“I thought the Duke wouldn’t give a second glance to someone like Her Highness.”

“…”

“Oh, I mean no disrespect to Her Highness. I just thought the two of you seemed so… different.”

Ruben didn’t reply but silently agreed with the Marquis. They were nothing alike. To everyone, this engagement appeared like an odd mismatch. It would seem strange to anyone if they didn’t understand Helia’s irrational obsession. Even he found her foolish for aligning herself with an adversary over her obsession with a man. What was she thinking? Or did she even have a reason? She wouldn’t have made such a choice if she had thought it through. His only clue to understanding her bizarre behavior was her sheer obsession.

Then Ruben noticed a painting above the fireplace. It depicted the goddess Prenia smiling as she bestowed wisdom upon humanity before ascending to the heavens.

As his gaze lingered on the painting, a subtle glimmer appeared in his eyes. Ruben recognized this artwork.

“What are you looking at?” the Marquis asked, following Ruben’s gaze and stiffening as he noticed the painting.

“That’s ‘The Compassion of Prenia,‘ isn’t it?”

“Ah, you know this painting?“

“It would be harder to find someone who doesn’t. It caused a stir a few years ago when it was stolen from the Royal Museum.”

Ruben had approached the fireplace without him realizing, moving closer to the painting. The Marquis fidgeted nervously, and Ruben, glancing at him from the corner of his eye, feigned a casual tone.

“It’s a fine replica.”

The Marquis’s expression brightened at Ruben’s words, and he responded eagerly.

“Indeed, you have an eye for art! A friend of mine made this copy—splendid work, isn’t it?“

“It could fool the Royal Museum.“

“Haha, exactly! It’s quite convincing, isn’t it?”

Ruben recalled the artworks he’d seen around the mansion. Each one was unmistakably genuine. So why would the Marquis hang a replica in his own sitting room? And the Marquis, a vain social climber, no less?

It was known that the stolen *The Compassion of Prenia* had been circulating on the black-market auction circuit. The operation was massive and highly organized, making it difficult for the kingdom to investigate. Yet, a nobleman was openly flaunting his participation in these shady auctions right under their noses. Was the kingdom genuinely struggling to find it, or had they simply left it alone without any intention of looking?

“Quite an impressive skill.“

“Are you interested?“

“One can’t help but be intrigued by an exceptional artist, no matter who they are.”

The Marquis’s eyes lit up as Ruben subtly hinted at his curiosity.

“If you ever need anything, just let me know. I’ll introduce you to the artist.”

Ruben immediately recognized this as a covert offer for the black market. The Marquis’s gleaming eyes were filled with a shared thrill and camaraderie as if eager to drag him into the depths of ruin.

But what the Marquis anticipated would never happen.

There was a secret organization in the Kingdom of Bailey dedicated to exposing the corruption of the nobility and uncovering royal misconduct—a sort of revolutionary group. The organization, which even the kingdom had yet to detect, comprised young nobles concerned for the nation’s future, supported by middle-aged aristocrats and ambitious commoners. The leader’s identity remained a secret to most, with rumors ranging from a wealthy merchant to a grand duke from a founding family.

Ruben Effenberg, commander of the First Order of Knights, was one of the few who knew the leader’s identity. He was also a key figure within the organization, concealing his role from many members.

Masking his distaste, Ruben smiled. He hadn’t expected Helia’s foolish antics to serve as an advantage like this.

“Who knows? You might gain some valuable information about the royal family.”

Only now did Ikael’s suggestion to befriend the princess make sense. Helia might be both his adversary and an invaluable ally.

He thought of Helia, who had unknowingly invited him to this setting. As a core revolutionary figure, he should be grateful for her naivety. Yet, he couldn’t shake the discomfort.

“Your glass is already empty. Would you like another?“

“Yes.”

Seeking to ignore his unease, Ruben didn’t refuse the Marquis’s offer. Dwelling further felt like opening the door to something irreversibly wrong. He kept drinking wine, avoiding his troubled thoughts.

They continued discussing various topics, initiated mainly by the Marquis until a soft knock interrupted them. A servant entered, announcing the end of the tea party. Ruben stood up smoothly.

Outside, Helia and the marchioness awaited them, with the carriage already prepared. After brief farewells, Ruben and Helia boarded the carriage together.

“With the marquis,“ Ruben began, breaking the rare silence inside the carriage.

Gazing absentmindedly out the window, Helia turned her head toward the sound. Her puzzled expression was evident.

“Are you close?“

“More or less.”

Helia extended her hand without hesitation, showing him a ring on her finger.

“This ring was a gift from the Marquis. A rare blood ruby.”

The vivid red ruby gleamed between her fingers, resembling her fiery hair. Helia smiled proudly, and Ruben noted how her smile eerily mirrored the Marquis’s earlier grin.

“So, be friendly with him. It won’t hurt to keep him close.”

Ruben didn’t respond. Helia, seemingly unsurprised, gave a light scoff and turned her gaze back to the window. Her good mood was evident as she didn’t take offense at his silence.

Her suggestion to maintain a close relationship was absurd. Enoch would surely dig into the Marquis’s crimes from this moment, uncovering the black market route. It would be a monumental victory if they linked it to royal collusion.

Ruben glanced at Helia, who leaned against the carriage, eyes closed in apparent fatigue. The late afternoon sunlight poured over her, but she remained blissfully unaware of his plans.

To her, the Marquis was likely a significant figure. Despite holding royal lineage and claiming the throne, her position had effectively been ceded to Xeroth. Xeroth openly wanted her out, which had repercussions even among the royalist nobles. Once revered, she was now largely ignored as a hollow figurehead of royalty. Only someone as cluelessly sycophantic as Marquis Hewells still paid her any attention.

To Ruben, the Marquis was a corrupt official deserving of downfall. Yet, something in his chest kept pricking at him—a vague, persistent discomfort he couldn’t quite name. Suppressing his unease, Ruben closed his eyes. The journey home felt endlessly long.