Marin rose from her crouched position, clutching the mandrelson blossoms to her chest.
The Duke stood at a distance, his face obscured by the shadow of wide, overhanging leaves—nearly invisible.
If it weren't for that unmistakable aura of his, she wouldn't have recognized him at all.
Holding the flowers carefully in both hands, Marin moved slowly toward him.
He stood perfectly still, eyes closed.
"What did you say?"
"I repeated it twice already."
"I'm too far away to hear properly.
What, exactly?"
"I said it twice."
"Is it such a hardship to say it a third time?"
Marin shot an irritated glance at the Duke, who still stood with his eyes stubbornly shut.
"Yes."
His lowered lashes trembled faintly—but Marin didn't notice.
He extended one large hand toward her.
She clutched the mandrelson tighter to her chest, her own hand lifting instinctively to meet his—but she froze mid-motion.
Daya's words echoed suddenly in her mind.
Marin glanced at the Duke.
His eyes remained closed.
Shadows from the foliage above fell across his long lashes, beneath which lay the straight line of his nose and the full curve of his lips, faintly red even in the dim light.
Handsome.
Dangerously so.
For a moment, her heart seemed to plummet—falling with a resounding thud and burning painfully in her chest.
Marin stood in the gloom beneath the leaves, lifting one hand as though shielding her eyes from the sun.
She lowered her gaze to his outstretched hand—large, strong, capable of swallowing her smaller one entirely.
"...Is this about the wrist?"
The Duke's voice was dry.
"Five steps."
"There's no need to hold hands for five steps."
Her tone was firm.
"And there's no one here to witness us.
We don't need to feign intimacy."
The moment the words left her lips, a chill pierced her chest again—but she refused to show it.
"...You misunderstood.
I'm examining your wrist."
"Understood."
Marin placed her wrist against his open palm.
He closed his fingers around it gently and began his assessment.
Anticipating what he was about to say, Marin spoke first.
"Still not mature enough, right?"
"Correct."
"I've been eating perfectly well, so don't ask me when it's going to grow."
"Why are you speaking for me?"
"Lectures are only effective in moderation, you know."
She grumbled the words—and then his long fingers, folded loosely into a ring around her wrist, seemed to slide upward of their own accord.
They wove between hers, lacing together at the knuckles.
Marin stared wide-eyed at their intertwined hands.
He turned silently and began walking forward.
"My hand—"
"Examining the fingers."
Marin stared at his broad back and couldn't suppress a quiet laugh.
"You do realize fingers don't grow any longer, right?"
"You don't know that for certain."
He responded in the same indifferent tone—and squeezed their intertwined fingers a little tighter.
Marin gazed down at their clasped hands, her cheeks warming.
## — The Debutante's Night —
At last, dawn broke on the day of the debutante ball.
Debutante Week lasted seven full days, but the first evening was by far the most important.
Young ladies just entering adulthood reserved their finest gowns and most elaborate preparations for this night.
Marin descended to Daya's chambers, carrying a white velvet box in both hands.
The maid opened the door.
"Daya—"
Marin approached the mirror where Daya stood—and her breath caught.
Daya's ebony hair had been braided and styled like a crown, studded here and there with lustrous pearls and glittering diamonds.
Her translucent skin seemed to glow against the darkness of her gown, and her lips—soft pink, moistly pursed—created an image of breathtaking, almost ethereal beauty.
Girls who had just reached adulthood typically chose light, pastel-colored dresses.
But Daya had dared to choose black silk with a soft satin sheen that caught the light like rippling water.
Diamond dust scattered along the hem shimmered like the Milky Way stretched across a midnight sky.
She had been preparing since dawn—and the result was utterly dazzling.
"Daya!"
Marin's voice rang with genuine delight.
"You look *incredible*!
And the dress your mother chose is absolutely perfect!"
Daya's shy smile bloomed at the compliment.
