The remaining guests drifted towards the large tent that had been erected on one side of the plaza.

Inside, round tables had been carefully arranged for conversation and adorned with fine teas and dainty desserts. Small groups had already formed, their soft laughter and polite conversation filling the air.

Bel, however, did not spare them so much as a glance. With clear disinterest, she walked straight towards the Montevark family’s tent.

She had never enjoyed social gatherings anyway. And when those gatherings were filled with nobles poised to tear one another apart at the slightest misstep, she found the entire affair even more unbearable.

“Your Grace, the Grand Duchess.”

The moment she heard her name called, a sigh she could not voice aloud accumulated deep within her chest.

After a brief hesitation, Bel loosened her grip and turned toward the source of the voice.

“Oh—Lady Olivia. Is something the matter?”

“I believe you may have taken the wrong direction. Everyone is gathered over there.”

Olivia gestured behind her with her fan. Then, noticing that Bel did not move an inch, she arched a brow once before lowering the fan.

“I was headed that way myself. Shall we go together?”

“I—I was planning to rest in the tent…”

“If His Highness Damian intends to come, it will probably take him a while to arrive. You’ll only get tired waiting here on your own, so please join us. I am sure you will enjoy it.”

“No, I…”

“I’ll guide you. Come now. It will be fun.”

Moments earlier, she had behaved as if Bel weren’t there. So where had she gone?

This sudden warmth seemed suspicious. Bel was about to refuse outright when Olivia seized her hand without hesitation. Having never defied anyone in her life before, Bel was helplessly dragged along by that grip.

“Is that Her Grace, the Grand Duchess?”

The appearance of the reclusive Grand Duchess was enough to turn all heads. Before she could think of escaping, a crowd gathered around her.

Several voices mingled together, filling her unguarded ears.

“It is an honor to meet you, Your Grace. I am Baroness Vanessa.”

“P-pleased to meet you.”

“Your dress is absolutely exquisite. Is it, by chance, designed by Le Brenet?”

“Judging by the lace pattern, it certainly seems so.”

“Oh, as expected of Le Brenet. It’s truly beautiful.”

Questions came at her one after another, like artillery fire, before she had any chance to steady herself. Bel could not gather her thoughts.

Caught in this relentless barrage, she could barely open her mouth to answer. The problem was not simply a lack of eloquence; she knew nothing at all.

Before the wedding, Baron Logan had hastily arranged for a tutor. If she were to move in noble circles, he insisted, she would at least need to acquire the basic knowledge expected of her.

But there were limits to what could be learned in such a short time.

Unlike the nobles, who were keenly aware of the latest fashions and whispered scandals, Bel was painfully ignorant of such things. She could not follow a single thread of their conversation. So, with no other option, she remained silent.

“By the way, have you seen Sir Noah today? Just as the rumors say—he’s remarkably handsome.”

“Indeed, a rare beauty.”

Bel drew inwards, shrinking as though she wished she could disappear. Perhaps it was her awkward, hesitant replies, but the attention that had been focused on her quickly shifted elsewhere.

This was strictly speaking her first social gathering.

She realized with painful clarity that she had completely failed.

Shame burned in her chest, leaving her feeling foolish and out of place. Yet beneath that humiliation was an undeniable surge of relief when the spotlight shifted elsewhere.

Olivia, who had insisted on bringing her along, had already slipped seamlessly into another conversation. She didn’t even glance in Bel’s direction anymore. If that were the case, why had she been so determined to bring her along?

Once the attention had fully faded, Bel, who had stood like a decorative ornament in the corner, began to edge away quietly.

The ladies were absorbed in lively gossip: whispers about a young lady who had given a handkerchief to a knight and rumors about a bold confession made on the spot. They were fascinated by other people’s romances. It seemed unlikely that anyone would notice if she simply slipped away.

“Your Grace must have given a handkerchief to His Highness as well, did you not?”

Had that remark not been made—

Bel, who had just begun to step forward, froze mid-step, caught in an awkward half-movement.

She could just say no. That would be the truth.

And yet, for reasons she could not fully explain, the word would not leave her lips.

She was not entirely ignorant. She understood only too well what it would suggest if a wife failed to offer her husband a handkerchief on a day like this. It would suggest that the bond between newlyweds, not yet worn thin by the passage of time, was already strained.

This was true.

But it was not something that needed to be laid bare for others to see. Not out of wounded pride, but because she knew exactly where the inevitable whispers would lead. She did not want her thoughtlessness to become a weapon that could hurt Damian.

Though perhaps Damian would not care in the slightest.

