"Today we neutralized another palace spy."
Gerald listened to the report, then clicked his tongue softly in annoyance.
"Because of the Crown Prince, these gnats keep swarming."
"Yet His Highness follows Your Grace everywhere."
Olive's smile was wry, almost apologetic.
"There's no benefit in it."
"Perhaps..."
Olive hesitated, choosing his words carefully.
"He simply has no one to form close bonds with inside the imperial palace.
His Majesty keeps the Crown Prince at arm's length, and Her Majesty—due to her poor health—entrusted his upbringing to his maternal grandfather, the Marquis, from early childhood..."
"For a Crown Prince, he's far too naive."
Olive fell silent.
He wasn't bold enough to criticize royalty as freely as the Duke did.
"By the way, Olive."
Gerald's tone shifted abruptly.
"How old are you?"
"You know perfectly well that Your Grace and I are the same age."
Olive's expression clearly asked: *Why do you need to know this?*
Lately, the Duke had developed a strange habit—whenever he encountered men near his own age, he would invariably ask how old they were.
"Exactly.
Why *are* you my age?"
"...Excuse me?"
Olive tried to parse how he was meant to respond to that.
"Ask the butler, Kanolam, if there's some secret surrounding your birth."
Olive stared at the Duke, convinced he must be joking—but Gerald's face remained perfectly serious.
"Ah... yes, Your Grace."
He was forced to agree, albeit reluctantly.
"Where is Zero?"
"Something malfunctioned on the road.
He'll be delayed slightly."
"And Marin?"
"She's out walking with Lady Daya.
You asked about her half an hour ago."
"Has it been half an hour already?"
The Duke rose quietly from his seat.
"Where are you going?"
"It's strange that they've been walking for half an hour.
What if they've run into another man like the Crown Prince?"
Gerald sharpened his hearing and strode forward.
Marin's bright, ringing voice was nowhere to be heard throughout the mansion—they must still be outside.
The moment he stepped into the open air, sunlight bathed his shoulders in warmth.
In stark contrast to the harsh, biting cold of the West, even at winter's end the capital enjoyed weather that felt almost spring-like.
A gentle breeze barely brushed his skin before gliding onward.
Gerald raised his head slowly and lifted his eyelids.
A pinpoint of light pierced the pitch-black darkness.
Around it, the world began to brighten—and then a wide, endless expanse of *blue* stretched above him.
For a moment, Gerald froze as though turned to stone.
His eyelids trembled.
He lowered his gaze, then closed his eyes and opened them again.
The sky remained brilliantly, impossibly blue.
"Ha—"
A sound escaped his lips—neither groan nor sigh, something caught between disbelief and wonder.
What had recently been blinding whiteness had given way to dense shadow, and the silvery gleam in his eyes had dulled to deep grey.
He had drunk mandrelson every single day, and once each day he had opened his eyes to check if anything had changed.
But every time, it had felt as though a black curtain had been drawn before him.
Just the night before, it had been pitch darkness.
And now, suddenly—he could see the *sky*?
Wisps of white cloud drifted lazily across the azure expanse.
He looked down.
Lush green leaves rustled in the breeze, their edges sharp and clear.
Tree trunks gleamed faintly with moisture.
Lower still—he could see the minuscule forms of ants crawling across the toe of his boot.
Gerald looked up at the sky again.
High above, a bird wheeled in flight, and he could distinguish the glint of blue in its eyes.
He could make out colors.
Details.
Everything was as sharp and vivid as it had been before.
His hand trembled with suppressed emotion—and he *saw* it trembling.
Without blinking, Gerald concentrated on all five senses at once.
Everything had returned to its rightful place.
He was finally, completely free from the prison of pain.
She had healed him.
Without her insistence, he never would have made this choice.
If someone—after being struck down by a flower monster—had tried to convince him that the very same flower would cure him, would he have listened?
Gerald had visited every renowned physician in the empire.
Not one of them had been able to restore his sight.
