Chapter 06
A man stepped out of the narrow alley and entered the Garden of Four Seasons. Looking around as though it were his first time there, he spotted someone and quickly ran over.
In the direction he headed stood a brown-haired man wearing a distinctive knight’s uniform. Though the uniform’s lavish lace and dangling ornaments looked as if they belonged on a stage, the man embraced the brown-haired knight tightly, as if to declare, “This is indeed my knight.”
Olivia, watching the scene, let a faint smile briefly grace her lips before it vanished.
“Sally. Let’s go now.”
“Yes, Miss.”
Olivia turned and walked back the way she had come. Sally, seemingly impressed by the man’s appearance, kept chattering about him.
“Come to think of it, that man didn’t even give his name. He said he’d bring you a precious gift, didn’t he?”
“We probably won’t meet again anyway. What does it matter.”
“But still! Who knows—maybe if you ever meet again, he’ll bring something truly valuable.”
As bright sunlight poured down, Olivia’s silver hair shimmered beautifully.
Someone, wondering whose hair could possibly gleam like that, turned around absentmindedly and stared at her in disbelief, blinking rapidly.
Her strikingly fair face, radiantly beautiful and exuding a mysterious aura the longer one looked, along with the Madelaine family’s signature silver hair and those green eyes…!
Those who recognized Olivia widened their eyes in shock.
Olivia walked gracefully. The gazes falling upon her came in many forms—cold, needle-like glares that pricked sharply, curious eyes,
or even…
“…Is that young lady really ‘that’ noblewoman?”
“Yes. Just from her looks, she gives off such an eerie vibe, doesn’t she?”
Filthy stares that raked over her.
Years ago, Sally would have panicked and shouted, “How dare you!” at anyone who looked at Olivia that way. Now, however, she followed Olivia calmly, as if she’d grown accustomed to it.
A noble-born lady, fiancée to the Crown Prince, promised the position of Crown Princess.
Yet also someone who had remained under constant scrutiny for years.
That was her—Olivia Madelaine.
Olivia gazed up at the sunlight pouring down. She decided she’d have to visit the bookstore another day.
.
.
.
The Madelaine family’s carriage slowly began to move.
People who had been whispering and glancing after the carriage gradually dispersed. In the alley of the Garden of Four Seasons, now returning to its lively routine, two men stood still.
Winstor Kalter, dressed in a lace-trimmed uniform, roughly swept back his brown hair and looked down at his outfit.
Lace on a knight’s uniform! There was no need for jesters when he himself looked the part.
Winstor glanced sideways with a resentful look. But instead of scolding his superior for his usual insolent gaze, he found him staring only at the carriage, which had now shrunk to a distant dot.
Seeing that expression, Winstor forgot all complaints about his uniform and gaped in astonishment.
Good heavens. If he wasn’t mistaken, the look on his superior’s face was… longing.
Longing—on Edwin Bicander Lowell, Duke of the North, the ruthless warlord, the victor of every battlefield he’d ever entered!
Though they’d fought side by side for over five years, this was the first time Winstor had ever seen such an expression on the Duke.
A man so merciless he was called a demon of slaughter—wearing such a wistful look?
And directed toward the daughter of Duke Madelaine, leader of the Imperial faction he so despised?
A chill ran down Winstor’s spine. He spoke carefully.
“Your Grace… do you perhaps know someone in the Madelaine household?”
The Duke said nothing. Winstor’s mind raced. It had already been ten years since His Grace had been dragged into war because of that damned Emperor. It was obvious he’d never crossed paths with Lady Madelaine, who’d grown up sheltered within the capital.
Unless… perhaps through Jade Madelaine, the second son and deputy captain stationed at the front?
Winstor shook his head.
That was absurd.
He knew well enough about Jade Madelaine—the reckless, headstrong man who charged forward even when ordered to retreat. It was unthinkable that he, who constantly clashed with the Duke, would ever introduce his own younger sister.
Though the deputy captain’s competence wasn’t in question—his fiery temper could only be tamed by the Duke himself.
If only he weren’t part of the Imperial Palace Knights, they would have dismissed him long ago.
