Soon afterwards, Daphne found herself seated in the dining hall once again, like a doll.

Her dark brown hair was swept into an elegant twist, and she wore a smart two-piece outfit that showed off the line of her shoulders and the graceful shape of her upper body.

Voices drifted in from the corridor outside: Prime Minister Howard, Greta and —

‘Oswald.’

The soldier — a man whose name she knew.

She hadn’t expected to see him again.

Daphne quietly cleared her throat, unable to suppress the faint tension curling inside her.

Moments later, the two men entered, guided by the servants.

Oswald, whom she had not seen in quite some time, was not wearing a uniform but a flawlessly tailored tuxedo.

His wheat-colored hair had been swept neatly back.

Daphne regarded him with a deliberately neutral expression.

For a brief instant, their eyes met.

He gave a barely perceptible scoff.

Or perhaps she had imagined it, but a sharp wave of humiliation rose hot and suffocating in her chest.

‘I…’

Her memories had disappeared, but perhaps her patriotism had not been completely extinguished.

She could only imagine how absurd she must seem to him now.

Oswald had seen her at her lowest, and now he saw her like this.

She was a former prisoner, now dressed in the height of luxury fashion, with her hair elegantly pinned and her makeup flawless. She sat there as though she truly belonged.

Not Daphne Winfred, but Allen Howard.

The shame was so sharp and consuming that she wished she could vanish into thin air.

Their brief exchange of glances broke at once.

Daphne forced the corners of her lips upwards, shaping a delicate, practiced smile.

Then Prime Minister Howard stepped into the dining hall.

“Allen, we meet again.”

“Father.”

“Come, say hello. Oswald Lawrence—you know him, of course. The hero of Phozmeri. Hah!”

“Pleasure to meet you, Major Lawrence.”

When Daphne rose and offered her greeting, Oswald smiled—a gentle expression she had never once seen from him. His blue eyes held nothing but courtesy. Was he always this skilled at pretending?

Oswald replied in a gentlemanly voice.

“To meet His Excellency’s daughter—Princess Allen—it is an honor.”

After Greta’s lesson, Daphne offered her hand in a graceful and practiced manner.

He bowed and took it, lowering his head as though he were about to kiss her knuckles.

But she felt nothing.

The reason was obvious.

The thought of his lips brushing her skin must repulse him.

He knew exactly who she was.

He must despise her — an Astashan — to the core.

Daphne took her seat beside the Prime Minister.

Lavish dishes covered the long table, and the rich aromas twisted her stomach.

Even holding her cutlery in her perfectly practiced manner made her fingers cramp.

Oswald, by contrast, was the picture of effortless refinement.

Sitting across from her, he did not look at her — not once.

‘How horrified was he… when he heard about the marriage proposal?’

Following that day in the forest, he must have assumed that he would never see her again.

Learning about the arranged marriage must have made him feel sick.

This was the first time they had faced each other since then, and Daphne could feel every nerve in her body growing taut.

The pressure to portray Ellen correctly weighed on her twice as heavily.

Prime Minister Howard looked exactly as he had during their last meeting, cold enough to freeze the air around him.

Daphne fixed her gaze somewhere just past his shoulder, maintaining the practiced, doll-like smile she had worn all evening.

“Major, what do you think of Allen now that you’ve met her in person?”

Princess Allen Howard, hidden behind a veil for years.

Oswald answered with a polite smile, a stark contrast to the harsh disdain he once showed.

“She is very beautiful. Beautiful enough that I now understand why Your Excellency chose to hide her.”

His smooth, practiced voice.

Howard’s booming laughter filled the room once more. Outwardly, everything looked harmonious, yet Daphne felt the dread of a storm gathering beneath the surface. She shaped another practiced smile to match the mood.

“Allen.”

“Yes, Father.”

“He is a soldier I value greatly. Quite a handsome man, isn’t he?”

‘How would Allen respond?’

