The light of dusk poured golden hues over the palace garden, reflecting off the pond's surface and the roses swaying gently in the wind. Gianna and Julian immediately stood when Duke Romanov's footsteps approached. The sound echoed against the stone path, each strike of his boots carrying a cold, oppressive aura.
Gianna lowered her head so deeply that she didn't see Duke Romanov bowing slightly to Julian. The Duke's presence exuded an authority that was hard to conceal—like steel hidden beneath a calm composure.
"What are you doing here?" Duke Romanov's deep voice cut through the air.
"She was keeping me company while I read," Julian answered quickly, speaking before Gianna, who had opened her mouth but found no words.
Duke Romanov's gaze shifted to the two books lying on the garden table. His eyes seemed to assess them, weighing something he did not voice.
Gianna couldn't help but glance at Julian — and there, the coldness returned.
"You must prepare yourself, Gianna."
"Yes, Your Grace." Her voice was nearly a whisper.
After that, Duke Romanov turned away, his footsteps leaving echoes along the stone path. Gianna slowly lifted her head.
"Goodbye, Julian," she said softly.
Julian did not return Gianna's farewell. His face was rigid, processing a sudden political dread. In his mind, there was only one question: what connection did the clever girl who had defeated him have with Duke Romanov, the Great General?
****
The palace corridor felt silent, with only the echo of footsteps clinging to the stone walls. The light of dusk filtered through stained windows, etching golden lines across the cold marble. Duke Romanov walked ahead calmly, the heavy sound of his boots echoing among the tall pillars, while Gianna's lighter steps sounded like small echoes behind him. There was no conversation between them—only the sound of footsteps and breaths holding many unspoken meanings.
The air in the corridor was cold, yet Gianna felt her body heating instead—a mixture of nervousness and confusion over Duke Romanov's gaze that still lingered in her thoughts.
Upon reaching the eastern wing, Gianna's steps halted when someone ran toward them.
"Gianna!" Silas's voice sounded anxious, his breath rushed. "Where have you been?" he asked worriedly, his eyes scanning Gianna's face as if to make sure there were no injuries.
"I was looking for the lib—"
"Gianna." Duke Romanov's heavy voice cut off the sentence, deep and unquestionable. "Follow me."
The firm tone hung in the air like an order that could not be challenged. Silas fell silent, looking at his father, then turning to Gianna, who lowered her head obediently.
"What is it, Father?" his voice was quiet, carrying concern.
"Just prepare yourself for the banquet." Duke Romanov said it without turning around, his voice flat but carrying enough pressure to end the conversation.
He stepped ahead into the Romanov family's private chamber. Gianna bowed deeply, then followed without saying much, leaving Silas still standing frozen in place.
"What is actually happening?" Silas murmured softly, but Gianna did not answer.
She only looked at him for a brief moment, her gaze short yet filled with something difficult to interpret—between guilt, confusion, and submission—before finally closing the door tightly behind her.
****
The door closed with a soft sound, yet its echo felt heavy in Gianna's chest. The room was filled with the distinct scent of cedarwood and lavender oil, permeating every corner of the resting chamber lent by Windsor Palace.
Candlelight glowed softly above the marble table, reflecting the silhouette of the Windsor lion crest carved into the wall. Amid the golden gleam and the deep red hues of the palace, Duke Romanov sat upright on a long sofa upholstered in dark velvet. His authority filled the room with a stifling silence.
"What have you done?" His voice was deep, not as loud as usual, but enough to weigh down the air in the room.
Gianna straightened her back, both hands tightly gripping the hem of her dress. "I did nothing, Your Grace," she answered carefully, her voice soft yet clear.
Duke Romanov raised his hand, signaling for Gianna to sit across from him.
"Why were you in the west wing of the palace?" he asked without expression.
Gianna swallowed before sitting, ensuring the distance between them remained respectful.
"I did not want to waste my time in the palace merely resting," she said softly. "I intended to look for the library… but I did not realize I had gone that far, all the way to the west wing."
