The engagement celebration ball held that night was the pinnacle of luxury the Empire could display.

Thousands of candles burned atop chandeliers in the massive ballroom, and the floor was smooth like a mirror carved from marble. The waltz melody played by the orchestra mixed with the scent of expensive perfume floating in the air, creating a hazy atmosphere.

Nobles adorned in silk dresses and jewels surged like waves. Their laughter and the clinking of champagne glasses formed a vast ocean of noise.

Kyrie stood in the darkness behind a pillar at the edge of that ocean.

She wore the palace guard uniform with a ceremonial sword issued by the imperial court at her waist. The unfamiliar weight pressed down on her. Her eyes ceaselessly swept the ballroom.

Were there assassins? Any suspicious movements? It was her old instinctive habit. But today, the enemy tormenting her most wasn’t an assassin.

In the center of the ballroom, where light poured most abundantly, stood Isolet and Adelaide.

Isolet wore a black tailcoat. His neatly swept silver hair and pale skin glowed unrealistically under the lights. Beside him, Adelaide wore a golden dress. The sight of them standing side by side was perfect like a scene from the myths.

People sent them praise.

“They make such a well-matched pair.”

“He may be a prince of a fallen kingdom, but his looks are worthy of Her Highness the Princess.”

“Such a beautiful couple—truly a blessing for the Empire.”

Kyrie listened to those words like chewing and swallowing them. She acutely realized her position. There wasn’t the slightest gap for her to squeeze into that dazzling circle.

She was like the back of a frame that existed to complete this picture.

The music changed and dancing began.

Isolet extended his hand to Adelaide. Adelaide shyly took his hand. The two glided toward the center of the hall, gracefully stepping. Her dress hem spread like flower petals.

Isolet’s expression was too distant to see clearly.

But Kyrie, who’d watched Isolet for so long, could tell. That he was holding his breath right now, that his shoulders were faintly rigid.

He was acting right now. Acting the part of a happy fiancé in love.

Then, as Isolet spun, his gaze turned toward the pillar for a fleeting moment.

Their eyes met.

Time seemed to stop. The countless crowds and noise vanished, and only the two of them gazed at each other. His deep, silent blue eyes—seemingly swallowing the darkness of the deep sea—wavered mercilessly. They held desperation.

‘Kyrie, please look at me. I’m looking at you right now, not that woman.’

That’s what he was saying with his eyes. Those mournful eyes looked like he wanted to stop dancing immediately and run to her.

Kyrie felt her heart would tear apart.

The fact that he loved her brought both joy and unbearable pain. The longer his gaze lingered on her, the more people would whisper. It would mar his perfect performance.

So Kyrie had to be cruel.

She shook her head. Very faintly. Then gestured with her chin toward Adelaide.

‘Look ahead. Your Highness’s partner isn’t me.’

Isolet’s brow twisted painfully. He bit his lip and forcibly turned his head. His profile as he smiled at Adelaide again was pale like a mask.

The music rushed toward its climax. People’s cheers erupted.

Kyrie couldn’t stay there any longer. The brilliant lights, the music pounding her eardrums, and above all, the sight of those two holding each other as they spun—it all felt suffocating.

She fled the ballroom.

When she opened the terrace door, cold night air rushed in. Kyrie grabbed the railing and exhaled roughly. The moon hung in the night sky. A moon cold and white like Isolet’s hair.

“…Foolish person.”

She muttered quietly, chewing the words.

She didn’t know who those words were for. Isolet, or herself for pushing him away.

She fingered the ceremonial sword at her waist. It was a pretty sword studded with jewels, but the blade was dull—nothing more than decorative.

“You’re just like me.”

Having entered the palace, she was no different from this sword that had lost its edge. She’d come to protect Isolet, but the painful truth was that she was what troubled him most.

Then she sensed a presence behind her.

“Too beautiful a night to be alone.”

An unfamiliar man’s voice. Kyrie reflexively turned and placed her hand on the sword hilt. Her amber eyes, pooled with tears, gleamed fiercely.

A man walked out from the darkness. He wore an imperial military uniform but gave off a somehow free-spirited impression.

“Oh… don’t look at me like that. I feel like I’ll get cut.”

He raised both hands in a gesture of surrender, but his eyes clearly showed interest.

“I’ve been watching from inside. The only person in that flashy circus with truly living eyes.”

His gaze brushed past Kyrie’s wet eyes.

“You look quite magnificent crying too. Miss Wolf of the North.”

His voice was cool like the night air yet strangely sticky.

Kyrie reflexively gripped the sword hilt. Her vision, blurred with tears, instantly flashed with k*lling intent. She roughly wiped her eyes and glared at him.

“Oh. Whoa, whoa. Just looking at you and I’m already getting hurt. Haha.”

