A friend of a friend. Had it been too much to hope that their connection, as ambiguous as the title itself, might not curdle into this profound awkwardness? Frozen in place, Sylvia gazed at the sleeping face in the distance. His golden hair was disheveled like a child’s, his sun-kissed cheeks seemed to hold the very light of dawn, and his eyelashes swept long and low. It was a face she saw often, yet now, it felt as if she were stealing a glimpse of something deeply private.

'That must be it,' she reasoned, 'It's because he is asleep, lying facedown with his back entirely exposed.'

A glance beneath the covers confirmed her fears: she was naked, and so was he. Worse, the memories of the night before were slowly surfacing, each one a testament to the undeniable truth that she had shared his bed.

'It is rather difficult to enter if you do not lift your hips, Sylvie.'

'I want to bite you… May I?'

His uniquely soft tone, the velvety whisper of his voice… His moans, the touch of his hands, or rather a merciless grip, all came rushing back.

"Did I truly…" Her voice, hoarse from overuse, uttered the words before failing her again. Recollections of how he had regarded her, how he had touched her in the darkness, the hand that had traveled up her leg, and the amber eyes that had shone so clearly in the moonlight. The memories made her want to sink into the linens and perish.

'How could we?'

Sylvia curled into a ball, her hands tangled in her hair. It was not so much the 'how' that confounded her, but the 'why'. Alcohol, she knew, was the primary cause, but her true question was, of all the men in the world, why 'him'? This was a man she had known for five years, yet they had always maintained a careful distance, veiled by the awkward pretense of being a "friend of a friend."

For that very reason, she could not simply sever the tie, even knowing this was a terrible mistake. So long as she remained by Heston’s side, she would have to continue seeing this man.

'Oh, heavens. Heston.'

The name surfaced with a painful jolt, and she clapped a hand over her mouth. As her mind cleared, she took in her surroundings and realized with dawning horror that she had committed this blunder without ever leaving Sodern Castle. To have done this here, of all places, in Sodern Castle, where Heston’s engagement had been celebrated. And with Heston’s friend, of all people. The guilt was enough to kill her.

'I must leave this place. Now.'

With that thought, Sylvia hurriedly gathered her scattered clothes. Wrapping the thin blanket around herself, she began to dress. Her hand emerged from the cocoon of linen to pull on a stocking, then the other snaked out to retrieve her chemise. Her entire body ached, especially the inside of her thighs and her lower back, which sent a jolt of pain through her with every movement, causing a cold sweat to break out across her skin. She endured it with sheer willpower.

'How on earth did those get over there?'

Her face flushed as she spotted a pair of white drawers tucked beneath the bedside table. It was best not to recall whose hands had removed them. Crawling on her knees, she finally retrieved the undergarment and was about to pull it on under the blanket when a voice broke the silence.

"Mm'… Sylvia?"

The man’s groggy voice made her bolt upright, as if his words had scraped against her spine. She heard a rustling from the bed. The soft sound, as if he were searching the empty space beside him, sent a wave of tension through her. Sylvia pressed herself as flat against the floor as possible, trying to disappear from his line of sight. Half-dressed in her chemise, clutching her drawers, she felt so humiliated she could have died on the spot, but it still seemed a better fate than facing him.

Fortunately, her efforts seemed to pay off, as she heard him flop back down onto the bed.

"Guess she left," he murmured, his voice half-muffled by the blankets.

Sylvia held her breath, waiting until his breathing had evened out before she finally moved.

Once outside, the lingering remnants of the engagement party in Sodern Castle dealt her a second death. Sylvia hurried toward the exit, only to remember that it was unthinkable for a noble lady of her station to return home without a carriage. She changed course and headed for the room of Heston’s younger sister, Rosalyn.

"Rosalyn."

It was unlikely a reply would come from the small, whispered word, but she opened the door without waiting. Rosalyn was still sleeping soundly. With her straight black hair, so like Heston’s, spread out around her, she looked as beautiful as a doll. Sylvia shook her awake.

"Rosalyn. I need your help. I did not return home last night."

"Hmm? Sylvia?"

"Yes, it is I. Did my family send a message for me?"

If she were late, her family would certainly have sent word. Rosalyn, her eyes barely open, regarded Sylvia for a moment before bolting upright.

"Of course they did!"

Rosalyn pulled Sylvia closer, then pinched her nose and pushed her away again.

