Neris didn't need to look back to know that the house was no longer her home.
That certainty had settled into her body the moment she opened the wardrobe and reached for the few dresses she chose with care—choosing, as if instinctively, what would remain with her from a life quietly closing behind her.
The air in the room felt unusually heavy, even though the windows were open.
The white curtains swayed gently, yet something in her chest remained still… rigid.
Cecil stood by the door. She neither stepped forward nor moved away.
Her smile was complete—perfect—one in which the eyes had no right to honesty.
"Your luggage is light," she said casually, almost kindly.
"You're quite fortunate. To be requested personally by Duke Dyssehard… it seems luck refuses to leave you."
Though meant as a joke, the bitterness beneath Cecil's words was unmistakable.
Neris didn't turn around at once.
She closed the suitcase calmly, then slowly lifted her head.
"Perhaps it does seem that way."
Her reply was simple—no defiance, no breakage either.
Cecil's smile stiffened for a fraction of a second, a moment only someone who knew her well would notice.
She took two steps closer, letting her gaze roam over the room, the luggage, every sign of departure.
"Three years," she said, savoring the word.
"A long time… I hope you won't forget your family."
Your family.
Had Cecil ever truly considered her part of that family? Not in her previous life, nor in this one. And Cecil herself hardly cared for the word or what it meant—except when it came to Eric.
The word slid into Neris's chest like a small blade, pushed slowly inward.
Before she could respond, another voice spoke—hesitant, uncertain of its right to exist.
"Do you need any help?"
Henry stood near the doorway behind Cecil.
He hadn't entered the room fully, as if afraid the act itself might be counted against him. His eyes didn't settle on Cecil, but on Neris alone—on her hands, her pale face, on the suitcase that should not have been closed so quickly.
"I can ask the servants—" he began, then stopped.
Because he finally understood: this wasn't about help.
It was a farewell… one without proper words.
Neris turned to him and offered a small, faint smile.
"Thank you, Henry. I'm finished."
He opened his mouth, then closed it again.
There was something he wanted to say—something that had followed him since the banquet, since the looks people gave her, since her name had begun to be spoken differently.
But he couldn't shape it, couldn't find the time for it… not since the sudden appearance of the Duke of Dyssehard and his strangest request.
Even now, Henry couldn't discern the man's intentions.
What exactly did he want from Neris?
That question had occupied his thoughts for days, unanswered.
Cecil noticed the silence—and used it.
"It would be nice if you wrote to us," she said lightly. "Henry and I will miss you very much, sister."
Neris didn't answer at once.
After a brief pause, she smiled.
"I'll come to visit often."
She asked Mary to fetch a servant to carry her suitcase, then passed quietly by Henry and Cecil.
There was no farewell scene.
No tears, no embraces, no promises.
Only a gap… left open.
The only one who cried at her departure was Mary—and with time, she would try to persuade the Duke to bring Neris back for her sake.
As for her father, she hadn't seen him since he informed her of the imperial decree that night. Because of it, any discussion of a potential marriage was postponed—including Count Hayden's proposal.
And that alone made her accept the move to Dysshard.
Despite her unease, it was a thousand times better than remaining under Hayden's mercy once again.
She stood before her father's study and knocked, then entered at his permission.
He set his papers aside and looked at her in silence, seemingly unaffected by her departure—still the same father as ever.
He spoke calmly,
"Staying in Dyssehard will teach you many things. Make good use of your time there."
She nodded and replied softly,
"Then I'll take my leave now, Father."
The Marquis inclined his head in silence.
And so she left that palace—where no one stood to bid her a sincere farewell except Mary and Henry.
Dyssehard Palace was not loud upon her arrival.
It was quiet, orderly, as if it breathed according to an internal rhythm that allowed no chaos.
The iron gates opened smoothly, the carriage passing down a long path bordered by gardens trimmed with near-military precision.
Everything was beautiful… perhaps too beautiful.
The first thing Neris felt was not awe, but estrangement.
Helen stood at the entrance to receive her, wearing a formal smile—neither warm nor hostile.
Her gaze was evaluative, not angry, merely cold—like someone placing an object where it belonged, then stepping back to see if it fit.
"Welcome to Dyssehard Palace, Miss Holsten."
The title was deliberate.
No closeness. No familiarity.
Despite Neris's long-standing admiration for Helen's strength, there was no hint of warmth in her demeanor—only strict formality.
Helen instructed the servants to take Neris's small luggage, then led her inside to the receiving room, where Duchess Lyzaria and Duke Arthur were seated.
Neris greeted them politely.
Duchess Lyzaria rose.
Her smile was gentler… her gray eyes lingered on Neris's face a moment longer than etiquette required, as if reading something left unsaid.
