"My lady, you seem to value these two deeply."
The Crown Prince regarded her with an unexpected expression—thoughtful, almost wistful.
A soft smile graced Daya's lips.
"Because they are family."
"Family..."
The prince's voice dropped to a whisper, as though he were speaking only to himself.
"So this is what family is like..."
At his murmured words, Daya's gaze returned to him, lingering with newfound curiosity.
She had heard from her parents that the Emperor, consumed by jealousy of his own son, had turned away from the Crown Prince entirely.
"May I ask you a question as well?"
"Ask anything you like."
The prince straightened, as though shaking himself free of his thoughts, and spoke with renewed clarity.
"Why do you speak the way you do?"
"Is my way of speaking strange?"
He tilted his head like a man being asked such a question for the very first time.
Daya laughed aloud at the sight—a genuine, musical sound.
When a well-mannered beauty smiles so openly, the world seems to brighten for a single, breathless moment.
The prince closed his eyes briefly, then opened them again.
His fingers tightened involuntarily around her hand.
"Your Highness?"
Daya called to him in bewilderment.
"I retract what I said earlier."
"Pardon?"
"I didn't fall in love at first sight."
A deep, earnest smile curved his lips.
"I fell in love *now.*"
As soon as they moved a safe distance from the Emperor, a white-haired elderly gentleman approached them with brisk strides.
"Duke.
Where is my son?"
Marin glanced cautiously at the old man, who had barely greeted them before demanding the return of his offspring.
"He will arrive shortly."
"Tch.
I came early because I wanted to see the boy as soon as possible."
His sharp gaze shifted to her.
"My lady—they say you and my son are on good terms?"
"Ah..."
Marin parted her lips, uncertain how to respond.
"And who is your son, if I may ask?"
The Duke standing beside her answered smoothly: "Duke Branin Rodel Sant."
Marin's eyes widened in surprise.
She quickly sank into a curtsy.
"Greetings, Your Grace.
I—"
"I know, I know.
I've heard much about you from my son, young lady."
Curiosity sparkled in the Northern Duke's azure eyes like sunlight on ice.
"I... see."
Marin smiled awkwardly and fell silent.
She didn't know exactly *what* he'd heard, and agreeing blindly felt risky.
"I heard you're excellent at reading aloud?
I love being read to as well.
Perhaps I should request your services someday—"
"Enough."
The Duke's cold voice cut him off mid-sentence.
"Tch.
Colder than the north wind itself."
The Northern Duke clicked his tongue in mock disapproval, stealing a sidelong glance at Gerald's closed-eyed face.
A shadow of regret passed through his gaze.
Marin, observing this exchange, nodded to herself.
*In the novel, the only ducal house that wasn't at odds with the Duke of the West was the North.*
"Your father wasn't like this, you know."
At that moment—
"So you're all gathered here."
A young man in a dark blue military uniform and a middle-aged man dressed in black approached them.
"Ah, so this is the Duke's famous bride?"
The sharp-eyed young man fixed his gaze on her with unsettling intensity.
Marin looked away timidly.
Only another duke had the right to address a duke without using the honorific "Your Grace."
"Southern Duke—what brings you here?"
"I came with the Eastern Duke.
I saw you both and decided I ought to meet your bride."
"Greetings, Your Grace.
I am Marin of House Viscount Shuvenets."
"Pleased to meet you, my lady.
I am Duke Smith Jin Patayan."
"The pleasure is mine."
When Marin turned to greet the Eastern Duke, he waved her off with a warm, good-natured smile.
"No need to stand on ceremony with me, young lady.
I'm merely a duke in name."
Marin glanced up in confusion at *her* Duke standing beside her.
"I see everyone here has plenty of free time."
Marin watched the other dukes' reactions with rising alarm.
The Northern Duke laughed aloud.
The Southern Duke clenched his jaw as though holding back fury.
The Eastern Duke merely smiled softly, unperturbed.
Of all of them, Marin studied the Southern and Eastern Dukes most carefully.
The Eastern Duke—who had taken his father's place as head of the aristocratic faction—was one of those men whose thoughts remained utterly inscrutable.
Though, in the novel, he had disappeared without a trace and hadn't been an important figure.
