Giselle cast a sidelong glance at Shed, who stood beside her.

“Come to think of it, Your Eminence—didn’t you say at the last banquet that you had something to announce?”

One of the priests who had been conversing nearby raised the topic. Giselle smiled brightly and nodded.

“That’s right. I meant to use this occasion to make my announcement.”

“An announcement?”

At her words, all eyes in the hall turned towards her. Her eyes, too, drifted back to rest on her.

“I intend to marry Duke Shed Lester.”

Her clear, ringing voice fell upon his ears.

His stern violet eyes snapped toward her, but Giselle only answered with a sweet, familiar smile.

“Once the heretic hunt is over, I’d like to proceed with the marriage at once.”

“It would be best to speak of this more precisely after the hunt, Your Eminence.”

The words they had exchanged when she summoned him to the temple echoed in Shed’s mind. At that time, he had postponed any discussion of marriage. Nothing had been decided. Nothing had been promised.

And yet Giselle had moved unilaterally, choosing this moment—before all these witnesses—to make it public.

The nobles, unaware of the true circumstances, laughed heartily and broke into applause.

“We always expected this!”

“At last, the two of you will be wed.”

“Of course—you’ve kept us waiting long enough!”

They congratulated the pair, one after another.

Indeed, the marriage between Shed and Giselle was a long-cherished hope among the retainers gathered here. A union between House Lester and House Marlhein would form a powerful check against House Chepbolden, which had monopolized the throne for generations.

That was likely the reason Giselle had chosen him as her betrothed—to secure a political alliance as much as anything else. The retainers, impatient with the delay since the engagement, welcomed this apparent completion of the bargain with unrestrained joy.

“So then, when exactly will the vows be exchanged?”

“Surely not here in Faradel—you’ll go to Muenher or Laitia, won’t you?”

“Since it’s Your Eminence’s wedding, won’t His Holiness the Pope himself preside over the vows?”

Questions tumbled forth from the eager nobles. Giselle began calming them, ready to answer one by one—

But a cold voice cut through the excitement like ice water poured over flames.

“Regrettably, nothing has yet been decided.”

Shed’s words silenced the hall. His gaze was so chilling that every smiling mouth closed at once.

It was Giselle who broke the silence.

“We’ll work out the details from here on. After the heretic matter is settled.”

“Y-yes, that’s true. With the heretic problem still unresolved, it is difficult to speak of a joyous occasion such as marriage.”

A priest nodded quickly, stealing a glance at Shed. His eyes had narrowed with irritation. But Giselle, unfazed, pulled the crowd’s attention back toward herself.

“At any rate, today, on this Holy Festival, you have all worked hard. The people of Faradel…”

Her voice flowed smoothly, easing the strained air and guiding the conversation elsewhere as if nothing had happened.

Just as Shed was about to call his wayward betrothed to account—

“Y-your Grace!”

Dietrich’s voice rang out.

Until now, he had stood on the outskirts of the crowd, feeling awkward and out of place, even in his role as a priest. This was the first time he had spoken up of his own accord.

Shed turned to look at him. Dietrich fidgeted with his hands and his lips trembled before he forced the words out.

“M-may I ask… do you know where Lady Liana might be…?”

That name—Liana. The very name Shed had wished to cast off—struck his ears with sharp clarity.

“And why do you ask that?”

“I-I… I have something I wish to tell her.”

Was he really that blind, or was he doing this on purpose?

He had made his displeasure clear on more than one occasion, and yet here was Dietrich, standing before him and asking about Liana. Had he overheard the talk about Giselle’s marriage to him just moments ago and now thought it was safe to approach?

Shed lips twisted.

“Your Eminence, I am not so idle as to keep track of the whereabouts of a mere maid.”

The venom in his voice made Dietrich flinch, swallowing hard as he adjusted his glasses.

“R-right, of course…”

“And besides, for Your Eminence to concern yourself over the whereabouts of a mere—”

He broke off mid-sentence.

Once again, that heavy, intoxicating fragrance teased the edge of his senses.

His chest clenched as though a cord binding his heart had suddenly snapped. He felt heat surge through him, his vision reeling as veins stood out along his forearm.

‘This… this is unmistakable.’

He was experiencing symptoms of heat exhaustion.

Had the effect of the medicine worn off?

His hand fumbled inside his coat where he kept the sedative that was his lifeline. His heart thundered wildly and uncontrollably, and he could feel his breath coming short and fast.

The hall was too crowded and full of people.

Dietrich took advantage of his silence, slipping away like a frightened mouse.

But Shed had already forgotten him, forgotten that they had even been speaking.

All around him, traces of that scent tugged mercilessly at his senses.

His breathing quickened. His pulse pounded, no longer subject to his will.

“Your Grace?”

“Are you unwell, Duke Lester?”

Shed’s change did not go unnoticed; the nobles nearby also asked after his condition.

“…It’s nothing.”

He steadied his breathing with effort, feigning composure. Yet no matter how hard he tried, he could not focus on the conversation.

“But what is this sudden fragrance?”