"Ugh, you reek of spirits. How much did you drink? Did you pass out somewhere again and only just wake up?"

"S-Something of the sort," Sylvia stammered, but Rosalyn paid the detail no mind. Rising and draping a shawl over her shoulders, Rosalyn scribbled a note on a piece of paper, then pulled a cord to hand it to a maid. While Rosalyn moved with brisk efficiency to manage the consequences of her friend’s mistake, Sylvia sank onto a small, floral-patterned armchair. Her head was pounding so fiercely she could not even lean it back. It was the first time she had ever drunk enough to forget, and the aftereffects were entirely foreign.

She remembered grabbing a bottle and hiding somewhere no one would find her. Had the man simply chanced upon her hiding place? If so, with his kind nature, he would not have been able to ignore her, a friend of Heston’s. Though they were not close, he would occasionally strike up a conversation with that same, utterly natural air. And Sylvia, however awkwardly, could manage to exchange a few words.

She had always taken a liking to the distinctive air he carried, an aura as warm and languid as summer, befitting his surname, Summers. Drunk as she was, and on the very day the man she loved had become engaged, Sylvia must have been the one to cling to him first. Then, unable to bear the loneliness, she must have kissed him.

'Even drunk, I must have been completely out of my mind.'

Sylvia buried her face in her knees and curled into a ball. The kind-hearted Summers likely could not bring himself to push her away. He knew she loved Heston; perhaps he had even held her out of pity.

'You have a mole here.'

His whispered words echoed in her memory. He had pushed aside her hair and toyed with her earlobe as he held her. She remembered the heat of his large hand on her bare back, the solid wall of his body against hers. Her face flushed at the memory, and she pulled her knees in tighter.

Having finished her tasks, Rosalyn approached, her gaze lingering on her friend’s strange posture. "Are you ill from the drink, Sylvie? You look unwell. Your face is quite flushed."

The nickname, coming from Rosalyn, sounded unnervingly like Owen’s voice the night before. Sylvia scratched her ear and lifted her head.

"It is merely a little warm."

"Warm? It is morning. Come, get up. I will give you some medicine after you have bathed, so go on into the bathroom."

"The bathroom?" Sylvia asked dully. Her only thought was to flee to the carriage as soon as it was ready and leave this castle forever. But Rosalyn, with a stern expression befitting a composed young lady who had only just woken, reprimanded her.

"Do you intend to go home reeking of spirits like this? What if you encounter your father? With his temper, he would lock you in your room. Then, within three months, he would have you wed to some mage you have never even met."

It was a scathing assessment of a friend’s father, but she was not wrong. No matter how well Sylvia performed her duties, enough to be decorated by the Emperor himself, as a mere Supporter, her father placed more value on her as a woman who could marry and bear the child of a ‘true’ mage. She imagined the harsh future Rosalyn described and shivered.

What if her father discovered that she and Owen had slept together? In this day and age, it was a minor transgression for an affectionate couple to share a bed before marriage, but she knew with certainty that it would not be so for her father. To him, it would be a defilement of the noble mage blood in her veins and, furthermore, a stain upon the family’s honor.

'The shame I must endure because of you is truly endless.' She could already vividly picture her father’s expression of utter contempt.

"So, hurry and get up!" Noticing Sylvia’s souring expression, Rosalyn grabbed her arm and forced her to her feet. As she stood, a sharp pain shot through her lower back, causing her to freeze. Rosalyn looked at Sylvia, who could barely walk and looked questioning. Sylvia, thankful for Rosalyn’s obliviousness, mustered a smile.

"I slept in a rather awkward position last night. My whole body is sore."

"Is that so? Where did you sleep? Do not tell me you passed out in the dressing room again."

"Well, something of the sort."

"You are impossible. Why must you always crawl into such strange places when you drink? Even if it was a rare chance to indulge, you went too far."

Sylvia smiled silently at Rosalyn’s scolding. Nearly everyone knew of her unrequited love, so when she had disappeared with a bottle last night, no one had searched for her. But Rosalyn, and the object of that love, Heston, would never have noticed her feelings, no matter the circumstances. Seeing that both siblings were the same, Sylvia surmised that a certain insensitivity must run in their blood.

How else could they not know? It had been a decade.

In that time, Sylvia had learned Heston’s habits, his thoughts. She knew he did not let people in easily, but once he did, he was the kindest soul. She knew his kindness was a quiet, steady warmth that was easy to miss. Ten years were long enough to learn the things about him that others did not see.