"I hope your stay will be comfortable."
Neither true welcome nor rejection.
Her stance was as ambiguous as her son's.
Then came Grand Duke Arthur.
He approached with confident steps, his voice unexpectedly warm, enough to unsettle Neris.
"Welcome, Miss Holsten. You are indeed as beautiful as they say of House Holsten—a family known for its beauty. But I have my own standards when it comes to intelligence. I hope you won't disappoint me."
Neris smiled politely.
"I hope to meet your expectations, Your Grace."
Helen spoke again,
"The head butler will show you to your room so you may rest, Miss Holsten."
Neris bowed respectfully and followed the butler.
The palace interior felt like a world unto itself.
Cold marble, towering chandeliers, corridors reflecting light as if endless.
The soft electric lighting gave her a strange sensation—that the place was alive, watching.
Her room was luxurious, spacious, prepared in advance.
The bed, the curtains—everything carefully chosen.
The maid introduced to her bowed with excessive respect.
Her gaze was not curious, but cautious.
"This is Martha. She will attend to you starting today."
Neris understood at once.
She was not merely a maid.
She was a watcher.
The butler added,
"The Duke is not currently in the palace. However, he has stated that you may move freely within it as you wish, but you are not permitted to leave without his permission.
Any request… goes through him."
Neris frowned in protest but chose not to speak before the butler.
She wondered what kind of man did this—had he brought her here to confine her? She had never needed her father's permission to leave her own home. Was she to seek it now from a stranger?
At last, a short note was delivered to her by a servant. She knew at once it was from the Duke.
After everyone left her room, Neris opened it.
Her eyes fell on a few simple words, written by hand.
"I hope the young lady has brought what I requested."
She knew exactly what he meant.
A faint chill crept across her skin.
Though he wasn't in the palace, everything pointed to him—without his presence.
And that unsettled her more than anything else.
As evening fell, she went out to explore the garden, her new maid following behind her.
The summer air was gentle, the scent of flowers light, the sky turning a deep shade of blue.
There, in the rear garden, she saw them before she heard them.
Adrian and his grandfather sat at a tea table.
Neris stopped immediately.
She stepped back, intending to retreat before anyone noticed her—
But his head lifted.
He turned toward her.
Not quickly. Not sharply.
Just one movement… sufficient.
Their eyes met.
It wasn't a harsh look.
Nor a curious one.
It was steady—as though her presence hadn't surprised him at all.
She froze for a second, then stepped forward and greeted them respectfully.
"Good evening."
"Good evening, Miss Holsten," he replied calmly—neither overly welcoming nor cold.
Duke Arthur smiled at once and gestured to the opposite seat.
"Please, sit."
"I apologize for intruding," Neris said, attempting to withdraw.
"I was merely exploring the grounds… I'll return to my room to rest."
Adrian didn't answer.
His gaze remained on her.
He wasn't staring. He wasn't smiling.
He was simply… looking.
Her unease surfaced before she realized it.
Her fingers clenched the edge of her dress, her breath tightening.
"Sit, my dear. Let us talk for a while," Duke Arthur said kindly.
She sat.
Adrian didn't move.
Didn't comment.
His silence alone made the seat feel far less comfortable than it should have been.
Edwin approached and whispered in his ear.
Adrian nodded once, then turned to his grandfather.
"Excuse me, Grandfather. I must leave now."
He rose calmly, unhurried.
Before walking away, his gaze returned to her.
"I hope you feel comfortable here, my lady."
He said it—and withdrew.
He didn't wait for a reply.
After he left, the space felt wider… lighter.
But Neris needed a moment longer to steady her breathing.
Duke Arthur remained with her, speaking kindly, asking about her journey, her work, her thoughts on the political state of the country.
She answered politely, but her mind was elsewhere—wondering when all of this would end, when she might live in peace.
After dinner, she stood before Adrian's desk.
The letters were in her hands.
He took them without looking at her at first.
Opened them, read in focused silence, then handed them to Edwin.
He raised his eyes to her.
"I'll handle it personally."
His voice was calm.
Final.
Neris hesitated, then asked softly,
"If you don't need me… why am I here?"
He looked up.
His expression didn't change.
No pressure.
No smile.
"Who knows."
A pause.
"Perhaps I'll discover the reason for your presence soon."
Then, without looking at her again,
"Until then… you are in my palace, under my responsibility."
He returned to his papers.
"You may leave now."
She left.
Afterward, Adrian said quietly to Edwin,
"Prepare everything. We leave for Carlton within a week."
There was nothing extra in his tone.
No need for emphasis.
And in his mind, one thought stood firm and unhurried:
As long as you are here…
you are within my borders.