Whatever worries I’d had… they feel so distant now.

  The hands massaging my scalp feel… angelic. My body relaxes to the point where everything numbs pleasantly; I’d probably have fallen asleep if I weren’t so focused on keeping my hands perfectly still while my nails dry.

  Through half-lidded eyes, I spy Cinna and Saria not too far away, faces relaxed in absolute peace as someone washes their hair, fingers working gently at their scalps. Even Saria’s usual cool has melted away.

  I sigh and close my eyes, letting all my senses narrow to the hands touching me as warm water is poured over my hair in gentle drops, carefully measured from a pitcher.

  Rich people sure do have it nice…

  The words almost slip from my lips as my jaw slackens. With my body as relaxed as it can possibly be, and yet, even like this, my mind refuses to stay quiet.

  I hope Lucius finds the report useful… He hasn’t said anything yet, and it’s not like I know that much still. I need to work harder.

  Time blurs as we’re escorted into another room, hair wrapped in towels. A sudden sight pulls me out of my daze—a fluffy white tail peeking from around a corner.

  My heart leaps into my throat as I dash forward, circling it—only to realize it belongs to a Varcen woman who looks nothing like Cattleya.

  A hand clasps mine tightly. I turn to see Cinna looking up at me, her smile gentle and reassuring.

  “We’ll see her soon, Imone. I’m sure she’s getting ready for the ball with Signora.” She squeezes my hand, and I can’t help but return her smile.

  I haven’t seen her for almost two whole days now… the longest we’ve ever been apart since we met.

  I guess I’m being weird. This is normal—seeing each other every day just… isn’t something I should expect.

  …I just wish I could at least see how she’s doing. Make sure she’s not sad. Or upset about anything. I think that would make me feel better.

  And maybe those were just silly worries. As the day goes on—and more gentle, divine hands tending to me—they slip away. Soured only by the long, arduous pulling of hairs that leaves my legs and arms sore, and the corset tightened so firmly it feels like it’s reshaping my ribs.

  When I’m finally placed before a mirror, I take a second too long to recognize the woman staring back. The dress is as beautiful as yesterday, but…

  I like to think I take decent care of myself, but this woman staring at me makes me feel like a complete amateur.

  My skin looks pristine—not a blemish in sight. Smooth and luminous. My lips look fuller yet delicate, perfectly framed. Even my eyes seem larger, enhanced by masterful application.

  And I understand now why they never asked what I wanted to look like. They must have known. My hair is left loose, flowing elegantly down my back, just enough falling forward to veil my emerald eye—the way I always let it—only softer, fuller, more beautiful than I could ever manage myself.

  I could have stared for hours—turning, checking every angle—if not for a familiar face appearing in the mirror behind me.

  “Indulging in my graces doesn’t feel so bad, does it?” Signora whispers, hands settling on my shoulders.

  I stammer awkwardly, unnerved but genuinely grateful.

  “Th-thanks… and…” I glance aside, hesitating. “…do you know how Cattleya is doing? Will she be joining us at the ball?” I ask quietly, like I’m doing something wrong.

  She smirks—the same expression she always wears when she’s clearly messing with me.

  “Are you sure you should be worrying about my little princess?” she murmurs. “When you already have a charming, gallant, and honestly very handsome prince waiting for you? No one would fault you if you felt the need to disappear during the festivities to tend to… an itch or two.”

  She chuckles under her breath, her grip tightening briefly before she steps away with a theatrical bow.

  …I know she’s just trying to get in my head. I won’t let her.

  But I still find myself blushing anyway.

  No one would be surprised if something like that happened, I guess…

  I glance aside, watching Signora and Saria—Saria striking a series of provocative poses while cackling with each one. Signora seems to be teaching her new tricks… including something involving her tongue that looks thoroughly vulgar. I scoff. I didn’t expect those two to hit it off so well.

  When I look back, Cinna is standing before me. Angelic doesn’t quite cover it. Catching my gaze, she lifts her skirt into a graceful curtsy, bowing low with a playful smile.

  “Lady Imone,” she teases.

  I can’t help staring—her hair gleams impossibly smooth, horns spiraling elegantly to either side of her head, delicately adorned with chains and star-shaped ornaments.

  “Cinnatoria sounds fancy enough even without the lady,” I tease, returning the curtsy.

  “My… how kind of you,” she replies in mock haughtiness, hiding her smile behind the back of her hand.

  We laugh together.

  “I’m okay, Ci. Thanks. I’m going to focus on the mission,” I say, nodding.