Winstor ground his teeth in frustration.
Just then, the Duke adjusted his robe and turned slightly toward Winstor. Beneath the fabric, a pale, sharp jawline flashed briefly before vanishing.
“…Winstor.”
A low, elegant male voice fell. Under its commanding weight, Winstor instinctively straightened his posture.
“Yes.”
“…I don’t want to go to the palace.”
“Yes?”
“We’ll only hear nonsense—‘rotate the nobles,’ ‘swear your oaths,’ and the like. Why won’t the Emperor just die already—”
“Y-Your Grace! No—I mean, Young Master!!!”
Hearing the man whine in such a refined voice, Winstor yelped in panic before he could stop himself. A few passersby glanced his way at the sudden outburst.
But Winstor didn’t care about their stares. His heart pounded so fiercely he thought it might burst from his chest.
Heavens! Even if they’d been among Bicander loyalists, to speak so openly against the Emperor in such a crowded place!
Unfazed, the Duke spoke in a steady, low voice.
“That’s impolite, Winstor. Interrupting your master’s words and shouting loud enough for strangers to stare? Bethany would scold you if she saw this.”
The Duke shook his head. Winstor felt wronged.
“You’re the one who should pay a little more attention to me! This isn’t camp or the ducal estate. The steward might be used to such things, but I’m just an ordinary, plain, normal person!”
“An ordinary person? Even when drunk?”
Winstor shrank back. He remembered how he always led the charge in cursing the Emperor whenever he’d had a drink.
“It’s not just me—the chef does it too!”
Hmph. The Duke snorted. Winstor quickly changed his stance.
“…Now that I think about it, I suppose you really wouldn’t want to go.”
“It’s not as bad as it used to be.”
“Of course. We’re fully prepared now, aren’t we? The ducal house has grown so strong. Once we reclaim the late Duchess’s White Quartz Mine, Your Grace can accomplish anything you desire.”
Winstor spoke firmly. Beneath the robe, the Duke’s smile flickered briefly.
While Winstor, facing him, felt moved as he recalled how the ducal house had flourished after years of hardship, the Duke’s gaze returned once more to where the carriage had disappeared.
Hope glimmered in his crimson eyes—as if already anticipating their next meeting.
“You’re back, Miss.”
“Mm. Anything unusual happen while I was gone?”
At Olivia’s question, the steward replied as if he’d been waiting.
“Yes. Moments ago, flowers and a card arrived from the Imperial Palace. As always, I placed them in your room.”
“Thank you.”
Leopold always sent bouquets on days he broke their promises—but this was the first time it had arrived the same day. Perhaps because he’d been seen with Maria Etel earlier.
“The Crown Prince sent flowers again today? So that’s why he said he’d come early because of your flowers!”
Sally beamed and dashed up the stairs to open the door. As the steward said, a bouquet sat on the table—unlike her usual lavish arrangements, this one held small purple blooms.
“That flower…”
Sally pretended to recognize it. Olivia nodded in confirmation. It was the exact same flower she’d received a year ago from the knight who’d written her letters. How could the same flower arrive again?
Olivia lifted the bouquet. Tucked among the stems was the card that had accompanied her deliveries for the past few weeks.
What would it say today? Probably just an explanation of what happened, as always. Trying to suppress her expectations, Olivia opened the card—and her eyes widened.
I hope the noble lady knows the meaning of this flower. In case she doesn’t, I’ve written it here: “My heart’s end leads to you.” Look forward to next Monday.
The words on the card sounded exactly like Leopold’s voice.
It was the first time. Not an excuse for failing to appear—but a card meant to soothe her heart.
As she read it over and over, the hard knot inside her melted like snow. Her lips kept curving upward, and her eyes crinkled into crescent moons.
Sally teased her.
“What did he write this time to make your cheeks bloom like that, Miss?”
Glancing quickly in the mirror, Olivia saw her own face was indeed flushed. She smiled softly.
“His Highness told me the flower’s meaning.”
“The meaning? Isn’t it ‘I send you my victory’?”
