Year 7 of the Principality of Weibrick.

On the day of the Founding Festival, the royal palace was busier than ever. The principality had grown in strength to the point that people had begun calling it a “quasi-empire,” and for this year’s festival, envoys from several nations were expected to attend.

“Nif, don’t pout like that.”

The principality’s first heir, Yser Dale Weilbrick—soon to turn eight—spoke in a soothing tone to his younger sister, Yerenif.

“I don’t care! I don’t care why Mother and Father are against it!”

Even their father, who usually indulged her wishes—even if it meant going behind their mother’s back—had looked troubled this time. For Princess Yerenif, born and raised as the apple of everyone’s eye, it was no exaggeration to call this the greatest shock of her four-year life.

“I just wanted to escort Father! That’s all! Teacher said so too—that you escort the one you love most…”

Her clear gray eyes, so pale they gleamed like silver, brimmed instantly with tears. She had even turned down her uncle Sid’s offer, determined that she would be the one to escort her father. But she had seen it—her father’s eyes, which always looked at her so tenderly, pressing soft kisses to her cheeks, now wavering with troubled refusal.

“…Then Father doesn’t love Nif anymore.”

“Nif, that’s not true.”

Yser wiped the tears from his little sister’s eyes. His white gloves quickly grew damp, but he only looked at her.

Seeing him there—his face the mirror of her most beloved father, his eyes the same gentle color as her weakest, most precious mother—Yerenif finally parted her tightly closed lips.

“But still…”

Hadn’t Father let her be his partner at the last Founding Festival?

She had only been three at the time, yet Yerenif remembered it clearly—how she had attended the ceremony nestled in her father’s arms.

Of course, the truth was that her mother, Ophelia, had been Father’s official partner, and Yerenif’s own first public appearance had only come at last year’s Founding Festival. But such details were far too complicated for a four-year-old princess to recall.

“Nif, would you refuse your brother’s escort, then?”

At the gentle, sweet voice, Yerenif turned her head.

Yser, with his dark hair brushed halfway back just like their father, was kneeling on one knee and holding out his hand to her.

“You said it yourself—an escort is for the one you love most. And the one I love most is you, Nif. Won’t you accept your brother’s escort?”

His violet eyes softened, his lips curving into a pleasant arc. But soon, Yerenif sank into heavy thought.

“Uung…”

Yser had said he would escort her. That meant he loved her most in the world. If she refused, then she would be making him feel the same pain she herself had suffered when Father had refused her.

She could not let Yser—her second most beloved in all the world—bear such sorrow.

At last, standing firm in the trial of being turned down by her father, Yerenif clasped Yser’s hand with a solemn face.

“Fine, I’ll let you. But only this once.”

“Mm. It’s an honor, Nif.”

Taking her tiny hand, Yser answered softly.

Then, behind her back, he gave a discreet nod toward the doorway.

“Heavens, what a relief.”

Only then did the servants gathered outside exhale in unison.

This mishap on the very day of the Founding Festival had left even Chadwick at a loss.

Yerenif Eve Weibrick.

Born with Queen Ophelia’s silver hair and King Chadwick’s gray eyes, the second in line to the principality’s succession was dearly beloved—but every bit as stubborn. Once Yerenif set her heart on something, she would not yield unless given a reason that satisfied her, and she spoke her mind without hesitation.

Some of it was her nature, but many believed the greater cause lay with Chadwick himself. Because Yerenif so closely resembled Ophelia, even in coloring, he had treated her as though she were made of glass, ready to shatter at the slightest touch.

Even so, the attendants who thought this could not help but nod helplessly whenever they looked upon her pure, luminous face.

Ophelia was the only person able to bend Yerenif’s will. However, as she was busy preparing for today’s festival, Chadwick entrusted her to Yser. Yser carried out that duty flawlessly.

As the servants recalled his graceful beauty as he inclined his head, they sighed deeply and murmured amongst themselves.

“Our young lord…won’t he break quite a few hearts when he’s grown?”

“I thought the same. Truly—where did he learn to win hearts with such gentle words?”

“I can already picture the foreign envoys eyeing our young lord and lady.”

“It’s hard enough to guard them within the principality itself, let alone from outsiders.”

Already radiant in beauty, once dressed in ceremonial robes and stepping into the hall, those siblings would draw every gaze.

The attendants shivered, torn between pride and unease. Then, scattering to their stations, they began earnest preparations for receiving envoys to this beautiful, unshakable land for the first time.

⚫ ⚫ ⚫

The gates of Weibrick’s castle, expanded again and again over the past years, stood wide open in rare welcome.

Along Winthea’s grandest road, delegations from every nation poured ceaselessly into the city.

And among them, riding a white horse toward the castle, was a man with silver hair, strikingly familiar in appearance.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve come here.”

“Ah—come to think of it, you said you visited a few times back when it was still part of the Trenthian Empire, didn’t you?”

“Yes. A few times.”

“Was it always this enormous?”

The man beside him, awed by the towering sight, asked the question. The silver-haired rider answered softly.

“It was beautiful.”

“…What?”

At the unexpected reply, the other man furrowed his brow. But the silver-haired rider—Helix—kept his gaze fixed on the fortress rising ahead, his eyes glinting as a smile touched his lips.

Not long ago, during his absence, he had heard the news: Ophelia had given birth in Leta, only to be abducted later by Silveron.

Since then, he had helped Chadwick in dismantling the temple’s power and had even taken part in several charitable works. Yet in all that time, Helix had never once gone to see Ophelia. At most, their contact had been limited to the occasional exchange of letters.

And so, this would be their first meeting in seven long years.

Unusually, he felt a flicker of anticipation. The sharp ache that had once accompanied such thoughts was gone—proof, perhaps, that he had at last shaken free of every lingering regret. Or so Helix told himself.

“Come to think of it, I heard even the princess of the quasi-empire will attend this year’s festival,” murmured the man riding beside him.

“They say her beauty is so great that news of it spreads faster than news of her country’s advanced culture or growing power. I suppose today we’ll see the truth of it.”

He added that it was probably just idle rumor. Helix listened quietly.

“It would be wise to imagine the rumors twice as exaggerated. It’s better for the heart that way.”

At that, the man laughed, insisting no such beauty could exist in this world.

With that voice fading into the background, Helix passed through the castle gates, his thoughts drifting briefly to the little princess said to resemble Ophelia so closely. He turned his head, watching the carriages rattling behind them, heavy with rare treasures brought by the envoys. At his own saddle hung a separate gift, prepared with care.

Which of these would suit the little princess’s tastes? The question took quiet root in Helix’s mind.

Soon, the marching song of the orchestra rose above them. The Founding Festival was about to begin.
Helix lifted his gaze to the clear winter sky—rarely so bright in Winthea—before dismounting at the castle gates, the small gift tucked safely in his arms.

At that moment, he had no idea.

While Yser was finishing the final preparations, Helix would come upon Yerenif, who had slipped for a moment into the rear garden. He would offer his gift to the little princess—whose very appearance left no doubt she was Ophelia’s daughter—and ask to escort her. And that innocent gesture would return to him as no small trouble.

“The weather is fine today.”

Unaware of what awaited him, Helix murmured the words as he admired the rare, sunlit winter sky above Winthea. He then followed the attendants guiding the foreign delegation towards the secondary palace in the rear garden, where they would rest before the banquet began.

From the opposite path came a girl with silver hair like his own, yet subtly different. Her small steps pattered swiftly towards him. Helix had just stepped inside, eager to see how the rear garden had changed. The next instant, Yerenif’s small body collided squarely with his leg.