“A mere knight… daring to covet the noble Lord Carlo. Filthy. Vulgar.”

The hands holding the gown began to tremble. Laila’s blue eyes twisted with pain, as if some old nightmare had come to life.

“Filthy, vulgar wretch. Just like your wh*re of a mother, that servant-born woman.”

It was the same voice that had haunted her dreams only days ago.

“Lord Carlo loves me. So stop deluding yourself and focus on your place.”

Roselina turned her back and ordered Laila to pull up her gown. Swallowing hard, Laila forced her trembling hands to obey and slowly rose to her feet.

She was accustomed to the jealousy and malice of the noblewomen, who could not bear to see her with Carlo. He was charming towards everyone, yet he was never truly close to anyone except her.

Even without jewels or silk, Laila’s quiet elegance drew attention wherever she went. The noblewomen despised her for it, none more so than Roselina.

Having clashed with women like Roselina countless times, Laila had believed that she would eventually grow accustomed to their cruelty. Yet the sting never faded. The humiliation and wounded pride still cut deeply every time.

“Of course Lord Carlo would never be interested in someone like you. You can hardly even be called a lady.”

When Roselina finally swept out of the room, Laila was left alone.

She turned towards the full-length mirror and faced her own reflection: her hair was tied up carelessly, its golden strands dulled by neglect; her knight’s uniform was plain and dark; her face was bare; and her hands were calloused from years of wielding a sword.

She was a woman far removed from the glittering world that Carlo now shared with Roselina.

‘I look so pathetic…’

In truth, anyone else would have called her beautiful—strikingly so. But in Laila’s dimmed eyes, the woman in the mirror was nothing but shabby and plain.

“Hhk…”

The tears she had fought so hard to hold back finally fell. She had promised herself that she wouldn’t cry, no matter what happened. But the world was merciless.

Even as she wept, she pressed a trembling hand over her mouth, desperate to stifle the sound. If Carlo heard her, it might disturb him — she had never wanted to be a burden to him.

That was how she’d lived all this time: in his shadow. Silent. Invisible.

“Ah, it seems my taste falls far short of your beauty, my lady. I thought this dress would do you justice, but clearly it cannot.”

“Oh, my lord, you flatter me. I adore it.”

“Then I’m relieved. As long as my lady is happy.”

“Hehe.”

Their cheerful laughter floated through the door: light, effortless and harmonious. But to Laila, each sound was like another cruel twist of the knife.

Perhaps it was time to end this torment.

But could she really do it?

In the salon, their shopping continued, one glittering stop after another. With each one, Laila’s silent suffering continued.

By the time the sun began to set and they returned to the Duke of Crussian’s mansion, Roselina’s gaze turned towards her once more.

“Lord Carlo, I’d like Dame Laila to ride with us on the way back.”

“What?”

‘It’s not over yet…’

Even Carlo looked surprised by the sudden request.

“I should ride outside to guard the carriage, my lady. I must decline your offer.”

Laila said quickly, but Roselina didn’t back down.

“There are other knights for that. I have something I need to say to you. So get in.”

“…”

When Laila glanced toward Carlo, seeking a reprieve, he simply nodded—reluctant, but yielding.

“…Understood.”

Roselina took Carlo’s hand and stepped gracefully into the carriage. Seemingly out of habit, Carlo also extended his hand towards Laila, but hesitated midway through the gesture and withdrew his hand before climbing inside.

Moments later, the carriage began to move.

Laila was forced to sit opposite them and watch the two of them sit close together; their closeness seemed as natural as breathing. She sat stiffly, more like an escort than a companion, silently enduring the sight.

“My lady, may I ask what it is you wish to discuss with my knight?”

Carlo spoke first, but Roselina’s gaze—sharp and gleaming with something almost predatory—shifted to Laila as she replied. The weight of that look made Laila’s skin prickle with unease.

“I’ve heard that you, Dame Laila, are a prodigy—renowned not only across the empire but throughout the continent.”

At those words, both Carlo’s and Laila’s eyes hardened. They could already guess where this was going.

“You must know the situation in northern Cerclezia isn’t good. My father is terribly worried. There’s talk that war may soon break out with the Faina Empire.”

Everyone in the capital already knew that. Faina had been an enemy of Cerclezia for a long time, and there had been whispers of renewed conflict for months. So why had she been summoned to the carriage just to be told that?

Laila already knew the answer. Roselina’s intentions were all too clear.

“My lady, do you mean…”

Carlo began, his tone uneasy. But Roselina cut him off, eyes never leaving Laila.

“His Majesty has ordered my father to begin preparations for war. The royal and noble knight orders will soon be deployed to the front lines. When my father heard of your reputation, he became… curious.”

‘You want me to fight your war? For you and your father?’

