Morning at Carlton Palace began on a note entirely different from anything Neris had grown accustomed to.
The silence that once wrapped the corridors was no longer cold or abandoned—it had become charged with a kind of restrained anticipation. Even the air itself felt more disciplined, quieter… as though the walls knew something that had yet to be announced.
"Good morning, Lady Neris."
She paused for a fraction of a second.
The title was not new, yet it had never been spoken in that tone before—measured respect, deliberate, closer to caution than courtesy.
She inclined her head calmly and continued on her way.
In the long corridor leading to the eastern wing, the maids moved in near-silent harmony. Soft whispers slid between their steps, not addressed to Neris directly, yet close enough to be heard.
"Look at her… isn't she delicate, like an orchid?" one maid whispered as she polished the silverware.
"Yes—and more importantly, she's incredibly humble. I saw the way he looked at her yesterday… I've never seen his gaze follow anyone with such insistence. They'd make a stunning pair—graceful, elegant, perfectly suited to Carlton."
Neris did not slow her pace, nor did she show that she had heard a word.
Yet something tightened lightly in her chest.
It wasn't the words themselves that unsettled her…
It was how easily they were spoken.
As if an idea had already begun to be treated as fact.
Fear gnawed quietly at her heart; the authority now working in her favor was the very same force that could become a gallows if control slipped—or if Adrian were to withdraw his protection without warning.
She had to be careful.
From the top of the stairs, Cecile watched the scene in silence.
Her gaze held no anger, no visible agitation—only calculation.
She noted the subtle bows, the hesitation before addressing Neris, the way doors opened for her without being asked.
The servants bowed to Neris with a respect previously reserved only for the Duke's own family.
Cecile's jealousy was no longer a fleeting emotion—it had crystallized into cold awareness.
Neris…
The name passed through her mind without sharpness, yet carried unfamiliar weight.
I thought you would stay exactly where I placed you.
It wasn't envy or emotional rivalry that troubled Cecile.
What unsettled her was far simpler—and far more dangerous: Neris's silent ascent.
Cecile clenched her fist.
"I thought she remained quiet all those years because she didn't want to confront me," she murmured.
"But she was moving in the shadows… without my knowledge."
"I truly underestimated you. And now—you're stealing the light that should have been mine."
She did not move, but her eyes burned like embers beneath ash, already plotting the step that would return Neris to her proper size.
Neris entered the library for purely practical reasons—yet her steps faltered the moment she saw Adrian.
He was seated by the massive window overlooking the sea, reading an old book with complete focus. Outside, the sea raged violently, waves crashing against the rocks before retreating in foaming white fury—mirroring the turmoil within Neris's chest.
The scent of the library was intoxicating: aged leather and ancient paper.
"You've done exceptional work," Adrian said without lifting his eyes from the book, his voice calm and resonant.
"Securing manuscripts so rare they aren't even found in the Imperial Library… your research acumen surpasses that of seasoned scholars."
She stepped closer, her heart pounding with each movement.
"Even so, it took longer than it should have."
"It was worth it."
Silence stretched between them as she watched him read. His black hair remained perfectly in place even as his head inclined, as though it dared not disrupt the order surrounding him.
She hesitated before speaking.
"My Duke… there is something troubling me. It concerns the banquet."
He closed the book slowly and stood. His measured steps narrowed the space between them until she could clearly breathe in his scent. Once again, that protection—so much like a prison—wrapped around her.
"No one will harm you," he said simply.
"But—"
"Because I will not allow it."
His voice was calm—terrifyingly so. She knew that as long as he stood there, he could ensure it. Yet she wanted more than presence; she wanted certainty. She did not trust him—yet she needed a guarantee stronger than his proximity.
"Still, rumors will begin once the banquet approaches," she said quietly.
"I don't understand your decision, but you've placed me in a precarious position. My status may be misunderstood."
"I am aware, Neris. And you are entirely under my responsibility. Anyone who attempts to touch you will have to go through me first."
He placed the book on the table beside her, then leaned closer, his shadow falling over her. His gray eyes—once frightening—now held her completely. She searched them, desperate to understand what lay behind them, and that only deepened her fear. How does one face a man they can never fully read?
"Do not concern yourself with what is said," he murmured.
"I will handle it personally. You need only focus on being Carlton's public face."
He straightened calmly beneath her unsettled gaze and left.
As he walked toward his study, he did not understand why he insisted on keeping her within his sight. She was not the most important piece… yet he acted as though her absence would disrupt a balance he himself could not name.
Neris left the library feeling torn—protected by him, yet bound to him all the same.
At Dysshard Palace in Eaton, the atmosphere was far harsher.
Helen had received a letter from Carlton—one she initially believed was finally from Adrian. But the seal was different. Cecile Holsten.
The moment she read its contents—Adrian's decision to appoint Neris as hostess—the paper crumpled beneath her furious grip.
"Shameless."
She carried the letter straight to Duchess Lyzaria's chambers.
The room was eerily calm. Lyzaria sat with impeccable poise upon a velvet chair, gently stroking a white cat whose luxurious fur mirrored its mistress's prestige. Her movements were slow, deliberate—of a woman who knew everything unfolding within the empire, yet chose silence as her shield.
Helen dropped the letter before her.
"Adrian has lost his mind!" she exclaimed.
"He's made that girl the hostess of the banquet!"
Lyzaria remained silent. She read the letter with one hand while the other continued soothing the cat, which let out a faint purr.
Her expression did not change, though her gaze drifted into unreadable distance.
Helen felt the familiar irritation rise—Lyzaria resembled Adrian disturbingly in both appearance and temperament. The most noble duchess in the empire, pride of her family, living proof of the saying: A woman of true nobility is her family's greatest treasure.
She had captured the late Duke Dysshard's heart entirely through silence and intellect.
One Lyzaria was enough for Dysshard, Helen thought bitterly.
Yet she gave birth to a son who surpasses her in mystery.
Lyzaria finally looked at Helen.
"Adrian does nothing without reason," she said softly, her voice commanding.
"He has his reasons."
"He chooses her as a consultant for a reason," Helen snapped.
"And now he makes her hostess for a reason. He is erasing us—marginalizing us. Have you considered what society will say about us?"
"Calm yourself, Helen," Lyzaria replied evenly.
"Your standing will not waver because that girl hosts a single banquet. This is easily dismissed. There are many justifications."
In Carlton, Cecile was wasting no time.
During a brief walk, she encountered the wife of a high-ranking city official. With her naturally affable demeanor, she formed a quick friendship.
"Oh, my dear," Cecile said, her tone dripping with feigned concern.
"I worry terribly about my sister, Neris. I fear the Duke's noble intentions may be misunderstood… and as you know, women are always the ones who pay the price for rumors."
"Yes, you're right," the woman replied.
"Just months ago, everyone spoke of a mysterious girl beside the Duke—no one knew who she was. I never imagined she was his new consultant."
Cecile withdrew quietly, leaving the idea to fester in the noblewoman's mind.
She asked for nothing. Accused no one.
Yet she had just ignited the spark that would burn Neris's reputation through the salons—while Cecile's hands remained impeccably clean of blood.