A few days after the ball ended, a box was delivered to the palace annex. It was wrapped in the finest velvet. Kyrie received it with a puzzled expression.

“Open it.”

Isolet leaned against the window. He pretended to be indifferent, but his gaze followed Kyrie’s fingertips. He seemed faintly excited, like a child waiting for praise.

Kyrie carefully untied the ribbon. When she opened the lid, a deep navy dress revealed itself between thin tissue paper.

The dress was incredibly beautiful.

It was a deep blue like the night sky had been cut out whole, and small diamonds embedded like the Milky Way sparkled under the light. The neckline was elegantly cut, and the sleeves were decorated with lace, designed to cover Kyrie’s scarred arms.

But the moment Kyrie saw it, her breath caught. Casian’s words brushed past her ears.

‘He wants to turn you into a pretty doll, but…’

Kyrie’s hands trembled.

“…What is this?”

“There’s an after-party for the imperial hunting competition next week. Wear it then.”

Isolet approached and picked up the dress.

“It suits you well. I ordered it to match your eye color. It’ll be much more comfortable and prettier than that stiff uniform. The Commander called you a cat, didn’t he? I’ll make you look so noble he’ll never say that again.”

His words were sincere.

He blamed himself for Kyrie hiding at the ball and being harassed by the Commander. So he wanted to make her as beautiful as possible. So no one could disrespect or treat her carelessly.

But to Kyrie, that dress wasn’t kindness—it was a death sentence. Confirmation that you’re a woman, not a knight. At the same time, it was a denial that the armor and sword she wore weren’t truly hers.

She roughly snatched the dress from Isolet’s hands and shoved it back in the box.

“I’ll pretend I didn’t see this.”

“What?”

Isolet’s expression hardened.

“I said I won’t wear it. I’m Your Highness’s guard knight. If a knight appears at a banquet in a dress, what will people say? They’ll mock it as a circus act.”

“Who dares mock you! I told you to wear it. As my partner.”

“Your Highness’s partner is Her Highness the Princess!”

Kyrie shouted. Her amber eyes rippled with moisture.

“Please…! Don’t make me more miserable.”

“Miserable? Making you look pretty is miserable?”

“Yes! To me it is!”

Kyrie held up her trembling hands. Rough hands covered in calluses and tangled scars.

“Look at these hands. These are hands that grip a sword. Not the hands of a noble lady who holds fans and giggles. And you want me to wear those expensive clothes and pretend to be a doll? The Commander was right. Your Highness is ashamed of me.”

“What?”

“You’re embarrassed that I stand behind you in worn armor… So you’re trying to force me to pretend to be a noblewoman, aren’t you?”

It was a misunderstanding. A distorted interpretation born from Kyrie’s terrible inferiority complex. But the moment Isolet heard those words, he felt his reason snap.

“Yes. I’m ashamed.”

Isolet spat coldly.

“I can’t stand how you belittle yourself and act like a servant. You’re my life’s savior and the only person I’ve given my heart to. So why do you keep dragging yourself down to the floor?”

“Because that’s my place! Because a shadow can’t stand beside the light!”

“That d*mn talk about your place!”

Isolet threw the box to the floor. Crash. The expensive dress tumbled across the ground. The crumpled blue fabric looked like his heart, trampled by her.

“I’m tired. Your blind loyalty is sickening now.”

He glared at Kyrie, breathing roughly. It was a look meant to wound.

“Get out. Disappear from my sight.”

Kyrie bit her lip. She tasted blood. She turned stiffly without even saluting. Heavy silence descended behind her back as she closed the door and left.

Out in the corridor, Kyrie’s legs gave out and she collapsed.

The man she loved tried to deny her by dressing her up, while the dangerous man saw through her and told her to wear a uniform.

“Ha…”

Kyrie dry-washed her face.

Isolet’s words stabbed like a dagger. 

‘Sickening.’ 

The more he pushed her away, the more Kyrie felt she was losing her place to stand.

Then a maid approached from down the corridor.

“Are you Dame Kyrie?”

“…Yes.”

The maid bowed politely and said:

“Her Highness the Princess is looking for you. She requests you come to the ‘Garden of the Sun’ immediately.”

Kyrie’s heart sank. What she’d feared had come.

The encounter with Casian at the last banquet, and the fight with Isolet. The palace’s eyes and ears were faster than she’d thought. Kyrie forced her trembling knees straight and stood up.