“Are you saying that you wish for my knight to take part in the campaign?”

Roselina’s lips curved into a smile—hungry, triumphant, and without a trace of shame.

“My father is terribly troubled. He believes victory depends on having skilled knights. If he were to hear that you, my lord, are willing to assist him… well, perhaps he might come to view our relationship more favorably.”

The implication was unmistakable—if Carlo wanted her father’s approval, he had to offer up his knight.

But war? Laila’s chest tightened painfully.

“And if that were to happen. I think… I could finally trust you with my heart.”

Laila turned to Carlo, her eyes desperate. Please. Not this time. Don’t abandon me again. Don’t agree so easily.

If he nodded—if he consented to send her away—she was certain something inside her would die.

Silence pressed down on the carriage. Roselina didn’t let it linger for long.

“Of course, it’s an important matter. Take your time and think about it.”

The polite tone was an illusion; her stiffened mouth made the real meaning clear. Refuse me, and this relationship ends here.

After escorting Roselina home, Carlo and Laila rode back to the mansion in silence.

All Laila wanted was to rush to her room, sink into a hot bath and wash away the humiliation, shock and raw selfishness she had experienced at the hands of the woman who wanted to use her as a pawn.

“Laila…”

Carlo’s voice stopped her just as she turned to leave. But before she could take another step toward her room, Carlo caught her arm.

“Laila…”

His voice was soft, pleading—so full of need it almost sounded pitiful.

‘Don’t say my name like that… You know I can’t turn away when you do.’

Cursing her own weakness, Laila looked up at him, just as she always had.

“…”

“…”

The silence stretched, thick and uneasy. Carlo, for once, looked unsure—hesitant, as though afraid of her reaction.

‘But what’s there to hesitate over You should have refused her immediately, just as you’ve refused every other noble who has tried to use you.’

She had always believed that he was that kind of man.

Laila was renowned for her swordsmanship: an undefeated knight and the pride of Cerclezia.

Years ago, at Carlo’s request, she entered the imperial swordsmanship tournament held at the royal palace and claimed an overwhelming victory. The knights who had mocked the idea of a delicate-looking woman competing failed to land a single blow before being brought to their knees.

Yet what astonished the spectators most was the manner in which she fought.

Without moving from her spot, Laila defeated every opponent, including the finest swordsmen of the Imperial Order.

“A prodigy swordswoman— the reincarnation of the Ancient Blade!”

Initial astonishment soon turned to reverence, inevitably giving way to greed.

From that day on, Laila was no longer just admired, she was desired.

It was not only the nobles of Cerclezia who sought to exploit her. Foreign envoys and aristocrats did the same.

Each time, Carlo stepped forward to protect her, rejecting them without hesitation. It was precisely these moments that caused her to fall more deeply in love with him — he placed himself between her and the world’s greed every time.

But when it came to Roselina, he could not do the same.

Each time he yielded to her, Laila’s heart was torn between heaven and hell.

‘Is he really going to ask me to go to war?’

She waited, tense and afraid, but the words that came from Carlo’s mouth were not what she expected.

“Did you cry earlier?”

“…What?”

The unexpected question caught her off guard. It took a moment for her to process it.

‘Ah… he must mean after I helped Roselina with her dress.’

“When you came out of the fitting room, your eyes looked a little red. I wondered if you’d been crying.”

Laila blinked. She had always thought his gaze was fixed solely on Roselina. When had he noticed something so small—her reddened eyes?

“That’s… what you wanted to ask me?”

‘Not about anything else?’

“…I’m sorry. For last night, for raising my voice… and for letting Lady Roselina treat you the way she did today. All of it.”

Carlo lowered his head, his expression heavy with guilt. But Laila knew that look too well. His apologies always came first—right before he said something cruel.

Watching him hesitate, she shut her eyes tightly.

‘You’re debating it, aren’t you… You’re thinking about agreeing to her request. You want me to go to war.’

Of all people, he knew better than anyone how much she loathed the idea of killing and how terrified she was by the thought.

Although she wielded a sword, Laila had never taken a life. Her blade was intended for defense, not for inflicting death. She fought to disarm and disable her opponents, bringing battles to an end without bloodshed whenever possible. This was not because she was weak, but because she was too skilled to need to kill.

Every life was precious.

Even with that conviction, the slightest wounds she inflicted were enough to haunt her nights with nightmares.

“I’m tired. Let’s… talk later.”

Her voice trembled despite her effort to sound calm. Disappointment pressed so deep it ached.

With that, Laila turned and walked away.

In truth, she had hoped—just once—that he would follow her. That he would stop her and say not to mind Roselina’s request, that she was the one who mattered most to him.

But Carlo didn’t move. Not a single step.