Sigrid

Marie-Chez chuckled as she answered. The three of them slipped out to the terrace with champagne glasses and took deep breaths of the summer night air.

“Ahh— I feel alive again.”

Lowengrin sighed.

“Hasn’t your fiancé arrived yet?”

At Marie-Chez’s question, Lowengrin smiled and said:

“He probably won’t come until tomorrow.”

“Ah, he has no sense of romance. He should come every day to present you with flowers.”

“He sent flowers through a servant.”

Lowengrin pointed to the fresh flower in her hair. Marie-Chez shook her head.

“No, no. He should put it in your hair himself.”

“Well, I don’t think he’s that kind of person.”

Listening to their conversation, Sigrid cautiously asked:

“Who is Lowengrin’s fiancé?”

Marie-Chez glanced at Lowengrin and asked:

“The young Viscount Illisaine. What was his name again?”

“Hatien.”

“Right, that was it.”

Sigrid searched her memory but couldn’t find any information about him. She felt a bit disappointed.

“It would be nice to see him in person.”

“You can see him.”

“But you said he’s coming tomorrow.”

At those words, Marie-Chez turned to Sigrid and said:

“Aren’t you coming to the ball tomorrow?”

Sigrid’s gaze wandered before returning to Marie-Chez.

“Do I have to come tomorrow too?”

“It’s been a while since we’ve had a ball. Most people will probably attend every day. How long is this one?”

“A week.”

“That’s short, if anything.”

“Tomorrow too…”

Sigrid mumbled, letting out a short sigh. Balls were difficult. The reason they were difficult was because she had to engage in unknown conversations surrounded by unknown people.

For her, ordinary social conversation was incredibly challenging.

‘If I become good at conversation, will balls become enjoyable?’

As she pondered this, Marie-Chez made a short “Ah” sound and turned sharply to Sigrid.

“Are you going to wear that dress again tomorrow?”

Sigrid looked down at her dress and nodded.

“No way!”

Not just ‘Don’t,’ but ‘No way!’

Marie-Chez shrieked as if in horror, and Lowengrin raised an eyebrow. Sigrid hesitated before speaking:

“To be honest, I don’t see why I need to come tomorrow. Of course, coming to meet Lowengrin’s fiancé would be reasonable, but I thought I’d be able to see him today.”

“I’m sorry about that. I should have told you earlier, but I only received the message a little while ago.”

Lowengrin apologized. Marie-Chez stared at Sigrid for a moment before asking:

“Are you coming against your will?”

“Huh?”

“The ball, I mean. Don’t you enjoy it?”

“It’s hard for me to talk to people, so I’m not sure. I enjoy sword practice more than this. But…”

Sigrid tilted her head, then looked up with a smile.

“I like wearing pretty clothes and being made up beautifully. Of course, it’s difficult for me to do it myself. I think I’m not enjoying it because I’m not good at it. If I were good at it, I could probably enjoy it properly.”

When Marie-Chez’s hands touched her, it was like magic, so that process was quite enjoyable. But doing it herself fell short of that, making it quite a tedious task for Sigrid.

Marie-Chez thought for a moment, then said:

“If you don’t like it, you don’t have to come.”

At those words, Lowengrin dramatically widened her eyes and said, “Oh my?” Marie-Chez turned to her and said:

“I’m not that much of a party enthusiast, you know?”

“Oh, really?”

“Lowi!”

“Hmm, well, alright.”

Marie-Chez narrowed her eyes at Lowengrin before turning to Sigrid and saying:

“I’m not good at swordsmanship either. If someone suddenly started training me intensively to improve my swordsmanship, I’d really hate it. Right. I hadn’t thought of that. Instead of these large-scale gatherings, it might be better to start with small tea salons.”

Having said that, Marie-Chez fell into thought for a moment.

Sigrid inwardly felt relieved at the prospect of not having to attend tomorrow’s ball. Lowengrin, leaving Marie-Chez to her thoughts, asked Sigrid:

“Did your talk go well earlier?”

“Huh?”

