Damien dropped onto the sofa and crossed his legs, gesturing to the maid standing behind him to pour tea into the cup in front of him.

“Well, well. The Duke of Granville finally has a fiancée.”

“They say the water level of the Rowen River has risen from all the tears the noble ladies have shed since the news broke last week.”

Damien snickered at Cedric’s exaggerated joke.

Tristan was gazing at the broken shafts of sunlight spilling through the window and onto the table, tapping the armrest with his fingers, lost in thought.

“How is Adel Bartori doing, now that she’s become the object of envy and jealousy from every noble lady out there?”

It was Cedric, not Tristan, who answered Damien’s question.

“Adel has been attending even more social gatherings, it seems. She must have wanted to show off her fiancé. Remarkable woman. She’s perfectly suited to be the Duchess of Granville.”

“Ah, I feel terrible that my fiancée won’t be able to go around boasting about me anywhere.”

Damien leaned back against the cushion with a pained frown, and Cedric snickered.

“The heir to a thriving marquis family, and you’re complaining. Besides, shouldn’t someone who’s about to become a groom be focused on someone else’s engagement? Worry about your own wedding.”

Tristan left the two of them to their cheerful conversation and rose from his seat, walking over to stand by the window.

The rounded green roof of the pergola in the middle of the garden came into view.

At the sight of it, the image of Liane standing in the shade of the pergola on the night of the banquet not long ago drifted into his mind.

He had thought she looked like a peach even the first time he saw her. The feeling of that flushed cheek seemed to linger at his fingertips, and Tristan flexed his fingers for a moment.

In his other hand, still tucked inside his pocket, he held the flower-shaped hair ornament.

That morning, the old gardener had found it among the flower beds and brought it to Tristan. It was the hair ornament Liane had said she lost on the night of the banquet.

It was the same flower-shaped ornament she had leaned in close to show him that night, bowing her head before him.

Tristan drew his hand from his pocket and looked at the ornament again.

‘What possessed me to go crawling around the garden floor alone in the dark of night over something like this…’

A small, unbidden smile crossed his face, but he quickly erased it and slipped the ornament back into his pocket.

‘Adel Bartori. The best-matched fiancée I could choose right now.’

If the Bartori marquis family’s port business were to combine with the Granville family’s arms industry, the synergy would be considerable.

It was the best possible arrangement, and the right decision.

Noble marriages were like this in the end. Business calculations for the sake of the family’s continued prosperity were never absent from the equation.

Just as it had been with his mother and father…

When thoughts of marriage led to memories of his parents, Tristan deliberately shifted his gaze to Cedric and Damien, who were still deep in conversation, trying to push aside the images rising in his mind.

“Tristan, how long did you decide to keep the engagement?”

“Six months.”

“Six months go by fast. You’ll be busy with wedding preparations before you know it.”

Tristan settled back into his chair and reached for his teacup, letting the idle jokes Cedric and Damien were trading about marriage wash over him.

***

Arman knocked on the door again, harder this time, after staring it down for a long while.

“Liane Aspel! Come out so we can talk!”

Liane’s voice reached him faintly from inside, as though she was standing some distance from the door.

“I told you I’m not feeling well.”

“Everyone knows that’s a lie!”

“I really am unwell.”

“If you don’t open this door right now, I’ll break it down!”

Arman balled his fist and struck Liane’s door again, hard. He hit it so forcefully that the hinges rattled.

“What on earth is wrong with you!”

Liane’s door opened a crack, barely a hand’s width, and her voice came through, tinged with a sigh.

She wasn’t visible behind the door, but her voice was close enough that he could tell she was nearby.

Arman shoved the door open with the same rough force he had been carrying all along, throwing it wide.

“…!”

Liane, who had been standing behind the door, startled and took a step back.

Just as he had expected, there was nothing particularly wrong with her complexion.

Dressed in a thin gown with her hair braided over one shoulder, Liane backed away another two steps, putting more distance between herself and Arman. It had been nearly a week since Arman had seen her face to face, and he kept his eyes fixed on her as he raised the envelope in his hand.

“Why did the Duke of Granville send you a letter?”

