Seizing the opportunity, Henrietta calmly made her way toward the noblewoman who had addressed her.

Fortunately, there was an empty seat beside her.

The woman shifted slightly, a silent invitation to sit.

“Yes, he is.”

“And just as handsome as he is kind, isn’t he?”

At the remark from the lady seated across from her, Henrietta nodded and naturally took her seat.

A quiet sigh of relief escaped her.

“If I saw a face like that every day, I’d look forward to waking up in the morning.”

A slightly mischievous comment came from an older woman.

Henrietta’s cheeks flushed faintly.

In truth, she felt the same.

At night, he was beautiful against the darkness and in the morning, radiant beneath the sunlight.

No matter the hour, he was striking.

“Yes… he truly is a remarkable man.”

Henrietta found a suitable answer and did not forget to smile with a touch of innocence, as though the question had left her shy.

“If it’s not too much trouble, may we ask why His Highness sent you a letter?”

The question came from somewhere a little farther away.

Such was their keen interest that it was hard to believe they had all been ignoring her just moments before.

At gatherings of women, it was customary for husbands or fiancés to send letters to be read out loud.

This signified how much he cherished his wife, and it was also an unspoken request for the women present to take good care of her.

Henrietta blinked slowly, then carefully placed the letter on the table.

“It’s nothing much.”

She had to raise her voice slightly, and though she tensed, it came out steady and natural.

“I’m waiting at the entrance. Let’s return home together.”

The noblewoman who had first spoken to her read the letter aloud.

Soft exclamations of admiration and envy rose from all around.

“My husband used to be like that when we were newly married…”

“Oh, what are you saying? Count Hanks still treats you that way, doesn’t he?”

“If that’s true, then it’s only because I might stop by the dress shop on the way home and buy a whole wardrobe of summer gowns.”

Laughter rippled through the room.

Henrietta joined in with a polite smile, subtly checking her posture.

Fortunately, the conversation naturally shifted toward dresses.

Though the gown she had worn at the imperial banquet was mentioned more than once, it had come from the Lorenzo atelier—so no one dared speak ill of it.

From tales of a young lady who had spent more than half her family’s fortune on a single dress, to discussions of the designs that would be in fashion that summer, the conversation flowed endlessly.

Then, it turned to a story about a dress claimed in advance by a noblewoman, only to be taken by a wealthy commoner.

“To think even commoners are wearing purple dresses now.”

The remark came from a round table set slightly to Henrietta’s left.

The young woman who spoke—brown-haired, with pale green eyes—had been watching Henrietta the entire time.

Henrietta pressed down on the tender inside of her cheek.

She recognized her immediately.

She was the youngest daughter of the Viscount Ingram and one of Janice O’Brien’s followers. Henrietta remembered her trying to torment her in a rather clumsy way.

She had recently heard that the Ingram girl had become Count Juan’s new wife.

“What else could you call this, if not the end of times?”

Though few openly agreed with the woman’s heated remark, most nodded subtly, suggesting they shared her thoughts.

“Honestly, I feel like there should be a law in In Road banning the sale of dresses in that color altogether.”

Purple is the color of nobility.

Two hundred years ago, it was exclusively reserved for royalty.

But times were changing.

Those who could not accept this clung even more tightly to their sense of privilege.

Henrietta pressed her lips together, trying to appear calm.

From experience, she knew only too well that the Ingram girl’s next target would be her.

“Your Highness, what do you think?”

“What exactly do you mean?”

She responded with a gentle smile, but a faintly mocking smile was returned to her.

“I’m asking what you think of commoners wearing purple and walking the streets as they please.”

The hostility in her tone was unmistakable, making the atmosphere around them tense.

To buy herself a moment, Henrietta lifted her teacup.

No one would interrupt a lady while she was drinking.

Although it sounded like a simple question, there was something more beneath it.

Hendrick travelled from the Noble Mile to the Inner Road via the Close.

“Well…”

Henrietta set her teacup down without a sound.