Sally fumbled through her memory. Olivia had once read her the meaning from the knight’s letter.
Instead of answering, Olivia just smiled. Apparently, this purple flower carried a different meaning than the one she’d known.
Leopold’s message—“My heart’s end leads to you”—was profoundly touching.
Yes. This was the Leopold she knew.
The kind man who’d rescued her from trouble even in their youth. The man who, even now, carefully chose flowers with meanings to comfort her when she might be hurt.
Olivia brought the bouquet to her nose. A delicate floral scent rose. Feeling her resolve soften, she began justifying Leopold’s actions that had once made her feel insignificant.
He must have good reasons for breaking promises with her or spending time with Maria Etel instead.
Perhaps he was angry about being forced to part from his lover—or maybe, because of the disgrace of being called “half,” he simply couldn’t bring himself to love her yet.
Once all this was resolved, Leopold would love her. After all, he was doing his best even now.
Comforting herself, Olivia opened her desk drawer.
Inside lay six cards. She placed the new one on top.
Seeing the neatly stacked cards brought back memories of broken promises, but Olivia deliberately looked away. Suppressing the loneliness that flowers and cards couldn’t soothe, she looked back at the bouquet.
Past promises didn’t matter. What mattered was that he still cared for her, even like this.
Everything would be alright someday. If she tried her hardest, Leopold would truly look at her again.
Olivia smiled gently and lightly tapped a flower. Sally, watching her fondly, spoke up.
“Oh, Miss—dinner’s ready. Will you check on it right away?”
Dinner at Duke Madelaine’s household usually included only three people: Conrad, Olivia, and Essela. Essela, eating her salad with a pout, finally set down her fork.
“Brother, I really finished! All done!”
“You haven’t even eaten half.”
Conrad gestured toward Essela’s plate. The steak remained untouched, pristine as if no one had laid a finger on it. Essela quickly pretended to nibble at the garnish.
“I really did finish! Debutantes are supposed to eat only this much during preparations, you know.”
“…A letter came from Jade this morning. Don’t you want to see it?”
At Conrad’s ultimatum-like remark, Essela’s eyes widened. Conrad smirked and nodded toward her plate. Essela hastily began cutting into the untouched salmon steak.
“Brother, the steak tastes especially good today! So you’ll give me the letter, right?”
At her clumsy acting, Conrad smiled warmly and nodded. The moment she got confirmation, Essela shot him a playful glare.
“Honestly, Brother! We’ve been waiting so long for news from Brother Jade, haven’t we, Sister?”
Caught off guard by the sudden remark, Olivia nodded before she realized it. Conrad frowned. Too late to take it back—but it couldn’t be helped. News from Jade truly was rare.
Jade Madelaine, Deputy Captain of the Imperial Palace’s Third Knight Order. The capable knight had volunteered for the Heperti war a year and a half ago and left for the southern border—since then, they hadn’t seen him.
Other knights returned smoothly for promotions or leave, but Jade only sent occasional letters.
Maybe this time, there was a letter for her too. Olivia steadied her trembling heart and spoke.
“Um, Brother… may I go get the letters too?”
“…Hmm. Were you expecting one?”
“Yes?”
At his pointed remark, Olivia felt she had to swallow hard. Conrad’s eyes widened as if in jest—but his narrowed gaze was icy cold.
“Unfortunately, it seems not. There was no letter for you.”
“…He must be very busy, then.”
Olivia replied casually, shrugging toward Essela as if it were nothing. One of Conrad’s eyebrows arched sharply—but this much was fine.
After all, Essela, who had been rolling her eyes awkwardly in the tense silence, now began openly showing her anger.
“No way! When Brother Jade comes back, I’ll really give him a piece of my mind! Unless his arm’s actually broken, don’t even think I’ll go easy on him! Got it, everyone?”
Naturally, no one answered. Essela hurriedly changed the subject.
“Oh, Sister! Tell us about your debutante preparations. Yours were perfect, weren’t they!”
Perfect debutante. The phrase felt foreign on her tongue. Olivia scoffed inwardly.
“A mess”—that suited her debutante far better.