“Yes, I thought I smelled it before, but now it’s only growing stronger…”

The nobles glanced around, inhaling curiously.

In that instant, Shed realized that the scent was coming from him.

He drew back from them at once.

“…Excuse me for a moment.”

He left the hall like a man being pursued.

🌺⟡───⟡🌺 🌺⟡───⟡🌺

“So it’s true, then—the master and the High Priestess are to marry.”

“Since she announced it so openly in a gathering like this, it must be settled for certain.”

Servants, huddled in a corner polishing dishes, stole glances at Liana, crouched apart with her own stack of plates.

“The wager’s over. In the end, a maid is just a maid.”

“As if there was ever a chance. When has the master ever treated a woman so cheaply as to toss her into his bed?”

They whispered behind lowered voices, but Liana heard every word. She ignored them, drying the plates with a clean white cloth.

Each servant returning from the banquet brought back the same story—Shed and Giselle’s impending marriage.

“We’ll have to talk about our marriage as well, won’t we?”

Shed was drifting steadily, inevitably, farther from her. It was as if he were helping her let go, making her departure easier.

Barren thoughts weighed on her when, suddenly, there was a splash.

Water poured down over her head as she crouched there.

The cold liquid soaked her instantly. Liana froze, holding her plate, and took a sharp breath.

“Oh my! An accident!”

Looking up, Liana saw Janet standing above her, holding a water jug.

Liana wiped the wet streaks from her face with her sleeve, then rose to her feet. Drops fell from her soaking wet hair.

“Janet…”

“My hand slipped—I was so flustered with all the work!”

Those around them snickered at the sight of Liana, dripping like a drowned rat.

Glancing down, she saw her reflection in the wet marble floor and laughed hollowly.

“Truly impressive…”

She shook the water from her clothes as well as she could, standing amongst them. It was not mockery. It was genuine awe.

Even in the midst of all this chaos, Janet had managed to find the persistence and obsession to scheme over such pettiness.

Truly diligent, persistent, and spirited—that was what Liana thought.

“But you know, Janet.”

Liana lifted her head and met Janet’s gaze.

“You lack originality.”

The level of torment was childish, one-dimensional. Nothing above the antics of six- or seven-year-olds.

The smirk that had lingered in Janet’s ordinary, complacent eyes froze stiff.

“What did you just say?”

She was taken aback. Even after such treatment, the girl remained calm to the point of being infuriating. The pitying look Liana gave her burned more than a hundred insults.

The humiliation swiftly twisted into vulgar anger.

“You’ve gone too far!”

Janet lunged forward, reaching for Liana’s hair. However, Liana tilted her head to one side and Janet, losing her balance, slipped on the spilled water on the floor.

“Aaagh!”

Crash! Clatter!

Janet screamed as she landed heavily on the pile of dishes that Liana had been drying.

“Janet!”

“Heavens!”

Onlookers gasped, their mouths agape. The plates scattered, some shattering and sending shards flying. As Janet tried to steady herself, she landed palm-first among the plates, cutting a deep gash in her hand.

“B-blood…!”

Janet trembled as she stared at the crimson dripping from her palm.

Liana looked down at her without a flicker of emotion. Truly—pathetically.

“What is this commotion!”

Werner, who had been organizing supplies nearby, clutched his brow and rushed over to the corner where the noise had erupted.

“Th-that wretch…!”

Clutching her bleeding hand, tears streaming, Janet pointed at Liana.

‘Me?’

Liana furrowed her brow.

Werner glanced between the two of them and let out a long, weary sigh.

“You again.”

To cause a disturbance like this in the middle of the banquet rush—his exhaustion showed plainly on his face.

“Janet, stop crying and get that hand treated, then return. Liana, you as well—change your clothes and report back at once.”

Cakes, dishes, and wine were still piling up to be sent to the banquet. Werner had no time to fuss over every servant.

“My apologies, Butler.”

Soaked through, Liana bowed her head obediently and accepted his orders.

“Liana, you…!”

Ignoring Janet’s shrill cry, she walked straight out of the kitchen. She had no desire to stoop to Janet’s level and become just as pitiful.

Beyond the kitchen, a grey colonnade stretched away. Unlike the bright, noisy banquet hall, this place was quiet, like another world entirely.

The distant din of voices and hurried footsteps reached her only faintly. Finally, Liana felt as though she had stepped back into her own world—a world that was still, lonely and painted in shades of grey.

Far from Shed and Giselle. Far from the laughter of the nobles.

Wearing her sodden dress, she walked into the silence. Her wet hair dragged her head downwards, weighing it down as it clung to her. Her damp shoes felt just as heavy, pulling at her with each step.

Then—

“…Liana Serpens.”

A low voice coiled around her ankles like a snare, holding her in place. She lifted her head. The host of the banquet stood alone in the colonnade.

“Your Grace…?”

Why was he here, in such a deserted place? Shouldn’t he be at the center of attention?

Shed looked at her, breath rough between his teeth.

“You… why do you keep getting in my way.”

Every time. Always.

He muttered the words under his breath.