“I believe my thoughts are not so different from those of the noble ladies gathered here.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“That the nobility you were all born with,” she said calmly,
“is not something so shallow or vulgar that it needs to be proven by nothing more than a color.”

Silence fell upon the room like a sudden bolt of lightning.

Their shock was understandable — hearing such bold, almost insolent words from someone who, until recently, had been nothing more than an illegitimate tutor in the Schutzman household was bound to be shocking.

Yet no one dared to speak to the Crown Princess so carelessly. Though she could barely breathe, Henrietta lifted her chin higher, forcing herself to remain steady.

Hendrick did not want her to be a perfect noblewoman.

Although she could not fully grasp his intentions, one thing was certain: he had chosen her precisely because she was humble and imperfect.

At that moment, the butler who had delivered the letter returned to the hall.

He hesitated in the face of the heavy silence that filled the room, then carefully approached her.

Behind him, servants followed, carrying trays of champagne.

“This is a gift from His Highness the Prince—for all the ladies present.”

“Oh my, such a rare treat.”

The elderly noblewoman who had earlier offered Henrietta a seat spoke with a slightly exaggerated tone.

Her exclamation softened the frozen atmosphere.

It was the Viscountess of Bennington who had come to her aid.

“To send such a drink—one usually reserved for the imperial court… His Highness must truly hold his wife in great affection.”

She was a woman who carried the quiet authority of a family whose power had not been seized by force, but built over generations.

Much like her husband, the Viscountess of Bennington was known for rarely involving herself in political affairs.

“Wouldn’t you agree?”

Her voice was calm yet firm as she offered a gentle warning not to make the situation worse.

Though some still looked displeased, they nodded in reluctant agreement.

Only then did Henrietta realize that cold sweat had been trickling down her back.

After that, the tension eased and the conversation naturally turned to the champagne that Hendrick had sent.

It was lightly sweet, low in alcohol and delicately refreshing — the kind of drink that women would easily favor.

“The Pearson Festival will begin soon.”

The brief calm did not last long.

Once again, the conversation drifted toward a more sensitive subject.

“With His Highness the Crown Prince absent, this year’s festival is rather concerning.”

Even those who had been chatting casually now wore more serious expressions.

The Pearson Festival, held in honor of Pearson’s birth, was the grandest celebration, a sacred holiday shared by the Kingdom of Huntingford and the Empire of Baron Cohen.

It was the largest event jointly presided over by the Holy See and the imperial court, revealing the balance of power between the two.

The festival began in the great square of Noble Mile.

After delivering his address, the Emperor would kneel before the Pope to receive his blessing.

This act was performed in recognition of the Pope’s status as God’s representative.

Yet, to onlookers, it affirmed a single, powerful belief: Only those who received the Pope’s blessing were chosen by God to rule.

The Old Faith, having triumphed in its struggle against the New, now wielded greater power than ever before.

If, during this festival, the Pope were to bestow his blessing upon Schutzman, just imagining it made her entire body tremble, as though pricked by countless needles.

“Since Her Majesty the Empress has accepted Prince Hendrick as her son… then this year’s festival will likely be presided over by him.”

At that cautious remark, all eyes turned to Henrietta once more.

They were seeking an answer but she could only offer an awkward smile.

She knew no more than they did.

“Is that even possible?”

At that moment, the youngest daughter of the Ingram family abruptly rose from her seat, raising her voice.

She had always disliked Henrietta—but today, she had gone too far.

The Juan family was not in a position to speak so boldly in a place like this.

It seemed she still held a grudge over Janice being taken to court or perhaps she had been incited by the O’Brien family.

“Has it not always been Duke Schutzman who has upheld the empire so steadfastly? And besides, he is already betrothed to the legitimate daughter of Protestanto.”

“That’s right. No matter that His Majesty has taken Prince Hendrick in as the Empress’s adopted son—he is still a man who married an illegitimate woman with no standing.”

In the end, the conversation turned in the direction Henrietta had dreaded most.