Yet in all that time, he had never once noticed her feelings for him, even when love was the only thing left in her eyes when she looked at him.

'He called me his most cherished person.'

Sylvia bit her lip, holding back a surge of emotion. But the image of Heston, which she had tried to bury so deep, clawed its way out of her fragile heart.

"I trust you. My trust in you runs so deep it verges upon doom. But I rather like it. Being with you, I mean."

The memory of him smiling so gently as he spoke those words. It was a scene she had wanted to cherish for a very long time. On nights when she was exhausted, she would fall asleep using her memories of him as constellations to guide her to slumber. The gentle way he treated only her. His unique smile, where only one corner of his mouth would lift. His endless devotion.

She had deluded herself into thinking it was hers alone until he delivered the devastating declaration.

"I have decided to become engaged to Her Highness the princess."

...

She remembered it as a chilly evening. When she heard that Heston had made a rare visit to the estate and was waiting for her, Sylvia threw on a thin dress and hurried to the garden.

'He must be here to put the rumors to rest.'

As she hastened across the lawn, which was carpeted in the light of the setting sun, Sylvia desperately hoped he would quickly put her anxieties to rest. But Heston, far from offering a denial, simply confirmed the rumors with an unnervingly calm demeanor.

"I have decided to become engaged to Her Highness the princess."

Those unwavering green eyes. The way they met hers was so unfamiliar that Sylvia could not help but stumble back a step. Of course, the rumors that Princess Katrin and Heston were courting had been circulating for three months. But Sylvia had not believed a word of it. How could she, after a decade of devotion?

Heston Lockwood was the most distinguished knight in the order, and though he had renounced his ducal title, he was still the eldest son of the Lockwood ducal family. What was more, with his handsome features and uniquely serious attitude, he was never short of female admirers.

Consequently, Sylvia had watched countless women try and fail to breach the fortress of Heston’s heart. Each time, they would spread baseless rumors to protect their pride or relentlessly slander him. Sometimes the rumors were so convincing that even Sylvia, who had known him for so long, had her doubts. But Heston always came back to her, as flawless as ever.

So she had assumed this time would be no different. Even when Rosalyn had chirped, "My brother might actually get married this time." Even when the papers were filled with stories of him and Princess Katrin day after day.

"Are you truly marrying Princess Katrin?" She did not have the presence of mind to steady her trembling voice. She was dizzy, unable to comprehend how Heston, who had never given his heart to anyone, could fall in love with the princess so deeply as to propose after only three months.

Had it all started at 'that' banquet, as everyone said? The banquet that had left quite an impression on Sylvia as well, for that was the day she had planned to confess her feelings to Heston.

---

It had been three months prior. The First Knight Order, including Heston and Sylvia, had just returned from a long expedition, having successfully retrieved an undamaged Holy Relic. For the Empire, such a recovery was of the utmost significance. The Emperor, overjoyed by the first success in twenty-eight years, threw a grand banquet and honored Heston, the hero of the hour, with a medal and treasures of the Empire.

Sylvia had watched Heston, surrounded by dignitaries, including envoys from the Holy Empire, and had felt restless. Since the end of the dispatch, her mind had been consumed with thoughts of her confession. The mere thought of speaking her heart to Heston was enough to make her feel ill.

'But I shall not hide like a coward any longer.'

Ten years was long enough. Even setting aside her father’s increasingly active attempts to marry her off, she had planned to confess around this time. She was no longer the insignificant girl she had been a decade ago. She had earned her place as Heston’s partner and had begun to gain the respect of her peers. And now, they had recovered a Holy Relic.

It felt like the onset of a new beginning, an opportunity to finally stand beside him as an equal.

"Heston."

At her serious tone, he raised an eyebrow and looked down at her. His brow was furrowed in mild displeasure at the lavishness of the banquet. He clearly felt undeserving of being hailed as a hero for something he had not accomplished alone. Every time someone praised him, he tirelessly insisted that his partner, Sylvia, had done the hardest work and that he had merely followed her lead. The only time he had smiled all evening was when she had begged him to stop tormenting her.

"It is difficult enough as it is. Could you not bear the attention on your own?"

Seeing her grumble, he had offered that characteristic, amused smile of his and, unseen by others, had lightly flicked her forehead.

"You should accustom yourself to it. You are only going to become more remarkable."

