The second day of the Harvest Festival dawned clear and bright. The autumn sky was pristine, the air crisp, and the breeze cool. Staring up at the cloudless, high heavens, Ruben returned his gaze to the front.

He stood outside the Star Residence, where a grand carriage bearing the ducal crest awaited behind him. Though the sun had long since reached its zenith, the person meant to board the carriage was nowhere to be seen.

Ruben frowned slightly, his eyes catching sight of Della approaching with an uneasy expression.

“Is the princess not yet ready?”

“Well, she’s finished preparing, but…”

Della, uncharacteristically, trailed off hesitantly. But Ruben already knew what came next.

It was enough to make him sigh, though he skillfully suppressed it to avoid seeming as if he were chastising Della. She wasn’t the one at fault here.

“I’ll go myself.”

Maintaining his composed stride, Ruben entered the Star Residence, Della quickly matching his pace as she led him to Helia’s location.

Helia was in the first-floor drawing room, seemingly waiting for him. She stood by the large window, looking outside, but turned her head when she heard him enter. Naturally, their eyes met.

For a moment, Ruben couldn’t help but think how beautifully the cream-colored dress suited her. Then his gaze fell to the tiny white jewels sewn into the hem of her skirt, and he frowned. Since it was the festival’s opening day, she had likely chosen her most expensive dress. Ruben knew all too well the scale of Helia’s extravagance, and it was enough to make him scowl.

“You’ve come, Duke.”

Her hand, clad in lace gloves that matched her dress, extended gracefully forward. Even before leaving the mansion, Helia demanded to be adequately escorted, as though she wouldn’t take a single step unless she was treated as she deserved.

“…”

Ruben stared at the hand extended toward him for a moment, then, without further protest, reached out, took her hand, and brought it to his arm.

The sight of them arm in arm was picturesque, but the contact felt somewhat indifferent. Helia, of course, didn’t care. Instead, she tightened her grip on Ruben’s arm as though to declare to the world that this hand—his arm—belonged to her alone.

Together, they boarded the carriage. A servant closed the door, and the coachman urged the horses forward at a measured pace.

Ruben, quietly reading a book, eventually looked up and glanced at Helia, seated across from him.

She gazed out the window with a joyful expression. Her golden eyes looked as clear as if they held nothing, and her uncharacteristically bright smile carried a freshness as though she had cast off some unseen burden. The sunlight, streaming in at just the right moment, illuminated her face, making her smile seem ethereal and transient—something that might vanish at any moment. Ruben found himself unable to look away for reasons he could not explain.

Sensing his gaze, Helia turned slightly. When her golden eyes met his green ones, they quickly hardened, sharp with hostility—the eyes he was used to seeing.

There it is, Ruben thought, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Deep down, he felt a sense of relief he wasn’t even aware of.

“They say this year’s Harvest Festival is the largest ever.”

Indeed, an unprecedented budget had been allocated for this year’s festival, making it the most extravagant in the kingdom’s history. While it was partially due to the additional taxes secured through recent policy changes, Ruben knew that wasn’t the whole story.

King Xeroth was restless. The wavering authority of the throne, the unstable aristocracy, the people turning their backs on him, and a reign that refused to bend to his will—there was no doubt that his grand gesture was meant to display his enduring power. The louder the commotion, the hollower its core. To Ruben, the scale of the Harvest Festival was nothing more than a sign of how deeply the king felt his own crisis.

Helia, however, seemed thrilled by the extravagant festival, unaware of what it signified for someone of royal blood like herself. Ruben didn’t even feel inclined to mock her ignorance.

“Ruben Effenberg.”

“Yes.”

“Stay by my side throughout the Harvest Festival.”

“……”

“Show everyone how devotedly you serve me.”

The princess was as arrogant as ever, resting her chin on her gloved hand and speaking in clipped, languid tones.

The Harvest Festival was a grand event that drew even provincial nobles who rarely visited the capital. It was also the first major social gathering since Helia and Ruben’s engagement. Someone like Helia Bailey, who thrived on attention, would never miss such an opportunity. Ruben had expected as much, but that didn’t stop the feeling of displeasure from rising within him. Helia’s habit of treating people like prized possessions she’d acquired—a rare jewel to display—always provoked his rebellious impulse.

“Is that an order?”

“Of course.”

Helia’s lips curled into a provocative smile.

“How else would I get someone like Ruben Effenberg to act if not by issuing a command?”

Her smug gaze and smirking mouth tested his patience to its limits. Her crossed legs, though intentionally signaling her dominance, carried an elegance that made one momentarily forget her impertinence. As her shoe’s edge brushed ever so slightly against the hem of his trousers, Ruben became increasingly conscious of her proximity despite his efforts to ignore it.