  “Is that so? Sounds like a waste…” she snickers.

  I reach toward her cheeks menacingly, and she skips away laughing.

  Before I can ruin her makeup, we’re called over. Like proper ladies, we behave and follow.

  In the main hall, everyone else is already waiting. Cinna and a Vesfel rush toward each other, exchanging dreamy looks. It takes me a second to realize it’s Veil—his usual chaos perfectly reined in. I thought he was attractive before, but this?

  His windswept hair is now carefully shaped, falling over one eye in a way that mirrors Saria’s style. The black-and-brown ensemble makes him look like a mysterious prince from some distant land—the kind teenage me dreamed about. And, embarrassingly, wrote several stories about.

  As I look away, I catch another gaze—jaw slack, eyes fixed on me.

  I chuckle softly and approach him with a playful curtsy. He finally snaps out of it.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  “Imo, I—” Til starts, straightening his clothes with his free hand to buy time.

  “Speechless?” I tease, glancing up at him.

  He nods. I chuckle.

  “Are you wearing makeup?” I ask, curious, lifting a hand toward his face—then stopping short as I remember my nails.

  “They said it would look good, so…” He inhales, uncertain. “Is it strange?”

  I study him without thinking. I’m so used to being around Til that every small difference stands out—his hair, grown out and properly styled after years of buzzcuts… his face clean-shaven, softer than I remember.

  I notice his cheeks redden. Then I realize how close I am.

  I step back, flushing in kind. “Not strange. Not strange at all.”

  “You look good—really good. Turns out you clean up nicely when you put more effort into your hair than just combing it one way or another.” I smile. “And I can’t even remember the last time I saw you clean-shaven.”

  He stands there, awkward—but unmistakably happy.

  Then I notice what he’s been holding the whole time.

  “…How early did you arrive?” I ask softly. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  He awkwardly rearranges the books in his arms, sidestepping the question.

  “Ah—I did. I tried calling out, but you didn’t answer. You looked so… peaceful.” A fond smile settles on his face.

  Now it’s my turn to blush. Damn angelic hands.

  “Alright, carriages are here. We should get going,” Ulric says as he re-enters the shop. Even he looks different—imposing in a refined way, the doublet forming a clean V over his broad shoulders and bulky chest, horns polished and catching the last remnants of daylight.

  “Carriages?” I ask, confused, glancing between the others for confirmation.

  “As much as you’d be doing the city a favor by sweeping the streets all the way to the Concord…” Signora says dryly as she walks past in princely garments, hair pulled back into a tight ponytail, “…we’ll be exiting through the nearby gate and re-entering from the Gate of Ascension. Like all the fancy people coming in from out of town.” She holds the door open for us.

  I bow my head as I pass her—and then something resonates. My gaze snaps in a specific direction and—

  White, fluffy hair tied back with a bow. Two ears lazily flopped forward, her face partially obscured by her bangs.

  My feet are moving before I form a conscious thought.

  “Imo?” Til asks gently, taking my hand and guiding me closer. I look at him, confused.

  “This one’s ours. Come on.”

  He draws my attention to another carriage—inside, a single wide but comfortable seat, windows lining the sides. At the front stands a broad-chested, long-necked quadruped, elegant, its ash-white fur immaculate, a rider waiting patiently beside it.

  “…Just the two of us?” I ask quietly, casting a glance toward Cattleya’s carriage as Signora climbs aboard it.

  “Are you uncomfortable?” he asks, calm and sincere. I’m certain that if I said anything more, he’d insist I ride alone and walk the rest himself.

  I shake my head and move to climb in—only to encounter a problem.

  I hesitate, trying to work out the logistics of doing this elegantly. The combination of a long, voluminous skirt and delicate high heels makes it… difficult.

  I offer Til a weak smile and gather my skirt in one hand so I can see my footing. He steadies my other hand firmly as I twist, place one foot on the step, then the other—until I’m safely inside. A quiet sigh of relief escapes me after that brief panic.

  The relief doesn’t last.

  I quickly scoot aside to make room as he climbs in after me, and suddenly I’m acutely aware of how close we are.

  The door closes, and it feels like the entire world seals itself outside with it.

  For a long, silent moment, we just stare at one another—half dazed, unsure what to do.

  The carriage’s gentle start breaks the spell as it glides forward.

  Til blushes and looks away. I mirror him.

  “I’m sorry, I was just recalling…” He shakes his head lightly before meeting my gaze again, more resolute.

