“How did it go?”

As soon as Ruben returned, Enoch, waiting at the duke’s estate, took Ruben’s jacket as though he were his butler, his beautiful face shadowed with exhaustion. Before Ruben could say a word, Enoch already sensed the outcome.

It wasn’t until they reached Ruben’s room that he finally spoke, his voice heavy.

“She told me to wait quietly until the engagement ceremony.”

He looked weary like he’d been told to surrender to an enemy general. Imagining what Ruben must have endured from that woman, Enoch frowned, clenching his fists but restraining himself out of respect. To Enoch, she was the symbol of his most profound hatred; today, that feeling intensified.

“So, she’sI see still as insolent as ever.”

An inappropriate remark to describe a princess, but Ruben didn’t reproach him. He was the only one listening anyway, and Enoch wasn’t wrong. That Enoch had never actually met the princess hardly mattered to anyone now.

Ruben removed his uniform, rolled his stiff shoulders, and unbuttoned his shirt’s cuffs. He then ruffled his perfectly styled hair with one hand.

Ruben sank onto the sofa without changing entirely, his head tilted back with a weary, dangerous charm that could set hearts racing.

“It seems we have no choice.”

“Right. We don’t.”

His low voice had a languid, almost alluring quality, though that wasn’t his intent.

“We’ll just have to use whatever we can.”

“How optimistic,” Enoch replied.

Ruben let out a small laugh. Was it optimism? He didn’t voice that self-deprecating thought. They were both accomplices here and no matter how uncomfortable it was, the plan would go forward. The princess and he would become adversaries. That undeniable fact stirred no sympathy. Ruben reminded himself it was simply the situation they’d been tangled into that troubled him.

Meanwhile, Enoch was having different thoughts. As Ruben’s ally, he considered ways to ruin their enemy more thoroughly, prepared to dirty his hands in place of his honorable master.

And so, as night fell, the shadows deepened over the duke’s estate, each man lost in his thoughts.

—

Kingdom of Bailey, Year 37

Arphon Helferion de Bailey, once a duke of the empire, declared independence and established the Kingdom’s capital in Veil, becoming its first king. Blood was shed to secure this independence, but he was soon lauded as a wise ruler, especially for his reforms in taxation and support for agriculture and commerce, drawing countless immigrants from the empire.

But as one wise king departs, often a tyrant follows. After Arphon’s 26-year reign ended with his passing, his son, Rigel Edgar Bailey, took the throne. He dismantled his father’s tax policies, imposing crippling taxes and mercilessly executing anyone who opposed him or dared to speak the truth. His ruthless disposition, likely inherent, revealed itself only after his father’s death. With Rigel’s ascension, the Kingdom instantly plummeted from paradise to despair. Fortunately, his reign lasted less than a decade, though his successor, sadly, was not the saintly figure the people hoped for.

The current king, Xeroth Bailey, took the throne in the Kingdom. Rigel’s nephew, who was the third king, was chosen when Rigel, against all counsel, bequeathed the throne directly to him, having only a single daughter. If the first king was a wise ruler and the second a tyrant, the third was foolish. Unsuited for the throne, King Xeroth indulged in luxury and ignored state affairs, turning a blind eye to noble corruption while squeezing the people for taxes to fund endless feasts and revelries.

The royal ball held today was just one of those extravagances. Ruben was fastening his dress shirt as an attendant carefully buttoned it, his touch cautious.

Ordinarily, Ruben would ignore such an invitation, but with the king’s letter enclosed, he could hardly refuse. The message was straightforward—a royal proclamation of his engagement at the ball.

“Ruben Effenberg!”

At that moment, the door burst open, and grimacing, Ruben looked toward the voice belonging to his old friend, Count Ikael Tyr. Unlike Ruben, captain of the First Knights, Ikael excelled at administrative work and was widely known as a candidate for the next chancellor.

“Well, well, what’s with the sour face? A man with a charming fiancée shouldn’t look like that.”

