Leda sat in the restaurant. The man still had not returned her handbag.

Then, as he lounged at an angle, he lifted his glass, breaking the long silence.

“What’s your name?”

“…”

“Are you of such lofty birth that you cannot even tell your name to your benefactor?”

At the blatant mockery, Leda’s voice turned sharp.

“I was taught that a gentleman should give his own name before asking a lady’s. That is courtesy.”

“Ha.”

Jupiter’s eyes narrowed. In all his life, had he ever spoken his name first? Not once, as far as he could recall.

“Then let us not exchange names at all. Are you from Mainz?”

“No.”

“Then?”

“I came from Edelin.”

At those words, a flicker of interest crossed Jupiter’s eyes before vanishing.

“So, from that little seaside backwater.”

The hand Leda had been fidgeting with froze against her water glass.

“Is that how Greitz teaches courtesy—speaking of another’s homeland like that?”

“Greitz?”

This time Jupiter’s expression hardened.

“And on what grounds do you call me Greitzian?”

“…That button.”

“Button?”

“On your shirt. It’s made of musk ox horn, isn’t it?”

Jupiter raised his chin, his narrowed eyes glinting.

“Go on.”

“Musk oxen live only in the northern reaches of the Greitz Empire.”

“And where did you hear that?”

“Just… from a book.”

But it wasn’t true.

Edelin’s castle contained many spoils of war, passed down through generations. Among them were the uniforms of Greitzian nobles, their buttons marked with tiny, irregular waves—said by her father to be made of musk ox horn, so costly that only high nobles could afford them.

Yet she could hardly tell such a thing to a stranger. Especially not if that stranger truly was from Greitz.

“I see.”

The man spoke little, and their conversation broke off abruptly. Leda could not begin to guess why he had brought her to a restaurant at all. And yet, strangely, she did not dislike the time they shared.

He drank a few shots of strong liquor as she ate, smoking between them. Lounging against the chair back, he would occasionally glance at her while she ate, and each time his expression was unreadable. It left her oddly parched.

Trying to hide her unease, she lowered her head again and again until finally she spoke. Beneath the table, her fingers twisted restlessly.

“Um… now that we’ve finished eating, shall we go?”

“As you wish.”

At her words, the man summoned the attendant, paid without hesitation, and rose. While Leda adjusted her clothes with a trace of regret, he waited a moment and then returned her handbag.

“…”

Leda fiddled with it for a while before stepping directly in front of him. She hesitated no longer.

“You said you wanted to negotiate.”

“And?”

“You protected my bag. Naturally, I should repay you. That would be fair.”

“No need. Sharing lunch with me is payment enough.”

Jupiter replied lightly. He was about to bid farewell and leave. He already knew there were people watching him from afar, waiting. A brief indulgence was more than enough. It had been unlike him—interfering, involving himself without reason. He hardly understood it himself.

“Then let me make a proposal.”

“And what is that?”

At his question, she leaned closer, as if confiding a great secret.

“Today, in this square, there’s a choral performance. The Liberen Choir came from Lien. I heard it’s a rare event, something one might see only once in a lifetime. I think you’d be deeply moved if you saw it.”

Then, with boldness, she added, her face bright with a radiant, sunny smile.

“Won’t you watch it with me?”

Jupiter was struck speechless. He had been the one to suggest negotiation, and yet she was the one leading it now. And her proposal was dangerously tempting.

***

The performance of the Liberen Choir was about to begin. The square was already packed shoulder to shoulder with people.

As Leda craned her neck this way and that to glimpse the stage, her body was suddenly shoved hard. She staggered, flailing for balance—only for a strong hand to seize hers. The same hand held her firmly upright, keeping her from falling.

She had braced herself to hit the ground, eyes tightly shut. Now, cautiously, she lifted her lids.

It was him again.

Those familiar golden eyes fixed sharply upon her.

“Are you all right?”

“Strange, coming from someone who refused me so coldly.”

At her prim retort, the man let out a brief laugh. For the first time, a smile touched his lips.

Leda gazed at it, dazed. His mouth, curved with a smile that seemed almost sincere, was vivid and beautiful. She forgot to breathe. Her face grew hot, and she quickly turned her eyes away.

Jupiter steadied her with one hand. Slowly, a flush spread over her pale cheeks.

He watched silently as her gentle eyes quivered, blinking innocently. Her pale lashes lifted and fell, fluttering like the wings of a swan.

Her gaze brushed his, then widened fully. Her blue eyes bloomed open like a flower, and within the layered petals of azure, golden sunlight rippled. Reflected in her watery gaze were his own eyes.

In that instant, the Liberen Choir’s song began onstage.

A bird takes flight, brushing through the thickets. 

My soul trembles and quivers like that bird, meeting you…

The song, said to have been composed by a musician who had loved one woman to the end of his days, joined tender waltz melodies with lyrics of aching devotion.

Drawn by the music, Leda’s head turned toward the stage. Yet Jupiter’s gaze never left her.

The boys’ pure voices rose like birds in flight, rippling softly around their ears. Warm summer breezes stirred, and long rays of sunlight draped them languidly, then slipped away.

Until the performance ended, Leda did not pull back her hand. Neither did Jupiter.

***

From afar, Leda waved eagerly as she approached with light steps.

“Sinclair, did you finish your errands well?”

Her voice was slightly raised, her long white neck still flushed with color she could not hide.

“You must have enjoyed the choir’s performance, my lady.” 

Sinclair said with a small smile as he set the cart in motion.

“Yes. Even if Mother makes me write a hundred pages of reflection tonight, I’ll still be happy.”

Leda kept her hand tightly clenched. She stared at it, sometimes hiding it in her skirts, unable to stay still.

“Sinclair, do you remember what we spoke about this morning? About the Greitz Empire?”

“Of course.”

“I’ve found myself wanting to go there.”

“Why?”

“No reason… just…”

Her words trailed off. Sinclair glanced back. Leda, who usually chattered without end, now pressed her lips together. She seemed almost exhilarated.

“Aren’t you tired?”

“No, not tired… more like…”

Again she broke off, her gaze wandering.

With a soft thump, Leda let herself sink into the straw. The sky was slowly darkening. Behind the dusky mountains, the sun lingered at the ridge, outlining the slopes with a dim, glowing rim.

She placed her hand cautiously over her chest, recalling the man with midnight hair and eyes as brilliant as the midday sun. Her heart beat faster than usual.

For a long while she lay silent, staring at the sky. Then she called softly.

“Sinclair.”

“Yes, my lady.”

“The song the Liberen Choir sang today—it was called the Waltz of Love.”

“Composed by Lord Johannes, was it not?”

“Yes, that’s right. You know of it too.”

“He’s a man I greatly respect.”

“Do you also know he loved one woman his entire life?”

“Yes.”

“But she loved another, and married him.”

Sinclair gave no reply. Leda continued.

“Loving another man’s wife is wrong, isn’t it? Can you understand it, Sinclair?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Still… to love someone who never looks back must be such a sad thing.”

Instead of answering, Sinclair gave a bitter smile. It felt too much like his own story. Fortunately, the deepening night veiled his expression.

In the distance, Edelin Castle came into view. Upon its banners shone the swan crest of House Weiss, glowing pale beneath the moonlight.

Sinclair urged the cart onward, a little faster.