“With Lord Lunatil. I saw you two going out to the garden together.”

At those words, Sigrid pursed her lips for a moment before saying:

“I kicked him.”

“What?!”

Marie-Chez snapped out of her thoughts and yelled. Sigrid said:

“Marie-Chez, you told me to do that.”

“Really? You actually kicked him?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“I kneed him in the stomach…”

“In that dress?!”

“That’s why I couldn’t kick him properly.”

Staring blankly at the dejected Sigrid, Marie-Chez burst into laughter.

“Ah, my ears are itching.”

At Beramund’s words, Nas—the Vice-Captain standing next to him—quickly replied:

“There must be more than a few people badmouthing you, Captain.”

Beramund narrowed his eyes and turned to his adjutant. Nas’s squinting eyes made it difficult to guess his expression. Nas continued cheerfully:

“You’re being unusually well-behaved today.”

“Well-behaved?”

“Yes, normally you’d have emptied two bottles of wine by now, giggling and dancing with this lady and that.”

“Uh… when you put it that way, I sound like a terrible playboy.”

Nas effectively conveyed the message ‘Aren’t you?’ without saying a word, simply by staring blankly at Beramund.

“I danced with a woman I liked today, so I’ll call it quits.”

At those words, Nas tilted his head and asked:

“By the way, what about that recruitment?”

“Hmm?”

“The twenty-year-old Aura user.”

“Ah, she seems like she might join, but then she doesn’t.”

“You should try harder. I hear the 2nd Division is chomping at the bit.”

“I am trying.”

Beramund said, patting Nas on the shoulder.

“Go and enjoy yourself. It’s a rare occasion for a party.”

“What about you, Captain?”

“I’m about to leave.”

“Already?”

At this, Nas turned to Beramund in genuine surprise. His face turned serious.

“Are you feeling unwell? Should I escort you home? Or—”

“No, I’m fine, really.”

My stomach hurts a bit, but I can’t say that.

Beramund, having decided to leave the party early, gazed at the ballroom for a moment before slipping out of the mansion. As he waited for his carriage, he heard someone running up behind him.

Turning around, he saw it was Sigrid. Beramund grinned.

“I thought you’d be the only woman running at full speed in a dress.”

“Beramund.”

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry for kicking you earlier.”

The apology was unexpected, and Beramund was surprised. Sigrid, being careful not to reveal her source of information, said:

“One of my friends said that violence should only be used as a last resort. You were wrong, but I went too far as well.”

Beramund, not knowing who this friend was but silently praying for them to receive divine blessings, replied:

“I accept. I suppose this is your way of doing things, Sigrid?”

“However, if something like this happens again, I plan to use a different method of restraint.”

At Sigrid’s words, Beramund raised both hands and said:

“I won’t do it again.”

“Understood.”

“Then, can I compliment you?”

“Pardon?”

“Like saying your eyes are as beautiful as a sunrise captured within them—”

As Beramund drew out his words, Sigrid’s eyes widened.

“Or that your skin is translucent? Or that your hair shimmers like a waterfall of silver coins?”

“Th-that, well—”

Sigrid, completely unprepared for such compliments, stammered and fidgeted, not knowing where to look. Beramund added:

“And you’re incredibly skilled with a sword.”

At those words, Sigrid’s eyes snapped back to Beramund.

“Really?”

“Hm?”

“That I’m skilled with a sword.”

“Uh— Don’t you know? Of course. Swordsmen of your caliber are rare.”

At those words, Sigrid beamed at Beramund. This kind of praise made her happy. Happy and satisfied. Even more so coming from Beramund Lunatil.

What could be sweeter than praise from the lips of a lifelong rival?

Beramund couldn’t take his eyes off Sigrid’s face for a while. Sigrid’s smile evaporated as cleanly as morning dew.

“It seems the carriage has arrived.”

“Huh? Oh, yes.”

“Well then, have a safe journey back. I’ll see you next time.”

“Oh, right.”