Ikael had come to accompany Ruben to the ball, amused by Ruben’s somber expression. A servant, who’d failed to prevent Ikael from barging into the room, looked uneasy. Ruben motioned the servant away and scolded Ikael.

“I’m not in the mood for jokes.”

“Since when have you ever been in the mood?”

“Ikael.”

“All right, all right. I’ll keep quiet.”

After he had consumed his fill of sarcasm, Ikael raised his hands in mock surrender, signaling the end of his banter. It was a familiar flow of conversation, and Ruben returned to his preparations.

In truth, Ikael felt his own frustration as well. He had seen with his own eyes how much his friend had suffered under Helia’s influence since they were young. Now, that same woman intended to use Ruben once again. For Ikael, the news was not just unwelcome but deeply upsetting.

‘We’ll see, won’t we, Princess?’ he resolved silently, glancing around Ruben’s room while he waited. Despite his frequent visits, he found the estate’s atmosphere refreshingly distinct every time.

The Effenberg estate combined classic elegance with a rational, functional layout. Instead of extravagant decor, it held stately furnishings of weight and grandeur, and the few artworks and pieces displayed were far older than the Kingdom’s history.

Ruben should have grown up as a beloved, noble young master in this place. Instead, he’d been weighed down by life’s burdens, ultimately becoming an emotionally hardened man—all thanks to Helia. To Ikael, she had stripped Ruben of everything: his joyful, warm childhood, his broad capacity for kindness, his gentle nature, his warm gaze—qualities Ruben should have possessed.

While Ikael brooded over these thoughts, Ruben finished dressing, slipping on shoes polished to a deep black shine. The butler, Will, left the room to ready the carriage.

“I wonder what expressions the ladies who came to see you today will have when they hear the announcement.”

“…Ikael.”

“What? It’s true, isn’t it? None of the ladies who rushed here to see you will have expected to hear of your engagement tonight.”

Ikael, grinning with an expression that was hard to distinguish between amusement and irritation, continued chattering, causing Ruben to frown.

Even if there were ladies who might shed tears over his engagement, Ruben had no mind to care—nor the luxury to do so. His thoughts were consumed by Helia, whom he’d met just a few days prior. The very idea of facing her again sharpened his nerves.

“Let’s go,” Ruben said as footsteps approached. Ikael stood up, muttering to himself in a voice clearly meant to be overheard.

“I look forward to seeing how our princess will act this time.”

Ruben made no reply. He merely pressed his eyebrows together, deepening his frown.

The ballroom in the royal palace was already bustling. Under dazzling lights, guests dressed extravagantly, drank, danced, and enjoyed the evening. Given the Kingdom’s financial troubles, this scene did not invite comfort.

As Ruben and Ikael entered, all eyes turned to them, as was usual. Familiar with this attention, Ruben skillfully ignored it, keeping his expression neutral.

The ones troubled by his aloofness were the ladies who had eagerly awaited his arrival. Unable to approach due to his stiff demeanor, they admired him from afar, comforted that his face was more than worth observing from a distance. Behind their fans, their cheeks bloomed red as they gazed at the young duke.

“Looks like just looking is enough for them,” Ikael chuckled. Just then, a lady noticed him and greeted him cheerfully.

“Oh, Ikael! When did you arrive?”

“Oh, my!”

Within seconds, Ikael was surrounded by a small group of ladies. He smiled at them but sent Ruben a pleading look for rescue, to which Ruben paid no mind, leaving Ikael to his fate. It was only fair; though many women were initially drawn to Ruben’s striking looks, they quickly found themselves charmed by Ikael’s quick wit and easy banter.

“It’s rare to see the Duke himself at an event like this.”

“Your Grace, it’s been a while. So good to see you again.”

“How have you been, Duke?”

Ruben was politely enduring greetings from acquaintances—some familiar, others not, and some he scarcely remembered—when a trumpet sounded, drawing everyone’s attention. A servant stepped forward and announced loudly:

“His Majesty the King, Her Majesty the Queen, and Her Highness the Princess have arrived!”