He was quite shameless.

“Who are you?”

Kyrie growled low. Casian leaned crookedly against the railing and looked her up and down. His gaze was blatantly rude.

“You should’ve heard the introduction inside. I’m Casian, Commander of the Imperial Army. Well, to you I probably just look like ’the head b*stard among those d*mn imperials.’”

He stepped closer. Kyrie instinctively tried to step back but stopped. Retreating felt like losing.

“I didn’t know you had a hobby of peeping.”

“Peeping? Call it appreciation, please. Your pitiful crying alone was far more worth watching than that disgusting circus inside. And more than anything, this isn’t the first time I’ve seen you cry. We’ve run into each other quite a bit on the battlefield, haven’t we? Though I seem to be the only one who remembers, which is disappointing.”

The distance between them closed in an instant.

He approached right up to Kyrie’s nose and stopped. A thick musk scent mixed with sweet alcohol wafted over. It wasn’t the fragrance of a well-trained aristocrat but a male’s scent applied to mask the smell of blood.

“Move.”

“Don’t want to.”

Casian grinned.

“You smell good, you see. The smell of blood. The smell of iron. And…”

He bent down and inhaled near Kyrie’s nape.

“Mm, even the smell of being alive.”

Those words sent chills down Kyrie’s spine. She tried to push him away, but Casian snatched her wrist like a snake—quick and with a strong grip.

“Let go.”

“Your hands are rough. All the women in the palace are soft like they’ve been pickled in sugar. You look like you’d cut me if I touched you.”

Casian’s thumb slowly rubbed where her pulse beat on the inside of her wrist. It was blatant harassment and seduction.

“But you know, that prince can’t handle you.”

His voice dropped low.

“He wants to turn you into a pretty doll, but I think you’re prettier when you bare your teeth.”

Kyrie bit her lip.

If Isolet saw her as ‘someone to protect,’ this man saw her as ‘desirable prey’ or ‘a worthy opponent.’ While his primal desire was unpleasant, she felt a strange thrill.

“Don’t run your mouth.”

Kyrie tried to knee his vital spot. But Casian, seemingly already knowing, pressed down on her thigh with his leg to restrain her.

Their bodies pressed together without gaps. Hot body heat mixed between the terrace’s cold air. Casian’s solid thigh dug between Kyrie’s legs, and his chest pressed against hers.

“Well now.”

Casian’s eyes gleamed with curiosity.

“Good reaction. A wolf indeed, huh?”

“I’ll kill you.”

“Try it. If you kill me here, your lord the prince will be in trouble, won’t he? A guard knight who assassinated the Empire’s commander. That’d be quite interesting.”

Casian precisely struck at Kyrie’s dilemma. Kyrie ground her teeth and glared at him. Casian giggled like he enjoyed that furious gaze.

Then came the sound of the ballroom door opening.

“Kyrie?”

Isolet’s voice.

Casian’s expression changed instantly. He clicked his tongue regretfully and slowly pulled away. Once freed, Kyrie stepped back, breathing roughly.

Isolet came out to the terrace. He alternately looked at Kyrie’s disheveled clothes and Casian standing before her, frowning.

“What business does the Commander have here?”

Isolet’s voice had an edge. Casian shrugged and smiled leisurely.

“I came out for some air and found a lost cat. Just played with it a bit.”

“Not a cat, but my knight. Show some courtesy.”

Isolet blocked Kyrie. Casian sneered at the sight.

“You’re overprotective. Well, fine.”

Casian winked at Kyrie.

“See you next time, Miss Wolf. Let’s go a bit further then.”

He leisurely disappeared into the darkness.

Heavy silence flowed on the terrace left behind. Isolet turned to check on Kyrie. His hand touched her reddened wrist.

“Are you alright?”

His eyes were full of worry, but that worry suffocated Kyrie. Casian’s words from moments ago buzzed in her ears.

‘That prince can’t handle you.’

Kyrie quietly pulled her hand away.

“…I’m fine, Your Highness.”

She lied. In truth, she wasn’t fine at all. The unfamiliar man’s scent, the humiliating contact, and the wretchedness before Isolet mixed together, making her stomach churn.

That night, Kyrie couldn’t fall asleep easily.

The mark of Casian’s grip on her wrist burned. She scrubbed it clean, but that sticky sensation wouldn’t wash away.

It was a new kind of confusion thrown at her. Isolet cherished and respected her like a saint, but Casian treated her as a woman or a beast.

“D*mn it.”

Kyrie buried her face in the pillow.

She had to be a sword. A weapon without emotion or gender. But everyone around her kept shaking her. Someone tried to dress her in gowns, someone tried to strip her bare.

Either way was h*ll for Kyrie.