Sylvia recalled the moment, rubbing the spot on her forehead where his hand had touched. The subtle warmth that had lingered there seemed to have given her courage. When she looked up, she saw Heston was still waiting for her. His gaze was gentle, his demeanor patient. Had time permitted, he likely would have stood there indefinitely, unmoving, until she finished speaking. That was the kind of man Heston was.

But the night was not on their side. Everyone at the banquet wanted a moment with the hero of the hour. This time, it was the Emperor’s chamberlain who came to deliver the message that His Majesty was looking for him, and Heston had no choice but to turn away.

"My apologies," he had said, turning to leave. "I must go. Was it something important?"

His gentle voice had stolen her own. "No," she had managed. "I just… felt I had not congratulated you properly. Congratulations on recovering the Holy Relic."

At that, he let out a hollow laugh.

"What need is there for congratulations between us? You were always by my side."

The words had landed like a punch to her heart. When love is unrequited, one often gets wounded by words spoken without a second thought. But years of experience had taught Sylvia how to conceal the pain.

"I suppose so," she had quipped. "How could you have returned in one piece without me? I was sweating profusely trying to save your reckless hide."

"Such a braggart." His hand playfully pinched her cheek before sliding down to squeeze her shoulder. "I shall be back," he had murmured, and only after he was gone could she finally breathe again.

'Right, I made a mess of that,' she had thought, 'but I can try again later.' She could lure him out to the garden after the banquet had died down and the crowd had thinned. Perhaps she would find her courage under the faint moonlight.

So Sylvia had thought, her hands clasped over her pounding heart.

But the opportunity she had been so sure would come never did. When she returned after a brief absence, Heston was nowhere to be seen. When she asked after him, people told her with laughter-laced voices that he had left with the princess. She had been stunned and told them not to speak nonsense. But more than a dozen people had witnessed them leaving together, and after that, rumors constantly surfaced of them appearing together across the capital, at art galleries and conservatories frequented by young lovers…

And three months later, Heston stood in her estate's garden and announced his engagement.

"I wanted you to be the first to hear the news," he had said, acting the part of a faithful friend while she reeled in confusion.

What could she do? In the end, she had no choice but to bury her decade-long unrequited love and slip back into the guise of a friend. But even so, she could not stop thinking that if only she had confessed her feelings a little sooner at the banquet that day, everything might have changed. If only she had been a little braver. A little more forthright.

---

She had even been plagued by such thoughts last night, at Heston’s engagement ceremony.

"What on earth is this?"

Standing in Rosalyn’s bathroom, Sylvia stared blankly at her own body. The evidence of the previous night was scattered across her skin like a constellation of shame. Looking at it, she felt something beyond embarrassment, something closer to awe. And for the first time, it occurred to her that even if she had confessed back then, nothing would have changed.

Just as Heston had proposed to another woman after only three months, she had ended up in bed with another man. In the end, what might have been will never be, and what is meant to happen leaves its mark, clear as day, upon your skin.

Sylvia sank into the bathwater as if to submerge herself completely. Whatever happened last night would be buried, never to be spoken of again. She would wash herself clean, and the clothes that bore the traces of that night would be burned to ash.

The maids’ eyes widened when she told them to burn a perfectly good dress, but they soon nodded in compliance. Unlike their mistress, the maids knew of Sylvia’s agonizing, unrequited love for Heston. They could well understand a woman’s desire not to keep the dress she had worn on the day of her beloved’s engagement. And so, the lustrous apricot-colored dress, its lace torn and frayed, fell into the furnace of Sodern Castle. Sylvia, dressed in Rosalyn’s clothes, was able to return home safely.

---

"Leaving in such a hurry, I see." Owen leaned an elbow on the windowsill, watching a carriage exit the main gate. "Should I tell her?" he muttered to himself. The wind ruffled each strand of his messy blond hair, and the morning light fell upon his bare torso.

A nagging feeling came over him, and he scratched his chin. He had even whistled to get Sylvia’s attention as she rushed into the carriage, but she had departed without a backward glance, likely thinking it was just a bird chirping. Owen sighed. He should have told her. He had left a mark on the nape of her neck, just behind her ear. It was in a place not easily seen, and he worried whether she would be able to find and take care of it on her own.

Given Sylvia’s personality, the kind to scurry away like a mouse at dawn, frantically gathering her clothes, she would surely turn beet red with shame if someone else were to point it out.