Beramund climbed into the carriage. Once Sigrid was out of sight from the carriage window, he propped his feet up on the opposite seat, crossing them, and chuckled.

‘A woman who’s happier about praise for her swordsmanship than her appearance.’

⊰⋆⋅⭑⋅⋆⊱⊰⋆⋅⭑⋅⋆⊱⊰⋆⋅⭑⋅⋆⊱⊰⋆⋅⭑⋅⋆⊱⊰⋆⋅⭑⋅⋆⊱⊰⋆⋅⭑⋅⋆⊱⊰⋆⋅⭑⋅⋆⊱⊰⋆⋅⭑⋅⋆⊱⊰⋆⋅⭑⋅⋆⊱⊰⋆⋅⭑⋅⋆⊱

Sigrid pondered what to wear before settling on her uniform.

At precisely 11 o’clock, Sigrid met Beramund at the west gate of the Imperial Palace. Or rather, she met the carriage Beramund was riding in.

As she climbed into the carriage, Sigrid said:

“This isn’t the ducal family’s carriage.”

“It’s an unofficial meeting.”

Beramund said with a slight smile.

“Did you enjoy yourself yesterday?”

“What? Oh, yes—”

The vague answer made Beramund frown and ask:

“Why? Did something happen?”

Glancing at Beramund, Sigrid thought, ‘He’s a friend too,’ and slowly said:

“Mo— I think one of my friends had a fight with their family.”

“Deforest?”

When Beramund probed, Sigrid’s reaction was dramatic.

“How did you know?”

“Well, that family’s story is quite famous. The eldest son is a bit off, you see.”

Beramund smirked, and Sigrid frowned. She briefly wondered whether she should get angry at him for insulting Morris’s brother or keep her mouth shut.

“There are open talks about how the second son should inherit the family. That’s stressful for both the first and second son.”

Beramund said leisurely, interlacing his fingers on his knee. The long-standing discord between the Deforest brothers was old news, nothing new. But for Sigrid, who knew nothing about it, she listened with wide eyes.

“The problem is that the current Viscount Deforest hasn’t firmly acknowledged his eldest son as the heir. From what I hear, he’s been comparing the two sons since they were young…”

Beramund lightly rubbed the corner of his eye and chuckled.

“The real issue is that the eldest son is actually a bit off. It would be better if the second son was ambitious, but he’s not. So the eldest is plagued by paranoia. If something happens to the viscount and the eldest inherits the title in his current state, the second son better watch his back.”

“Morris wouldn’t want the title.”

“That’s an even bigger problem.”

“…?”

Sigrid tilted her head, and Beramund just smiled.

A moment later, the carriage came to a stop, and Beramund got out first, extending his hand to Sigrid. However, Sigrid lightly jumped down on her own. Beramund withdrew his awkwardly outstretched hand.

“It’s a garden.”

“Indeed it is.”

The place where they alighted was the rear garden of the palace. Low grass covered the gentle slopes, and deliberately planted ornamental and fruit trees stood here and there. Occasionally, circular clusters of flowers were planted, resembling fairy rings. Beyond the low hills lay streams and lakes—a place too vast to be simply called a garden, yet a garden it was.

The tension in Sigrid’s shoulders eased. She had been worrying about how to act if she were to meet His Majesty the Emperor. She couldn’t decide what to do if they met.

No, she wasn’t even sure if it was something she could decide.

But this was the rear garden, and the Emperor wouldn’t come out here. Thinking it would just be a meeting with the Crown Prince lightened her heart.

“This way.”

Beramund started walking ahead, and Sigrid followed. As they entered an area where the trees grew denser, an elegant iron pergola stood in the center. And in the middle of it sat Crown Prince Serios.

‘Two, three, four— six.’

Without realizing it, Sigrid counted the hidden presences around them. As the two approached, Serios looked up and smiled.

“Good morning. Ah, no need to kneel. Come here.”

Serios raised his hand to stop Sigrid as she was about to kneel. Sigrid hesitantly approached, stopping ten paces away from Serios.

“A bit closer.”

Two more steps.