Duke Romanov's gaze did not change—cold, sharp, and calculating. "Do you know who that boy was?"
Gianna lowered her head slightly, keeping her tone calm. "The boy's name was Julian. I met him by accident."
Duke Romanov leaned back slightly, his fingers tapping softly on the arm of the sofa.
"What made him kneel before you?" His tone now carried heavier pressure—not anger, but a test.
Gianna held her breath for a moment before answering, "Julian only helped me put on my shoes."
A long pause followed.
"Why did he help you?" Duke Romanov's gaze seemed to pierce through Gianna's composure, making the space between them feel narrow.
"Perhaps… he was grateful because I accompanied him while reading a book at the pavilion," Gianna answered, trying to sound natural. Yet even she knew how thin that lie was.
"Reading a book…" Romanov repeated it slowly, and a faint smile crossed his face—not of mockery, but in appreciation of the neatly constructed lie.
Gianna did not answer. She only lowered her head, keeping her expression calm.
"Did he not tell you his family name?" Romanov asked again.
"I do not know, Your Grace. He did not tell me."
Silence fell again. This time, however, Duke Romanov let out a soft breath. His hard gaze softened slightly, as if he had found something he was looking for.
"You are beginning to approach your goal, Miss Whitmore," he said slowly, almost like a disguised compliment.
Gianna slowly lifted her face, startled to hear that name—the family name that had long been buried in silence. "Your Grace…?"
"Fate supports your plan." His tone changed—lower, almost like a secret meant only for the two of them.
Gianna frowned, confused. "What do you mean, Your Grace?"
"I will not interfere with your plan," Duke Romanov said calmly. "I will only help… like fate supporting you."
Those words hung in the air, mysterious, before he straightened his posture again.
"Now go to your room. Prepare yourself for the banquet."
Gianna stood and bowed respectfully. "Yes, Your Grace."
But as she turned away, her mind was filled with questions—about Julian, about the Whitmore name that had been spoken again, and about the meaning behind the Duke's faint smile.
****
The scent of expensive perfume mixed with the aroma of roasted meat and rich red wine filled the main hall with an air that was nearly suffocating. Crystal chandeliers glittered along the high ceiling, reflecting soft light among the shimmer of tapestries and engraved silver.
Gianna stood beside Silas, wearing a dark blue velvet gown provided by the Romanov family. The fabric was heavy, wrapping her small frame and making her appear more mature than her age. She looped her arm through Silas's, who looked imposing that night in garments of blood-red and deep black—the proud colors of the Romanov family, symbolizing their military strength and glory.
The gazes of hundreds of nobles followed their steps. It was as if every whisper ceased when Gianna passed by. Not because of her gown, but because of the mystery surrounding her: who was this young girl bold enough to walk beside the Romanov family?
Duke Romanov walked slightly ahead of them, his steps steady and filled with authority. At the end of the hall, upon two luxurious, jewel-studded chairs, the King of Windsor sat serenely with the Queen at his side—two figures who seemed to be the center of all power and secrets.
Duke Romanov, Silas, and Gianna bowed in unison. Gianna bowed deeply, using the moment to assess the room. Her eyes traced who sat too close to the King, who appeared uneasy, and who stared with excessive curiosity.
Once Duke Romanov stood among the ranks of high nobles, he knew the moment was right. His deep voice cut through the murmur of the hall.
"I ask for a moment of your time to listen to me. For the sake of alliance and the future."
The voice resonated through the air, drawing the attention of every turning head.
"I seek Your Majesty King Windsor's permission to introduce the beautiful and intelligent girl who accompanies my son."
Romanov stepped slightly back, giving focus to Gianna standing beside Silas.
Gianna gripped Silas's arm tightly, her heart beating faster, yet her face maintained a gentle smile. Silas looked straight ahead, but he could feel the tension spreading from Gianna's fingers on his arm.
Gianna bowed politely, lifting the hem of her gown with grace.
Duke Romanov's voice was heard again, calm yet heavy with meaning.