  “You were stunning back then. I still remember how lucky I felt when you came down those steps and smiled at me.” His voice is quiet, the words slipping into my ear in a way that makes my skin tingle.

  “But now…” He exhales softly. “Now you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, Imo.”

  My jaw tightens as the sensation crawls up my spine, ears standing on end, cheeks warming.

  “H-Hey… Til?” I ask awkwardly, hunching my shoulders as if I can hide how strongly my body is reacting.

  “Yes?” He approaches, a hand resting gently on my far shoulder.

  My fist presses against my chest, silently begging my heart to slow down.

  “Why… now?” I ask quietly, turning to face him. Confusion flickers across his features.

  “In the past, you never acted like this. You always avoided it—gently pushed me aside.” The regret hits me the moment the words leave my mouth. Why did I ask? I didn’t need more answers. I’m just reopening a wound.

  “Imo…” My name sounds different on his lips—low, tender—and it irritates me how deeply it affects me.

  “Did I ever neglect you?” he asks softly. “Fail to give you something you needed?”

  I frown, then shake my head.

  “We were freelancers. Living job to job. No home, no roof of our own. Any changes back then would’ve been irresponsible.”

  My posture straightens despite myself.

  “Our situation improved when we joined the Seekers, but we were working constantly—you with your research, me trying to understand their command structure well enough to earn a promotion. And my father’s illness was… poorly timed.” He looks away.

  The warmth in my chest collapses, replaced by something tight and sharp.

  “Then why didn’t you say any of that?” I snap. “You never told me you were leaving. One day I went to your room and it was empty, and then just—” I gesture weakly. “Crying.”

  His grip tightens. “Imo—”

  “You could have said something. Anything!” My voice cracks despite my efforts. “You made me feel like I didn’t matter. Like you got tired of me and just… walked away. After three years. Three years, Til.”

  I rein it in before tears spill. I can’t ruin this makeup. Not now. Not today.

  He doesn’t answer right away. His jaw tightens, then eases, like he has to physically let the words settle before trusting himself to speak.

  “You didn’t say anything either,” he replies quietly.

  His gaze drops as he says it, not accusing—just tired.

  “When you left for Yunhai.”

  “It’s not the same,” I sigh. “You’re a captain. Knowing where I am is part of your job.”

  “You’re right,” he says, letting the topic drop. “I am a captain.” He inhales. “Now I can provide—for myself, for you… and maybe more.”

  The words hang between us, careful, as if he’s bracing himself for how I might receive them.

  “What?” I stare at him. “So that was your plan? All these years—and you never said a word? You knew how I felt. Why didn’t you talk to me?”

  “I won’t make promises I can’t keep,” he answers steadily. “If I had formalized things back then and my father had fallen ill the way he did…” He pauses, jaw tightening, as if the words cost him more than he expected. “I would never have forgiven myself.” Regret is clear on his face, but it doesn’t ease my anger.

  “I don’t need a knight catering to my every whim!” I snap, brushing my hand aside. “I’m not some fragile lady who needs protection.”

  “And I can’t read your mind, Til. You could’ve told me. We would’ve figured something out. Anything. Maybe I would’ve been on that damn boat with you for who knows how long.”

  “I know,” he says earnestly. “That’s exactly why it didn’t feel right. I wanted to make you happy. I wanted to do it right.”

  I let the words sit, then glance out the window. The Concord Palace rises before us—massive marble pillars framing towering windows, so tall I can’t even see the roof from here.

  “Til… later. Okay?” I say, steadying my breath as I retrieve a small mirror from my purse.

  My eyes are a little reddish, but the makeup holds. Good.

  “You’re a captain. I’m a lieutenant,” I say firmly. “This ball is a battlefield.”

  “You’re—?” Tilemachos blinks, then laughs softly. “Congratulations are in order, Imo. I knew Lucius would see reason.” He takes my hand gently. “You deserve it.”

  “Then start acting like it, Captain.”

  As the carriage stops, I open the door without waiting, stepping out and landing gracefully, toe-first. A small, proud thrill runs through me at the maneuver.

  Til quickly circles to my side as I take in the sight—dozens… no, hundreds of carriages lining the Concord, couples flowing inside in elegant waves.

  I spot Signora and the others and start toward them.

  But my gaze lingers on the palace. My thoughts return to the difference I felt when I touched Kiereth—and when I touched Nodo. The absence in the latter, mirroring Minnara’s.

  I know he’s responsible.

  And this time, I'll get to the bottom of it.