Chapter 6.2

The unease on Marianne’s face softened as she looked at Sylvester. She no longer noticed the stares from others. She didn’t want to care about anyone else but Sylvester.  

Marianne mirrored his smile and began explaining the theater etiquette she had learned from Anna. Her small but affectionate voice was meant for Sylvester alone.  

Just before they entered the seating area, Sylvester suggested that Marianne visit the restroom. Marianne nodded in agreement, and the two headed toward the restrooms located in a corner of the first-floor lobby.  

However, Sylvester, who had made the suggestion, turned back and walked toward their original spot. The further he moved away from Marianne, the more his smile faded. Those who had been discreetly watching him quickly averted their eyes.  

Sylvester stopped in front of a middle-aged man dressed impeccably and a beautiful young woman who didn’t quite match him.  

“How have you been, Duke?”  

Sylvester addressed the man.  

“Oh, uh… Marquis Velarc.”  

The man, who had been secretly watching Sylvester and Marianne, tried to hide his surprise as he responded.  

“It’s been a long time since we last met.”  

Sylvester spoke with a seemingly amiable tone, though there was an underlying menace. He continued,  

“I couldn’t help but notice your gaze following me. It felt as though you were reproaching me for not greeting you sooner, so I’ve come to pay my respects.”  

Despite the polite phrasing, Sylvester’s eyes were filled with arrogance.  

“A long time? Well, yes, I suppose so. Meeting you always feels like encountering someone superior, so I tend to avoid it. And now, why have you come to see me?”  

The Duke’s eyes seemed to say, “Why are you staring at me?”  

“What’s going on?”  

The woman, who was linked arm-in-arm with the Duke, whispered curiously, though she received no answer.  

“And who might this lady be?”  

Sylvester nodded politely toward the woman before addressing the Duke.  

“Oh, well…”  

The Duke shrugged awkwardly, clearly uncomfortable. The woman’s face twisted in displeasure at being reduced to an “Oh, well.”  

“I should ask you instead, Marquis. Who is the young lady by your side? You seemed to be getting along quite well… Could she be your lover?”  

The Duke redirected the conversation with a question, though he didn’t wait for Sylvester’s answer. He immediately continued speaking, aiming to provoke Sylvester before he could respond.  

“Hmm, no, that can’t be. Someone like you wouldn’t have such a woman as a lover. She must be a servant, right?”  

“…….”

“Unlike your father, it seems you don’t select servants based on their looks. That’s a good attitude.”

The man finished speaking and let out a hearty laugh. He was someone who had a connection with Sylvester’s father, Eirn. After all, Dukes who left the management of their prosperous territories to subordinates while enjoying a leisurely life in the capital often shared common interests.

The Duke occasionally heard stories about Sylvester from his friend, Eirn. These stories often revolved around the extraordinary son who had no interest in marriage or women.

However, here was Marquis Velarc, standing in the lobby of Verden Theater—a place frequented by lovers—with a scrawny, unimpressive woman. She exuded the scent of poverty. This left two possibilities: either Sylvester had developed a peculiar hobby or taste, or the woman was his maid.

But the Marquis, who didn’t trust people easily, only kept a single aide under him and was not the type to bring along such a woman as a mere errand maid. It was more likely that the woman was some sort of unique playmate for Sylvester. Thus, the Duke’s comment about her being a maid was his way of sarcastically saying, “What kind of woman are you walking around with? Your taste is… truly extraordinary.”

Sylvester said nothing. He merely smiled silently. The Duke, feeling an inexplicable chill, let out another laugh. This time, it sounded weaker, like a dying ember.

The woman standing beside the man stole glances at Sylvester’s face. Later, she openly stared at his beautiful and distinguished features, though there was something about his expression that made her feel uneasy.

“Ah, today is a truly delightful day. I’m having a very special time.”

Sylvester spoke slowly, his words drawn out.

“My lover is someone who worries and thinks a lot, so they wouldn’t want any commotion. Therefore… I’ll let this slide, just this once.”

“…What?”

“You should thank Marianne Lane.”