She ran her fingers lightly along the hem, remembering the hours she and her mother had spent selecting this gown together.
"Thank you, Teacher Marin."
"This is for you—for your debut."
Marin extended the white velvet box.
"Can I really accept this?"
Daya's eyes widened in surprise.
"Of course!
Open it quickly."
Daya lifted the lid with careful reverence.
Inside lay a black opal necklace, its surface shimmering with an otherworldly harmony of colors—deep indigo bleeding into flashes of green and violet, all swirling together like captured starlight.
"Is this... an opal?"
"Yes."
"I heard from Perido—there are only two such stones in the entire world."
A flicker of something uncertain passed through Daya's forest-green eyes.
"You already gave one to Garnet."
"I wanted to give you the second one," Marin said gently, "so I had it set by a jeweler.
I'm sure you already have jewelry prepared, but... will you wear this tonight?"
Daya handed the box to her maid, who immediately fastened the necklace around her throat.
The iridescent black opal suited her like the perfect frame around a priceless painting.
"How beautiful!"
The maid's mouth hung open in genuine awe.
"Absolutely stunning, Daya!"
Marin nodded fervently.
"Thank you, Teacher."
Daya's smile was soft, radiant with quiet joy.
The diamond carriage pulled up before the imperial palace.
The nobles—having heard rumors of its existence beforehand—didn't immediately rush toward the debutantes' hall.
Instead, they gathered along the entrance to watch.
The Duke of the West descended first, leaning lightly on his cane.
He turned and reached one hand through the open carriage door.
A young lady with platinum-blond hair and a peach-colored gown emerged, taking his hand gracefully.
"Is that His Grace's bride?"
"Much... lovelier than the rumors suggested."
"You see?
There's no faith to be placed in gossip."
The platinum-haired lady stepped aside—and the Duke extended his hand into the carriage once more.
A young lady in a gleaming black dress descended slowly, like night itself taking human form.
"Ah... ah..."
"Exquisite..."
"They say House Adria is famed for beauty, but I never imagined it was to *this* extent..."
Marin listened to the whispers rippling through the crowd from afar.
Seeing how utterly captivated they were by Daya's beauty, she couldn't help but smile with quiet satisfaction.
"Let's go."
The Duke, still leaning on his cane, offered his other arm to Marin.
She took it out of habit.
The three of them—Marin and Daya flanking the Duke—walked slowly toward the grand hall.
At the entrance, the master of ceremonies announced their arrival in a ringing voice:
"His Grace, Duke Gerald von Vines, and his bride, Lady Marin Shuvenets, daughter of Viscount Shuvenets!
Lady Daya Adria, daughter of Count Adria!"
Every head in the assembled hall turned toward them.
"That's the Count's daughter making her debut this year.
The dress suits her wonderfully."
"Ah—and that necklace!
What kind of stone is that?
I've never seen anything like it."
"Her face seems to glow."
The ladies devoured Daya's gown and jewels with hungry eyes.
The gentlemen devoured Daya herself.
And yet she stood there, utterly unaffected by the weight of their gazes—noble, serene, untouchable.
"Lord Gerald."
Marin kept her voice low.
"You must be busy.
Go ahead—I'm not leaving Daya's side."
Gerald's eyebrow arched.
"What's gotten into you lately?"
"What do you mean?"
"It's as though you're avoiding me."
Marin lowered her gaze slightly, scrambling for an excuse.
"Me?
Not at all."
She gestured subtly toward Daya.
"But Daya isn't comfortable here yet, and neither am I.
I'm her chaperone.
If you stay nearby, people will swarm us."
Daya, who had been quietly listening, nodded in agreement.
At that moment, the master of ceremonies raised his voice once more—louder, more commanding:
"His Imperial Majesty, Leonheim von Omen!
His Imperial Highness, Crown Prince Alekpet von Omen!"
"We greet His Imperial Majesty!"
Every noble in the hall bowed as one, a sea of bending spines and lowered heads.