The hunting festival has returned.

Twice a year, in winter and summer, the imperial court held a grand hunt. Those who emerged victorious were granted the honor of receiving a medal personally bestowed by the Emperor.

As the festival approached, it was not only the knights who became busy, but the noble ladies too.

The young ladies embroidered handkerchiefs on fine cloth by hand and offered them to their favored knight, praying for his safety. Married men received theirs from their wives or family members.

This meant—

Bel had to prepare one too.

She had naturally assumed that she would not be attending and that it was not her concern.

It was only when a maid mentioned, almost in disbelief, that Bel would, of course, accompany the Grand Duke that she began to panic. Bel hurriedly started thinking about the handkerchief she was expected to give him.

An embroidered handkerchief…

During her years of isolation at the Baron’s estate, Bel had searched for ways to fill her endless hours besides reading Braille.

Before she lost her sight, she had often embroidered.

She had once tried to revive that memory, stitching the simplest patterns by touch alone.

For the more intricate parts, she quietly asked the maid who brought her meals for help.

Occasionally — very occasionally — one or two of the maids, perhaps moved by the sight of Bel spending every day alone in her room, would lend her a hand.

It was rare.

But it had happened.

Until the day Baron Logan saw her sewing and reprimanded her for wasting such fine fabric.

After that, she stopped.

That had been six years ago.

Even if she wanted to try again and experience that feeling, her hands had long since become uncooperative. The needle would not obey her as it once had. If she forced herself to try, disaster would surely ensue — her fingers would bleed and she would make a mess of it.

But still… shouldn’t she give him something?

There would be many eyes upon them. She could not simply disregard the custom.

Perhaps it didn’t have to be embroidered. A sincere gift would suffice. After all, on other occasions, something other than a handkerchief was presented.

It wasn’t a bad idea.

However, Bel didn’t own anything suitable to offer Damian. Besides, she doubted he would want anything that had once belonged to her.

After much hesitation and quiet deliberation, Bel stopped the maid who brought her meals — the same maid who had once fetched her medicine — and asked her cautiously if she could buy a handkerchief.

“A handkerchief?”

The maid hesitated.

No matter how casually she treated Bel, she was still her mistress. That brief pause hinted at her irritation at being burdened with an inconvenient errand.

Without a word, Bel took out the fifteen silver coins she had prepared just in case.

Only then did the maid agree.

Two days later, she returned with what Bel had requested.

“Here it is. It’s close to gold, just as you asked.”

Bel carefully accepted the handkerchief.

Initially, she had asked for red, the color of victory. However, she then remembered the color of his eyes and quietly changed her mind.

If it could have been made with threads woven with real gold dust, that would have been perfect. But Bel did not possess such wealth.

Would he like it?

Even if he didn’t, she just hoped he wouldn’t throw it away.

Taking care not to stain it, she folded the handkerchief with quiet precision and stored it away safely, waiting for the hunting festival.

***

The hunt took place in the forest just outside the capital city.

The previous day, heavy rain had fallen, leaving the air thick with dampness. Puddles were scattered across the ground, and the earth was soft and muddy underfoot.

The coachman remarked that it had rained far more often than usual that year.

Bel silently agreed.

With so many knights and nobles gathered in one place, the hunting grounds were filled with noise: overlapping voices, clinking armor and restless snorting of horses. The sound pressed in from every direction.

It was only the second time she had experienced such overwhelming noise since her wedding day. The constant noise made her head throb.

Having grown used to narrow, silent spaces, this place felt foreign — almost suffocating.

Feeling faint, Bel returned to the Montevark tent to rest before the hunt began.

Their tent stood near the imperial one, set apart from those of the other noble families. Compared to the chaos outside, it was quiet.

She sat on the simple cot inside, still holding the handkerchief.

Although the hunt would soon begin, she had not yet given it to Damian.

They had travelled in separate carriages. When they arrived, he stayed outside the tent, and the opportunity to give it to him slipped away.

That was one reason.

But the greater reason came later.

She realized too late that anything offered by someone he despised would not be welcome.

It would be a waste of money and effort. Ultimately, however, she chose not to give it to him.

It was better than standing before him, only to be coldly ridiculed for doing something meaningless.

“Why are you still inside?”

“Ah. I—I felt a little dizzy, so I was resting. I’m sorry. I-I’ll come out now.”

Bel jumped to her feet at the sound of Damian’s voice, which had suddenly become much closer.

Flustered, she hurriedly hid the handkerchief.