And the Southern Duke, the same age as Gerald, considered himself the Duke of the West's rival—one-sidedly, of course.
The true killer had never been named in the novel—a frustrating omission.
As Marin's light green eyes darkened with these thoughts, the Duke called to her:
"Marin."
"Yes?"
"You said you wanted to wet your throat, didn't you?"
"...Ah, yes.
I've been parched since we arrived.
Please excuse me."
Marin—a small fish swimming among mighty sharks—bowed politely and retreated.
Only the Northern Duke acknowledged her bow with a respectful nod.
She exhaled heavily once she was out of earshot and headed toward the champagne table.
It was only after one particularly disastrous drinking session that she had vowed never to touch alcohol again.
Marin stared at the sparkling glass of champagne before her, locked in an internal debate over whether to drink it or not, when suddenly a mischievous voice rang out beside her:
"Did you just have a staring contest with that drink?"
She turned.
The man from the pastry shop stood beside her, wearing a lazy, teasing smile.
Bright lemon-yellow hair.
Bronze skin.
Black eyes sparkling with mischief.
A straight nose and seductive scarlet lips.
Dressed in a white ceremonial suit adorned with a scattering of jewels, he was an exotic vision—striking and impossible to ignore.
"*You!*"
"You recognized me?"
The man's eyes crinkled affectionately.
He had a devastatingly beautiful smile.
"How did you get in here?"
People had been chasing him—was it truly safe for him to appear in a place like this?
As if reading her thoughts, he smiled and explained with easy charm:
"Back then, I was being hounded by overprotective guards, so I ran.
But this time, I've come quite officially—by invitation.
And what are *you* doing here, my lady?
You're not a debutante, I think.
Were you perhaps planning to date me after all?
Or did you really come to see someone else?"
Marin regarded the man with a cool, indifferent gaze.
No matter how handsome he was, she didn't care for this frivolous type.
Catching her shift in mood, he laughed with genuine delight.
"My lady, you just looked down on me, didn't you?
All the more reason for me to pursue you.
I adore women who don't stand on ceremony."
His black eyes sparkled with obvious interest.
"And why do you presume to speak so informally from the very start?"
Marin made a point of sounding uncomfortable.
"You switched to informal speech first."
He winked and flashed another dazzling smile.
A strong suspicion struck her.
"By any chance... are you from the Sanders Empire?"
She felt awkward suddenly switching to the informal register, so she muttered it more to herself.
Marin knew only one other native of the Sanders Empire—Suren—so she half-doubted her own guess.
"You have a keen eye.
I am the Third Prince of the Sanders Empire."
"Ah, I see...
Wait—*what?*"
Marin nodded absently—then her head snapped up.
"Tan Leoram Sanders, Third Prince of Sanders.
And you are?"
Marin stared at this exotic, striking man in stunned silence.
And not because he was a foreign prince.
It was the first time she had ever laid eyes on someone destined for death.
She involuntarily gasped.
To hide her shock, she quickly lowered her gaze.
"I'm asking for the lady's name."
Tan repeated the question insistently, his smile still bright and warm.
"Marin...
Shuvenets."
"Oh!
Marin—lovely to meet you.
But why are you suddenly using formal speech again?
I'm about to get upset."
His feather-light manner dulled the edge of her shock slightly.
Marin cautiously raised her head and studied him more carefully.
"When did I ever use informal speech—"
"Just now.
'By any chance, are you from the Sanders Empire?'—completely informal."
"I said that under my breath."
Tan laughed loudly, unabashed.
"I think I've fallen in love with you.
Let's start dating for real, starting today."
"*Wha—what?!*"
"Let's go somewhere quieter and drink that champagne you were eyeing."
He winked.
Before she even had time to process the tragic fate awaiting him, she was already drowning under the pressure of his relentless flirtation.
"Forgive me, Your Highness the Third Prince—"
"What is it, Candy?"
"What?
*Candy?*"
"Don't like that nickname?
Then how about 'My Goddess'?"
"W-wait!
I have a fiancé!"
"Yeah.
Break up with him."
Tan's eyes curved into sweet crescents, and he smiled as though it were the most trivial matter in the world.