He couldn’t understand why he reacted like some inexperienced fool who’d never even held a woman’s hand. Time spent with Helia Bailey was, without exception, a torment to him.

“Who knows? You might receive an unexpected reward if you make a good impression.”

“……”

Ruben wanted to decline, pointing out that he’d already received an “unexpected reward” in the form of their engagement—a gift he neither desired nor appreciated.

And yet, her voice, softer than usual, caught him off guard. He found himself unable to interrupt her.

“So do your best to please me.”

Even if it’s false, I’ll be satisfied. Even if it’s deception, I’ll accept it because even a lie from you is something I’m willing to hold on to. So deceive me if you must. Let me fall willingly into your pretense.

If you are poison to me, then you could at least be a little sweet, couldn’t you?

“……”

It was the same provocation as always—Helia wielding her rank to press him down. He was accustomed to this; ignoring her was usually enough. Yet, despite her usual mockery, something languid in her voice made him reply before he could stop himself.

“Understood.”

Helia’s eyes widened in surprise before she gave him a light smile.

By then, he had already lowered his gaze to his book, but it didn’t matter. She had seen enough.

The princess fixed her unyielding gaze on Ruben while Ruben focused stubbornly on his book. Meanwhile, their carriage steadily progressed toward its destination. Before long, it slowed as they reached the royal palace. Looking out the window to confirm their arrival, Helia suddenly extended her hand toward Ruben.

“Shall we go, Duke?”

Having stolen his line, Helia smiled boldly. Her radiant expression, devoid of any hidden motives or schemes, was so rare that Ruben, without thinking, took her hand.

And so, the Harvest Festival began.

“Presenting Her Highness Princess Helia Bailey and His Grace Duke Ruben Effenberg!”

The herald’s resonant announcement instantly drew the attention of the crowd. Under the deluge of gazes, Helia and Ruben entered the palace with flawless grace, unfazed by the spectacle.

The banquet hall echoed with soft music rather than dance tunes, as the festivities wouldn’t begin until after the king’s congratulatory speech. Until then, the attendees mingled in small groups, enjoying light conversation and refreshments.

True to the festival’s name, the tables were laden with an array of exquisite finger foods, representing the finest delicacies of the season. On another table, countless drinks and spirits were displayed in grand abundance. Everywhere one looked, ornate golden goblets and intricately carved tea sets were typically reserved for royal feasts.

Rare spring flowers adorned elegant vases, while silk ribbons embroidered with gold thread added extra splendor to the venue. Several sparkling crystal chandeliers hung from the high ceilings, their light catching the gemstones on Helia’s dress, making her glitter like a constellation.

She fit perfectly in this world of excess. Of course, the most extravagant thing she wore wasn’t her dress or jewels, but the Duke of Effenberg proudly linked to her arm.

“Good evening, Your Grace.”

“It has been some time, Your Highness.”

Like bees to a flower, people flocked to Ruben. Naturally, they also extended their greetings to Helia, though their polite reluctance was evident. Helia, however, took it in stride, receiving them with her usual poise.

“Though belated, congratulations on your engagement, Your Highness.”

“Thank you, Count Tannon.”

“You look pleased.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

Helia replied as she tightened her grip on Ruben’s arm.

Was that a signal to smile? Ruben suppressed a derisive laugh. The man before him had no genuine interest in whether Helia was happy—he was simply using her as a pretext to get closer to the duke.

Ruben responded with a slight nod, offering no words or smiles. Addressing the silent, unsmiling duke was no easy feat, and the man soon retreated after exchanging a few more words of courtesy with Helia.

“You’re unusually chatty today,” Helia remarked.

“Is that so?”

It seemed Helia had not grasped the remark’s underlying implications, so Ruben chose not to point it out.

Though the constant attention from people flitting in and out left him mentally exhausted, Ruben himself had little to do as Helia handled the greetings. His only role was to stand at her side like an ornament.

Annoyed by his situation, Ruben’s thoughts wandered back to the conversation in the carriage. Why had he agreed to her demand to play along and appease her whims? He couldn’t comprehend his own reaction. It wasn’t because he was enticed by her shallow bait of an unexpected reward. His response had spilled out as though he were momentarily possessed.

Perhaps there had been a fleeting, careless hope—a wish to avoid conflict for just one day. To say he wasn’t tempted by the idea would be a lie. Ruben was growing weary of sparring with Helia. More specifically, he was uneasy about facing her at all.

Was it because he’d seen her at her weakest, ill and bedridden, and felt some misplaced sympathy? He neither regretted opposing her nor harbored guilt over her ignorance of his proper stance. It was just…

“Greetings, Your Highness.”