"Leaving marks is not my usual style, though," he mused with a shrug, closing the window against the chill.

He had no clue as to why he, a man who was typically quite restrained in bed, had acted like a starving beast last night. Stretching his stiff body like a cat, he headed for the bathroom. Soon, the cheerful sound of splashing water echoed through the room.

...

"My Lady, where have you been!"

Alicia, who had been anxiously awaiting the Lockwood ducal carriage, rushed down as soon as she heard the news. Sylvia had deliberately stopped in a secluded grove to avoid being seen, but her efforts were for naught.

The moment Sylvia stepped out, Alicia barred her path, chiding her. Sylvia gently pushed her away and asked, "Does Father know?"

Seeing her maid’s agitation, she feared it was already too late. But Alicia shook her head and pulled Sylvia roughly along. "Not yet. But he will soon! He ordered an early luncheon today. He said he is taking you to the Imperial Palace."

"What?"

The startling news made Sylvia stumble as she hurried forward. It was one thing for him to dictate her schedule without a word, but for Duke Appleton to personally escort her to the Imperial Palace was bizarre. After failing to marry her off to the Prince, he never set foot in the palace with her again. It seemed he feared that being in her presence would resurrect the humiliation he had suffered. He even took a separate carriage on the days of banquets, always departing an hour or two after her to ensure their arrivals did not coincide.

If it had not been for Heston, Sylvia would have had to enter every ballroom alone, without an escort, and be branded as the family castoff. Which, in truth, she was.

'What on earth is he scheming?'

Even as she hurried along, led by Alicia, a sense of unease lingered. Was it about her marriage prospects? Surely another royal had not appeared. Sylvia imagined herself marrying an infant, then sighed and resolved to erase all traces of last night before her father’s appointed time. An expensive ointment infused with holy power, which she had been saving for Heston, should do the trick.

She rubbed the ointment over every red and purple mark, watching the bruises fade. Mustering her courage, she tended to her aching back and the throbbing, embarrassing soreness between her legs. Alicia, thinking they were already cutting it close, could not understand why Sylvia had suddenly dismissed her, only to open the door a short while later with a face flushed beet red. She furrowed her brows in confusion.

"What on earth were you doing?" Alicia sniffed the air pointedly. She had vaguely heard that a mind-altering drug was making the rounds among the knights who fought monsters. 'Surely my lady would not involve herself in such things?'

Sylvia grabbed her sniffing maid and turned her around, gesturing that it was time to get ready. Though Alicia’s suspicious gaze lingered, she set to work with diligent hands.

"You must not take any of those strange drugs to relax! I told you, did I not, how my old neighborhood was ruined by a similar substance? It all starts with curiosity or a single mistake, and then everyone becomes hopelessly addicted, and their lives are destroyed!"

Alicia’s ominous words made Sylvia shiver. 'A single mistake.' Was Owen not just such a mistake? 'Hopelessly addicted.'

"That will not happen," Sylvia said, her expression firm.

Alicia narrowed her eyes, but the approaching hour forced her to focus. If Sylvia was late for a meal on a day like this, there was no telling how her father would tear into her. Thanks to the bold move of tying her dress ribbon in the hallway instead of her room, Sylvia was the first to arrive at the dining hall.

Just as she sat down, a weary-looking Mrs. Blanke entered, rubbing her temples with fingers adorned with thick rings. Sylvia had to make a considerable effort to keep her expression neutral. Mrs. Blanke was Sylvia’s paternal aunt, who had moved into the mansion after losing her husband in an unfortunate accident. All too aware of her status as a dependent, she survived by feeding him her niece’s faults. So long as her brother’s anger was directed at Sylvia, her own worthlessness would not be exposed.

"You managed to make it home, I see," Mrs. Blanke said as she sat in the chair a servant pulled out for her. "As drunk as you were, I thought you were to be buried on the Lockwood estate."

It seemed she had seen Sylvia stumbling away from the banquet hall the previous night. Sylvia feigned composure, folding her hands neatly in her lap. Arguing would only make things worse.

"I apologize for causing you concern."

"Tsk. Always the same platitudes."

As her aunt shook her head in disapproval, Duke Appleton entered the dining room. His navy-colored hair was tied up, and as he entered, he removed his spectacles and handed them to a servant before looking Sylvia up and down, just as his sister had done. The thorough inspection made her tense. Normally, just standing before that sharp gaze was enough to drain her of all confidence, but today, she had nothing to stand on. She was bracing herself for a reprimand when the Duke simply let out a short sigh and sat down without another word.