"She is Gianna Clark. This twelve-year-old girl possesses exceptional intelligence and swordsmanship uncommon for someone her age. For that reason, I brought her here—to introduce her to the Kingdom of Windsor." Duke Romanov's gaze fixed directly on the King. "I hope the Kingdom of Windsor will grant her permission to study at St. Jude, so that she may broaden her knowledge."
The sentence sounded like praise, but every noble present knew—it was also a subtle form of pressure. A request from a Great General like Duke Romanov was not something that could be refused without consequence.
King Windsor rose from his seat, his smile broad, yet his eyes sharpened as he looked at Romanov.
"This little girl managed to earn praise from a cold and formidable great general like you."
He stepped closer and now stood directly before Gianna. Their gazes met—steadfastness against authority.
King Windsor smiled, this time more genuinely. "I like your resolve. I will allow you to study at St. Jude alongside the other noble children."
Gianna bowed deeply. "Thank you, Your Majesty."
Silas remained standing firmly beside her, but Gianna's grip on his arm tightened—almost like an anchor to reality amid a storm.
A few moments later, the King signaled to his servant.
"Now, all children—it is time! Leave the main table and enjoy your meal in the Eastern Wing!"
Palace tradition proceeded as usual: the children were separated so that the adult nobles could speak without political burdens reaching young ears. And for Gianna, this was not merely a change of rooms. It was the first step—into a grand game that had just begun.
****
The room they entered was far brighter and more spacious than the main hall. Here, the tension that had earlier weighed heavily seemed to shift into a lighter atmosphere—at least on the surface. The walls were draped in soft ivory silk, while tall windows reflected candlelight that made the air glow warmly. At the center of the room stood a long table laden with sweets, fresh fruit, and small cream-filled pastries.
Yet beneath that beauty, a subtle silence hung in the air like a curtain. Not a single noble child truly appeared to enjoy the food laid before them. They spoke with polite smiles, laughed softly in measured tones, yet behind every glance lay judgment and caution. Their world, even at such a young age, was already accustomed to the subtle games of power.
Gianna stood beside Silas, observing her surroundings with vigilance concealed behind a gentle smile. She could feel every gaze settling on her—some curious, some dismissive, others wary. But she was accustomed to such looks; since childhood, she had learned to hide her thoughts behind a composed demeanor and an unreadable gaze.
Silas spoke with several young nobles nearby, while Gianna listened only in passing. Her focus was drawn to a boy across the room—dressed in silver with gold-lined accents along his sleeves.
The way he stood was remarkably calm, his shoulders straight and his gaze moving no more than necessary. There was something in his gaze that made Gianna unable to look away. Not curiosity, nor hostility—but deep calculation, like someone piecing together a complex puzzle.
When the moment felt right, Gianna slowly released her grip from Silas's arm. Silas glanced over, his brows knitting slightly, but he said nothing. He knew that if Gianna stepped forward, there was always intent behind it.
Gianna moved through the crowd with light, measured steps. Each sway of her gown resembled an effortless dance, drawing the attention of several noble children who began to whisper softly. She kept her gaze fixed ahead, on the boy who now stood only a few steps away.
The boy turned the moment Gianna stopped before him. Instantly, his gaze shifted—cold, sharp, and filled with an unsettling calm.
"Hello, my name is Gianna Clark." Gianna's voice was gentle, but beneath its warmth lay deep caution.
She extended her hand, offering a polite smile she tried to make as natural as possible.
The boy did not respond immediately. His gaze moved slowly, examining Gianna from head to toe—not rudely, but with a calmness that made him seem far older than his age.
Something resembling curiosity flickered briefly in his eyes, then vanished, replaced by a composed distance.
Then, with a refined motion full of aristocratic grace, his right hand rose and rested over his left chest.
"I am Cyrus Tudor…"
His voice was flat and calm, carrying no excess emotion, yet enough to establish who he was.
Gianna returned the same careful, polite smile. She knew that name. The House of Tudor—a name that bore a long history and power not to be underestimated. She looked at the boy closely, aware that this meeting was no coincidence.
One step had been taken. And the game had just begun.
To be continued~~~