After a brief moment of thought, Daphne simply smiled. The Prime Minister watched her with a softened expression before turning his gaze back to Oswald.

“Major.”

“Yes, Your Excellency.”

There was more weight in his tone now.

“You must have been surprised when you were summoned alone to Allen’s residence.”

Oswald dabbed his mouth with a napkin, as if sensing what was coming.

“Not at all, Your Excellency.”

“There is something I wish to tell you. Or perhaps… suggest.”

Daphne drew in a quiet breath, an uneasy chill sliding down her spine.

‘Could it be… that he hasn’t heard anything about the marriage?’

Oswald straightened, ready to listen. Howard’s lips curled into a thin smile as he continued.

“How would you feel about marrying my daughter, Allen?”

A delicate silence fell. Oswald blinked once.

“…You mean for Her Highness and me to marry?”

So this was truly the first time he was hearing it. Daphne’s eyes widened, her attention fixed entirely on him. Yet his face remained unshaken—steel-solid, unreadable.

“Yes, Major Lawrence. I know full well that you were born and raised in crude, impoverished conditions and climbed your way to where you are now. What I am offering you is the noblest bloodline in all of Phozmeri.”

The noblest bloodline.

But Daphne had no such lineage. She wasn’t the real Allen Howard. That man knew the truth better than anyone; he had despised her Astashan blood from the start.

Her fingers tightened beneath the table as she recalled that fact. He would reject the proposal, of course, but the tension still crawled beneath her skin. She lowered her gaze to her water glass. The surface of the water remained perfectly still.

“It is an honor that you think so highly of me, Your Excellency, but I have never considered marriage. Not yet.”

The young man declined calmly and politely.

Naturally.

A breathless silence swept through the room. The marriage arrangement that had been tormenting her for days was dissolving before her eyes. Her rigid body slowly began to relax.

She reached for her water glass but hesitated. From her position, she couldn’t see the Prime Minister’s face, but she could sense his fury.

After a brief moment, Howard spoke. His voice had dropped to an icy low.

“Is that a refusal?”

“Yes, Your Excellency. My apologies.”

Another dreadful silence fell over the room.

Had the conversation not finished yet? Daphne could feel her nerves tightening further and a wave of nausea rising in her throat. She wanted nothing more than to disappear from this place entirely.

A chair scraped back slowly and deliberately.

Prime Minister Howard, who had been sitting as still as a statue, stood up.

Since the Major had rejected the proposal, perhaps it would end here.

The thought brought her a faint, fleeting sense of relief. If this suffocating meeting was finally over, she didn’t care what became of the conversation.

And yet, despite everything, she still found his behavior shockingly rude — even disrespectful — for a national leader to treat a decorated war hero so dismissively.

But none of that mattered anymore. All she cared about was escaping this room.

Howard stood up straight and Daphne hurried to follow his lead.

“Gh…!”

Suddenly, she felt something tighten around her throat. The force was so fierce and murderous that she could not breathe. She felt a hard, elongated object pressing against her head. Its familiar shape sent a jolt of terror through her.

A gun barrel.

“…!”

Prime Minister Howard had wrapped one hand around Daphne’s neck. With the other, he had drawn a pistol from inside his coat and pressed it directly to her head.

Across the table, Oswald’s expression shifted—only slightly, but noticeably—as his gaze flicked between Daphne and her father.

‘No… no…’

Daphne’s mind froze.

‘Did he find out I’m not Allen Howard?’

The thought made her whole body tremble.

Was she going to die?

Her neck had become so stiff that she could hardly breathe. She stood petrified, unable to move, as raw terror consumed her. The cold weight of the gun barrel felt far more chilling than Oswald’s had.

“Your Excellency, what are you—”

Oswald finally spoke.

Then, from behind her, Howard’s voice erupted—thick with fury.

“Oswald. If you do not agree to marry my daughter, I’ll blow Allen’s head off right here.”