aged man before her.

At a glance, she knew who he was without being told.

Tall, impeccably upright in posture. Hair that had once been brilliant gold, now half gone to silver. Features as cold as a winter crypt.

An overwhelming aura of nobility—the very presence of Strilland itself.

“…Are you the former duke?”

Instead of answering, he raised his sword.

“Are you going to kill me?”

He spoke to her with disgust in his eyes, as though it were beneath him.

There was no escape.

If she screamed, she would be dead before anyone could get to her. Who would dare stand in the way of the duke’s father?

Not even Sir Pailin had dared to fight back.

Now, as he lay fallen, Sveta knew she could not evade the former duke’s blade.

She had never imagined such a fate for herself, but she refused to meet it in disgrace.

Though her body trembled, Sveta clenched the hem of her skirt tightly. She forced her quivering eyelids open and kept them wide.

“If you mean to kill me… please do it in a single stroke.”

“Filthy creature. You speak too much.”

“I beg you, Former Duke. So that those who know me will not be shocked… please make it swift. I beg you.”

She did not want to close her eyes, yet they shut on their own.

She did not want to cry, yet something hot slid down her cheek and gathered at her chin.

The blade cut through the air with a deadly whistle. Sveta shrank into herself.

Clang!

A sharp clash of steel split the night.

This time, someone else stood before her.

Her legs gave way. Sveta collapsed to the ground.

***

Aiden had noticed Sveta gradually withdrawing while he conversed with the nobles. He had even seen where she was going.

‘She likely wants to be alone.’

He had thought it harmless to give her a moment’s space.

Then her stepmother came running toward him, pale as death.

“My daughter… on the balcony… someone with a sword—”

Before she had finished speaking, Aiden turned and walked smoothly towards the balcony.

His movements were calm and controlled. None of the guests seemed to notice.

Fortunately, Dalia fainted the moment he turned away, drawing everyone’s attention towards her.

At the duke’s subtle signal, the orchestra shifted from a soft melody to a lively dance tune. At the same time, knights in formal attire, positioned discreetly throughout the hall, began moving slowly towards the balcony.

Just before the curtain was swept aside, Aiden pulled a dagger from a nearby knight’s belt.

In a single glance, he grasped the situation.

Then he surged forward.

The former duke’s cold blade cut through the air, but Aiden’s dagger met it, blocking the strike with a sharp clash of steel.

“Put that sword away, Aiden.”

“If you’ve come to your son’s home would it not have been more fitting to greet your son first?”

The short blade scraped sharply along the length of the longer sword. With effortless strength, Aiden knocked his father’s weapon aside.

Overpowered for a moment, the former duke staggered before raising his sword again in warning.

“…I said, put it away.”

“If that is your wish.”

With a faint, crooked smile, Aiden let the dagger fall at his father’s feet.