“What are you hiding?”

The sharp question cut through the air.

Bel hesitated only briefly before answering, as though it were no big deal.

“M-My handkerchief.”

For a brief moment of desperation, she hesitated.

Should she give it to him or not?

Now that he had noticed it, hiding it would be pointless. She almost confessed that it was meant for him, but stopped herself just in time.

There would be no favorable reaction.

“……”

There was no reply.

Fortunately, he didn’t seem particularly interested.

As his footsteps faded into the distance, Bel hurried after him.

“Look over there! It’s the Grand Duke!”

Damian exuded an overwhelming presence.

When he arrived, murmurs and exclamations rippled through the crowd.

Participants instinctively shrank from him, while nobles — both men and women — began to comment on his arrival.

They praised his striking appearance and unmatched skill, as well as the imposing black stallion standing proudly beside him.

“Is that the Grand Duchess?”

“Yes. Though she’s quieter than I expected.”

“Nothing special to look at. She must have other… talents.”

Of course, there were also nobles whispering about Bel.

Believing that she could not hear them, they allowed their crude remarks to flow freely.

However, although she was blind, Bel’s hearing had become acute.

She caught every word.

Damian, standing beside her, must have heard them, too. Yet he remained silent, as if nothing had reached his ears.

Bel accepted this just as quietly.

The hunt was about to begin.

All around them, noble ladies presented embroidered handkerchiefs to the knights, who received them with grateful smiles and words of thanks.

The air was alive with warmth and anticipation.

And amidst that lively atmosphere, the two of them stood side by side, feeling awkward and distant.

Bel’s hand slipped into her pocket, her fingers brushing against the handkerchief.

In such a setting, her resolve began to waver.

Perhaps—

Just then—

“Your Grace, it has been a long time.”

Damian and Bel both turned their heads at the sound of the clear, melodious voice.

When Damian did not respond immediately, the woman spoke again in a light tone.

“You’re not going to pretend you don’t remember me, are you?”

“I remember, Lady Olivia.”

Bel stiffened at the sound of her name.

Olivia had once been Damian’s fiancée.

They had almost married. Only circumstances had led them to end their engagement by mutual agreement.

Although she knew it was long over, anxiety welled up inside her.

What right did she have to feel threatened?

Still, perhaps this was fortunate.

Damian’s tone was formal and distant.

One might think that such a tone would discourage further conversation.

But Olivia merely laughed softly.

“You’re as curt as ever, Your Grace.”

She steered the conversation forward with effortless grace.

Bel was not included.

She felt an inexplicable sense of isolation creeping over her.

She considered quietly stepping away.

“Oh my. Forgive me. I’ve neglected proper introductions. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Your Grace. I am Lady Olivia.”

“Ah. It’s a pleasure… Lady Olivia.”

“And Your Grace—have you not yet received a handkerchief?”

That was all.

After the perfunctory greeting, Olivia’s attention was entirely focused on Damian.

“If you have not yet received one, may I offer you the one I embroidered?”

For a moment, Bel questioned whether she had heard correctly.

According to tradition, a married knight would receive a handkerchief from his wife. If not from his wife, then from a family member.

This gift symbolized more than a wish for safety; it could also be a subtle declaration of affection.

This meant—

What Olivia had just said was no different from openly declaring her feelings to a married man.

She had done so while his lawful wife stood right beside him. Yet, rather than feeling angry at Olivia’s boldness, Bel felt uneasy.

Damian no longer held even the faintest trace of affection for her. Only resentment remained.

The woman standing before him now was Olivia, admired and praised as the flower of high society.

It would not be strange if he felt drawn to her.

But Bel forced herself to regain her composure.

The moment she realized that she had no right to feel anxious, let alone jealous, the storm churning within her slowly quietened.

“Very well.”

So when Damian accepted Olivia’s handkerchief, Bel remained composed.

“Thank you, Your Grace.”

There was a hint of excitement in Olivia’s voice; she hadn’t really expected him to accept.

The trumpet announcing the start of the hunt echoed through the air.

Bel gathered herself and called out to him.

“Your Grace.”

There was no reply.

Yet she could still feel his cold gaze on her.

Instead of offering her the handkerchief that she had failed to give him earlier, he spoke softly.

“…Please return safely.”

Fireworks burst into the sky above them, followed by a roar of cheers.

As expected, Damian mounted his black stallion and rode off without saying anything.

Bel turned away, gripping the unclaimed handkerchief tightly in her hand.