Until now, he had responded with sharp severity whenever the faintest rumor had tied itself to her name. Yet it had never been solely for the sake of preserving his own reputation.

He had only acted out of fear for the real Isabel’s safety.

Now that she had been exposed as a fraud, however, he probably didn’t care what people said about her anymore.

In any case, she could not lie in Olivia’s presence.

Having reached this conclusion, Bel opened her mouth to offer a vague excuse, but Olivia cut her off.

“I saw Her Grace give it to him myself. It was a truly lovely handkerchief, wasn’t it?”

Startled, Bel could only move her lips without making a sound.

Just moments earlier, Olivia had dragged her here and left her behind without a second glance. So why was she now fabricating a story to protect her dignity?

Was she feeling guilty about what had happened earlier? If she had been at all thoughtful, she would never have handed him her handkerchief so boldly in front of his wife.

As Bel’s suspicions about Olivia’s sudden display of kindness grew, Olivia continued speaking smoothly.

“It seems Her Grace is too shy to speak of it. If I may add, His Highness smiled when he received it.”

“A smile? It’s rather difficult to imagine His Highness the Grand Duke smiling.”

“He must love Her Grace very much.”

The noblewomen cast envious glances, but Bel was too stunned to utter a single word.

‘Ah.’

Only then did she understand why Olivia had made up that story and taken her side.

It had never been for her own benefit.

Olivia simply wanted her to know that she was pleased to have received the handkerchief.

Bel felt as though she had been seized by the ankle and dragged into dark, suffocating depths. Nausea churned inside her, with nowhere to escape, leaving her breathless beneath its weight.

Before long, the ladies’ attention shifted elsewhere. Olivia effortlessly guided the conversation, commanding it with natural grace and charm.

She was flawless — radiant in a way that Bel could never hope to be. Compared to her, Bel was nothing more than a silent presence: ignorant and unable to contribute anything meaningful to the conversation.

Eventually, she slipped away in silence. No one called her back. No one tried to stop her.

A heavy gloom settled over her heart. Discouraged, she wandered aimlessly and forgot entirely that she was supposed to wait for a maid to accompany her back to the tent. Anywhere would suffice, as long as she could be alone.

Lost in thought and heedless of her steps, she tripped over a stone and almost fell. As she pressed her walking stick down to steady herself, she felt a hand grasp her arm.

“Are you all right?”

“Yes. Th-thank you, Your Highness.”

The moment she realized that the man she had clung to was Fabian, Bel pulled away hastily.

Why was he here? Had he already caught his prey? The competition hadn’t even been going on for an hour yet.

However, rather than dwell on this question, Bel chose to put as much distance between them as possible.

Her nerves were on edge as she scanned her surroundings, worried that someone might see them together. She remembered Damian’s warning not to grow close to Fabian.

“I-I shall be going now, Your Highness.”

Fearing a misunderstanding, Bel hurried off. She thought she heard Fabian call after her, but pretended not to hear.

“Milady! There you are!”

After walking blindly for a while, she realized that she no longer knew where she was. She hesitated until a maid from the Grand Ducal household spotted her and came over.

“Where have you been? I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

“Sorry…”

Although Sophia was just a maid, and her tone was clearly reproachful, Bel did not take offence. Instead, she apologized obediently. She felt most keenly not irritation, but relief that the maid had not seen her with Fabian.

“Let’s go back.”

With the maid’s help, she returned to the tent and slumped into a chair.

As she tried to steady her breathing, she slipped her hand into her pocket and froze.

The handkerchief was gone.

***

Fabian watched Bel hurry away for a long time. She looked as though she were fleeing the scene of a crime. Only once she had completely disappeared from view did he lower his gaze to the gold handkerchief he was holding.

It was the one she had dropped.

Although gold symbolized wealth and honor, this was not the kind of handkerchief that noblewomen usually carried. In fact, it seemed far more likely that it had been specially commissioned for this occasion.

“Hm.”

Fabian raised an eyebrow slightly and let out a soft, thoughtful hum.

If that were the case, Damian should have been given the handkerchief. So why was she the one carrying it? Had she never given it to him? Such gifts were usually embroidered before being given as presents. Had she held back out of embarrassment because she was unable to embroider one herself?

As Fabian studied the fabric more closely, something flickered briefly in his eyes.

Whatever the reason, he felt no real curiosity about it. At most, he had considered using it as an excuse to see her again. But then an unexpectedly amusing thought crossed his mind, lifting the corner of his lips into a faint smile.

With deliberate care, Fabian tied the gold handkerchief around his wrist.

Then he turned and headed towards the forest, where the hunt was already in full swing.