Sylvester smiled faintly. Unlike his earlier smile, this one carried a different vibe. It was… the infamous smile that nobles spoke of in hushed tones. Anyone who faced that particular expression of the Marquis was bound to encounter misfortune.

Could it be? Was that bespectacled woman truly the Marquis’s lover? 

Sweat began to bead on the Duke’s forehead.

“Yes, yes. Take care now. You should head inside.”

The Duke stammered, waving his hand. He felt an urgent need to end the conversation and leave.

“Your Grace.”

A biting sense of foreboding swept across the Duke’s back.

“There’s something on your hair.”

Sylvester pointed at the man’s head. Alarmed, the Marquis quickly patted his head. Few things made him more sensitive than his hair.

“No, not there….”

Sylvester trailed off, sounding almost regretful. Suddenly, a gust of wind—impossible to exist indoors—collided forcefully with the Duke. Like a skilled pickpocket, the wind deftly and precisely separated the man’s wig from his head. The beautiful golden wig was whisked away by the wind, disappearing into the distance. It almost seemed like a child’s laughter could be heard.

“My… my hair!”

The Duke, shocked, frantically patted his now-bare head and began chasing after the wig. The woman standing beside him watched the Duke with a look of disdain.

“Leaving without even saying goodbye….”

Sylvester lightly tilted his head as he watched the Duke leave without a farewell. His gaze then shifted to the people who had been watching the Duke and himself. Startled, they quickly averted their eyes. Some even covered their mouths. It seemed they felt guilty about gossiping earlier about Sylvester and Marianne.

Sylvester smiled at those still looking his way, silently hoping that no more whispers or rumors would follow them until he and Marianne left the theater. The lobby fell into complete silence.

“…Sylvester!”

A cheerful voice called out, making Sylvester turn around.

“Sorry I’m late. The line was so long.”

“No, I just arrived myself.”

“…Did something happen?”

Marianne lowered her voice, sensing the subdued atmosphere in the lobby.

Hearing her question, Sylvester thought to himself how kind and gentle her voice was.

“No, nothing happened.”

He replied to Marianne with a soft smile, one that was far from his usual sharp demeanor.

“Shall we go in now?”

Like a gentleman inviting a lady to dance, Sylvester extended his hand to Marianne.

“…Yes, I’d like that.”

Marianne placed her hand atop his, responding softly.

* * *

“That was truly, truly an incredible play.”

Marianne clasped her hands tightly as she spoke. The streetlights in Theater Park illuminated her face, resembling the spotlight on a stage.

After the play, the two strolled through the park, discussing the performance they had just watched. The play, <Dawn Sun, Dawn Moon>, had been running at Verden Theater for just a week. It was a tale about lovers defying their predetermined fates to find their own love. The direction, script, and acting were all outstanding, but what truly stood out were the magical effects scattered across the stage (retired mages sometimes worked for theater troupes).

Marianne couldn’t take her eyes off the magical effects adorning the stage—except for the two times she stole glances at Sylvester beside her.

“I was especially amazed during the flower field scene. The petals fluttering between the actors as they whispered their love… it was so beautiful.”

Marianne, unusually animated, paused as her eyes met Sylvester’s.

“The wind and flowers reminded me of your magic, Sylvester. That made it even more special.”

She whispered, lowering her voice so no one else would hear.

“I’m honored.”

Sylvester smiled, matching her tone. Though playful, his voice carried genuine warmth.

In the middle of the quiet park, Sylvester stopped walking. Marianne, following suit, halted as well. Sylvester extended his hand toward her. A soft white light began to gather in his palm. In an instant, a flower bloomed—a thornless white rose.

The rose, which had blossomed in Sylvester’s hand, soon found its way to Marianne’s ear, resting there like the female lead in the play. The elegant white rose adorned her hair perfectly.

“After hearing such touching words, how could I do nothing in return?”

Sylvester snapped his fingers. A warm breeze enveloped the two of them, carrying with it petals that seemed to materialize out of thin air and dance in the air.

“Wow… it’s so beautiful.”

Marianne marveled, feeling the fragrant breeze surround her. She felt a little embarrassed to admit it, but the moment made her feel like an actress on stage.