"Your Grace, did you not have something to say to Sylvia?" Unable to watch any longer, Mrs. Blanke prompted him, but Duke Appleton merely gestured for a servant to give Sylvia a letter.

"A letter came for you. The princess extends an invitation. I happen to have business at the Imperial Palace today, so we shall go together."

As that seemed to be the extent of his business, the Duke quietly began his meal. Bewildered, Sylvia took the letter and examined the seal. It was indeed from Princess Katrin. The very same princess who had gotten engaged to Heston yesterday.

'Why on earth would she?'

She opened the letter and read. The purpose was clear. The princess was hosting a modest, intimate party for noble ladies to celebrate her engagement and, as Heston’s partner, she very much wanted Sylvia to attend so they could get to know each other. The request was conventional, but the sender was not. Sylvia knew for a fact that Princess Katrin did not engage in this kind of casual socializing, not even with Heston’s own family.

"She even refused an invitation to a simple family dinner! She is so haughty, just as one would expect from a princess." Rosalyn’s grumbling voice was still vivid in her memory, so to suddenly receive such a letter was strange. But unlike her, the Duke did not seem to find it so.

"Go and ascertain what the Princess is scheming," he said, his brow furrowed as he glared at his food. "Surely she would not be so shameless as to expect our help after choosing the Lockwoods." He wiped his hands on a napkin.

A new dish was served, but it, too, did not seem to his liking. It was a well-known fact that the Duke’s appetite became finicky when something was churning his stomach. It was understandable. It would be difficult to enjoy a meal when both his children had been rejected, first by a prince and now by a princess.

On top of that, the opportunity had gone to the Lockwood ducal family, so Duke Appleton’s insides were likely churning as much as Sylvia’s. Now, he could no longer use a connection to the royal family and would have to resort to fawning over them like any other noble. Knowing how humiliating that must be for her father, Sylvia quietly rose to follow him.

---

The Imperial Palace was as vast and complex as a small city. As a member of the Imperial Knights, Sylvia had been to the palace quite often, but this was her first time in the inner palace. The endless galleries of art and sculpture were impressive, but what truly captured her attention were the intricate magic circles woven into the very architecture.

"This one looks over a hundred years old," she murmured.

The servant guiding her had asked her to wait, presumably to announce her arrival to the Princess. Left alone in an antechamber, Sylvia took the opportunity to examine the magical constructs. Suddenly, a voice spoke from behind her.

"What sort of magic circle is it?"

When she turned, she saw the face of Princess Katrin, dressed in a pale blue gown. Startled, Sylvia hastily dropped into a curtsy, showing proper respect for royalty.

"S-Sylvia Appleton of the 146th Black Moon offers her greetings to the glory of the empire!"

She had thought the servant had gone to announce her, but she had not expected the mistress of the palace to appear so suddenly. She had been caught examining a magic circle containing information about the palace’s security in a room where her host was not even present. She would have no defense if she were cast out immediately.

But Princess Katrin simply let out a bright laugh. "You must be the only person to kneel at a tea party, Lady Appleton."

"My apologies for the indiscretion…"

"For looking at the magic circle?" the Princess finished for her. "Well, you cannot help what you can see, can you? It is well known that you cannot hide a magic circle from a 'Posmata'. I am the one who brought you here without any precautions, knowing full well who you are. So please, do not worry about it. Now, shall we? The other ladies are waiting."

The hand that pulled her up was gentle, and the princess’s clear face showed no trace of unease. The princess she had seen at official functions had always been stiff and cold, so this casual demeanor was deeply unsettling.

'What is she really after?' Unlike her father, Sylvia did not overestimate her family’s influence. This felt far too personal to be a political overture to the Appletons. Then, was it about Heston? The rumors of Sylvia’s feelings for him were widespread; they would have easily reached the Princess’s ears. As his partner and friend of ten years, it was natural for her to be an object of curiosity or concern.

Sylvia remembered all too well how hostile Heston’s other admirers had been.

'But I am no match for you,' she thought, studying the Princess’s profile as she was led away. Sylvia had orbited him for a decade and remained nothing more than a friend. Princess Katrin had received a proposal in three months. They were not even in the same league.

Suppressing a wave of melancholy, Sylvia followed the Princess in silence.