Another battlefield awaited her.

* * *

The ‘Garden of the Sun’ was cruelly peaceful.

Under the glass ceiling, southern flowers that never wilted year-round bloomed in full, and golden streams of water shot up from the central fountain. Kyrie was a stranger standing in that dazzling landscape.

Adelaide folded her white lace parasol and greeted Kyrie.

“Welcome, Dame Kyrie. I’ve been waiting.”

Her smile was flawlessly perfect. She gestured toward the opposite chair.

“Please sit. It’s just the two of us, so let’s set aside formalities.”

Kyrie sat in an uneasy posture, barely perching on the edge. On the table sat elaborate desserts on a three-tiered tray and fragrant black tea. 

A smell mixing sugar and flower scents—completely different from last night’s fishy sweat smell at the training grounds—assaulted her nose.

“You summoned me, Your Highness?”

“Yes. Palace rumors spread so quickly.”

Adelaide spoke quietly as she lifted her teacup.

“I heard you sparred with Commander Casian at the training grounds last night?”

Kyrie’s shoulders stiffened. Adelaide’s blue eyes smiled, but within them lay a coolness that saw through everything.

“…We just happened to meet.”

“Happened to. The Commander is the most dangerous man in the Empire. He’s mastered both making women cry and cutting people down. How surprising that he’d show interest in you, Dame Kyrie. He doesn’t touch anything that isn’t ’real.’”

Adelaide looked Kyrie up and down like appraising merchandise.

“Prince Isolet isn’t enough—now the Empire’s Supreme Commander too. You’re quite talented, Dame Kyrie. With nothing but an old sword, you’re shaking two men who move the Empire simultaneously.”

It was an insult packaged as praise. Those words hid the accusation that you’re wagging your tail without knowing your place, concealed within elegant vocabulary.

“You misunderstand. I’m merely…”

“I know. A knight’s duty. I’ve heard it ad nauseam.”

Adelaide cut her off. Clink. The sound of setting down the teacup rang unusually loud. She leaned forward to meet Kyrie’s eyes. The air’s flow changed instantly.

“But Dame Kyrie. You’re a variable.”

“…”

“I’m going to marry Prince Isolet. This is the union of the Empire and the Kingdom, His Majesty the Emperor’s will. Regardless of my feelings, I must become his wife and make him king. But if you—this variable—obstruct that path…”

Adelaide picked up the silver spoon beside her teacup. The spoon glinting in sunlight looked like a dagger.

“I’ll have to remove you. Because that’s my duty.”

Kyrie clenched her fists. Her short nails dug into her flesh. Kyrie couldn’t dare refute her. Her words were entirely correct.

Her very presence beside Isolet had become his weakness and obstacle.

“…What should I do?”

Kyrie asked in a cracked voice. Then Adelaide smiled gently again.

“It’s simple. If you love him, hide that heart thoroughly.”

“…”

“For life. Until you lay to rest in your grave. So he won’t waver looking at you, you build the wall first. And keep your distance from Commander Casian too. Don’t stain the Prince’s name with a lowly scandal.”

It was a cruel sentence. An order to never speak your love aloud until death, knowing it exists. A death sentence confirming you exist only as a shadow.

Kyrie raised her head. Her wretched face reflected in Adelaide’s clear eyes.

“I’ll… remember.”

“Really? You mean you’ll gladly trample even that pitiful infatuation of yours for His Highness’s future?”

“My heart doesn’t matter. If His Highness can shine, I’ll carve out my own heart to pave the way.”

“Good. Don’t forget that resolve.”

Adelaide nodded with satisfaction. She pushed the dessert plate toward Kyrie.

“Eat. These are macarons made by the palace patissier. They are very sweet.”

Kyrie picked up a macaron with trembling hands. When she put it in her mouth, the sugar lump crumbled and spread a paralyzing sweetness across her tongue.

But swallowing it down her throat felt gritty like sand. This feeling of sweetness in the mouth while rotting inside—that was the taste of unrequited love.

Kyrie swallowed that sweet poison and resolved:

‘Yes, hide it thoroughly. So Isolet can give up on me and become a perfect king, I’ll push him away first.’

The day of departure approached quickly after Kyrie made that cruel resolution to herself, and the morning sky that day was cruelly clear.

At the imperial palace training grounds, five thousand imperial troops—the Emperor’s promised payment for the Princess’s marriage—stood in formation.