How had Marin known that mandrelson was beneficial for the eyes?
And why hadn't she given it to him immediately?
From the way she had tested it on herself first, it seemed even *she* had been skeptical.
Just thinking her name made him ache to see her—desperately, madly.
What did she look like?
What color was her hair?
Her eyes?
The shape of her nose?
Her lips?
"Your Grace—what are you doing out here?"
Daya's voice came from behind him.
The Duke closed his eyes immediately.
He had already decided who he wanted to see first when he opened them again.
"Why are you alone?
Where is Marin?"
"Ah—she wanted to pick flowers and went to the back of the garden."
"Understood."
"Your Grace."
"What is it?"
He had been about to leave quickly, but Daya's quiet voice stopped him.
"Are you... uncomfortable with me meeting His Highness the Crown Prince?"
"Do you want to see him?"
"I don't know."
"Then we'll revisit this conversation once you've made up your mind."
"Yes."
He could sense her nodding slightly, even without seeing her.
"Anything else?"
Gerald's tone was eager, impatient.
She smiled faintly.
"No.
Go ahead."
"Fine."
Gerald strode quickly in the direction Daya had indicated.
His pace increased steadily, and the wind began to whistle past him.
He strained his hearing, hoping to locate Marin by sound—but she must have been quietly picking flowers.
Not a whisper reached him.
Then, realizing the absurdity of it, he stopped abruptly and opened his eyes wide.
Out of sheer habit, Gerald had continued to keep his eyes closed, relying solely on his hearing.
With his vision restored and bright, he crossed the blooming garden and entered a narrow path that led into the trees.
The dense canopy overhead blocked the sun's rays, plunging the path into deep, cool shadow even in the middle of the day.
Soon he spotted clusters of mandrelson growing wild at the base of thick trunks.
A girl knelt before them.
He knew her instantly—by instinct alone.
His heart began to race wildly, erratically.
She wore a lilac dress.
Just as he had imagined, she was slender—almost delicate.
A sharp pang of something bitter rose in his throat.
*No matter how much I've fed her, she's still so thin.*
And yet he remembered the softness of her body when she had fit perfectly into his arms.
The corner of his mouth twitched involuntarily.
Her platinum braid hung down one side of her back, so long it nearly brushed the ground.
Even seeing only her back, he felt his heart—as though it had broken loose entirely—galloping out of control.
Gerald drew a deep breath, but it felt as though his throat were being squeezed.
He couldn't breathe.
He quickly unfastened one button of his collar.
Then another.
It was still stifling.
He deliberately stepped louder so as not to startle her.
As he expected, Marin flinched at the sound of his approach.
Her small frame curled inward like a forest creature sensing danger.
*Just a little more and she might disappear entirely.*
He watched as she turned cautiously to face him.
Gerald had always prided himself on his sharp eyesight—but now her face seemed to dissolve, hazy and dreamlike, as though seen through water.
He squinted involuntarily.
Only then did she come into focus.
Marin's skin was flawless, pale as porcelain.
Her eyes were a light, luminous green—like the first shoots of spring pushing through snow.
Her lips were soft and pink, slightly parted, and her white teeth framed by that delicate pink were utterly, devastatingly charming.
Recognizing him, Marin smiled widely—her eyes curving into joyful crescents.
Gerald closed his eyes against the sudden, dull ache that gripped his chest.
He pressed his palm over his heart.
He wanted to look at that face forever.
He traced every detail again and again in his mind, committing it to memory.
"You're Lord Gerald, aren't you?"
"Yes."
"I can't see your face well because of the shadow."
She tilted her head slightly.
"What are you doing here?"
"...I wanted to see."
Only after whispering it aloud did he understand why her smile alone could so mercilessly crush his heart.
"Excuse me?
I didn't hear.
What did you say?"
"I came because I wanted to see you."
Gerald decided, in that moment, to acknowledge this blind, consuming feeling within himself.
His heart—running toward her without hesitation—was the best proof of it.