Liane, who had been frowning faintly, widened her eyes at his words.

“That… please give it to me. I need to see what’s inside.”

“Answer my question first.”

“It’s my mail. Give it to me.”

Arman snatched Liane’s wrist as she reached out to take the letter.

“Liane, nothing happened between you and the Duke of Granville, did it?”

He leaned his face close to hers and asked in a low, ominous voice. Liane felt her cheeks flush before she could stop herself, and she tugged at the wrist he held.

“That’s none of your concern. Let go of me!”

“Then just say nothing happened and be done with it.”

Arman swung the wrist he was gripping and shoved her backward. Liane’s back slammed hard into the bookcase behind her. A book that had been loosely propped on the shelf fell to the floor from the impact.

“Ugh…”

“Nothing happened with Emilio either, right? The way that man was looking at you was downright sinister.”

“Don’t insult Lord Emilio.”

“Don’t defend another man in front of me, Liane. Don’t push me further.”

Arman tightened his grip on the wrist he held, and Liane began to cry from the pain.

“It hurts…! It hurts. Hic…”

“Liane, you should have shown me your face sooner. I waited for you to come out on your own and apologize for attending the banquet without permission, and instead you’ve been hiding in your room, avoiding me.”

“Stop… it really hurts. Hic…”

Arman pressed a light kiss to Liane’s fingers, which had gone white from the lack of blood flow, then released her wrist.

Liane clutched the wrist he had been holding and sank to the floor.

“If you have nothing going on with the Duke of Granville, then I suppose I’m free to tear this open.”

“That’s…!”

Liane snapped her head up and looked at him through her tear-streaked face. While she watched, Arman tore a thin strip along the side of the envelope with a ripping sound.

He pulled out the paper inside, unfolded it, and began reading.

As Arman read what was written on the paper, the corners of his mouth curved up noticeably.

“Ah, you’ve been invited to the Duke of Granville’s engagement celebration banquet?”

“……”

Liane dropped her head and hunched forward, cradling her injured wrist.

“But I don’t like it. The thought of you going to another banquet and bewitching more men makes me want to lose my mind.”

“……”

The madness in Arman’s voice was unmistakable. Liane pressed her lips together and stared down at the floor in silence.

“Liane, come with me this time. I’ll stay by your side.”

“Lord Emilio has already agreed to escort me…”

“Don’t ever say that name in front of me again!”

Arman slammed his fist against the bookcase with a shout. Another book tumbled from the shelf and landed with a dull thud right beside Liane’s shoulder. The sound made her flinch so hard her shoulders jumped.

Arman crouched down in front of Liane where she sat on the floor and grabbed her chin, forcing her head up.

“Liane. You seem to know very well how to make me angry. If you just watch out for that, couldn’t things between us be a little more peaceful than this?”

Arman’s fingers traced over Liane’s tear-wet cheek, and she could hear his breathing grow ragged. She pushed his hand away with her uninjured arm and turned her head.

“I need to tend to my wrist… Please let me call for Lucille.”

Arman licked the moisture from his finger, gave a small smile, and stood up.

“Liane, think carefully about what I’ve said. Let’s live in peace. Peacefully. Understood?”

Arman waved the Duke of Granville’s invitation with a light hum and strolled out into the hallway.

Once the sound of his footsteps had faded far enough that she could no longer hear them, Liane let out the tears she had been holding back, sniffling as she rose to her feet with her injured wrist still cradled in her hand.

***

The days passed without Liane ever getting to read the invitation the Duke of Granville had sent, and before she knew it, the day of the banquet was tomorrow.

Arman had gone out and bought a dress and accessories for Liane to wear himself, making no effort to hide how pleased he was.

“Look at this, Liane. They said it just came in from abroad. I had it specially purchased for you.”

“Yes… thank you…”

Liane looked as though she had lost all will. She stroked the bandaged wrist with a hollow gaze and stared out the window.

Lucille, standing behind Arman, glared at the back of his head with open contempt.

Liane’s eyes, fixed on the window, wavered for a moment.

A carriage had pulled through the front gate of the Aspel estate and come to a stop.

‘Hm…? That family crest…’