Chapter 146 ….
As expected of a grand duke’s townhouse, the garden of the Grape Vine Manor was stunningly beautiful. But Rita couldn’t focus—not with the person beside her.
She listened with half an ear as Joseph droned on with endless fancy words, her attention drifting as she blankly scanned her surroundings.
Out of habit, she calculated possible hiding spots and escape routes. Yet, for some reason, the grand duke’s son kept leading her toward the densest grapevine-covered paths—secluded, concealed. Perfect for ambush.
A prickling unease ran down her spine, and she abruptly stopped walking.
“Milady?”
“I’m feeling a bit tired.”
“Oh! Oh dear, I failed to consider that!”
Flustered, Joseph hurried over to a nearby bench and laid a handkerchief on it.
Lillieta stared at the cloth for a moment, dazed. She remembered how, just recently at dawn, Gide had placed a handkerchief on a bench for her as well.
Same handkerchief—yet the feeling was completely different.
“Please, sit, milady.”
She didn’t particularly want to, but had little choice. The moment she sat, Joseph sat right beside her.
Her body tensed immediately—instinctively. A stranger—worse, someone she disliked—moving close to her set off her alarm. A surge of rejection rose in her chest, and her fingers twitched. She suddenly remembered why she abandoned dancing in the first place.
Calm down. Endure it.
Rita ground her teeth. Meanwhile, Joseph—oblivious to her mood—kept chattering endlessly.
He had no intention of listening to her at all—only boasting about himself. Annoying as it was, it worked in her favor; she really didn’t want to talk to him.
“Milady, do you see that fountain? Notice how the water glimmers violet as it rises? It’s a fountain of Adicle wine! A magician who joined the household a few years ago crafted that marvelous thing. It smells heavenly, doesn’t it?”
“A magician?”
Rita, who had only been smiling and nodding until now, spoke for the first time. Joseph seized the chance to answer quickly.
“My father discovered and brought him—quite a talent, it seems. Young, yet said to be more skilled than the geniuses of the Blaine family!”
“More skilled than the Blaine family’s magicians? Impressive. What kind of person is he?”
Could it be Pascal? She pried without looking suspicious. Joseph’s expression twisted.
“…Young, yes, but at least over thirty, I think. His skill is good, but he has jet-black hair and a gloomy complexion—quite unpleasant to look at.”
“You have black hair too, Your Lordship.”
“No, no. Even if it’s the same color, the feeling is completely different, completely! Why, his name is Raven. Dark eyes, dark aura… Even if he’s talented, he gives off an awful impression.”
So because she showed interest, this idiot was getting petty. Lillieta held back a sigh and continued.
“Raven? That’s quite a unique name. What’s his family name?”
“He doesn’t have one. He’s a commoner. Certainly not someone a noble lady like you should concern herself with.”
“But even commoners can earn a surname and title if they register with the Mage Tower.”
“He isn’t with the Tower. And milady, why are you so curious about a magician? Don’t tell me…”
Oh no. Was she too obvious?
Just as Rita tensed, Joseph leaned closer with a sly expression.
“—Are you trying to make me jealous?”
What kind of bullshit?
Her face almost twisted on its own. Joseph slowly reached his arm toward her shoulder, leaning in as he whispered:
“You don’t need to, you know. Joseph is already utterly—”
Unwanted touch. Proximity. Threat.
Before she even realized it, Rita had slammed him beneath the bench, arm twisted, his body pinned and stomped under her heel.
“AAAGH—A-AHHH!”
His shoulder popped, and he let out a shriek that sounded suspiciously like Anton den Duireborg Everett’s scream back then. Lillieta blinked, belatedly realizing what she had done, and released his arm.
“Ugh—Milady, what was that!?”
Joseph glared up at her, face flushed red.
She messed up.
Rita scrambled for a way to fix this and opened her mouth to apologize when—
“The lady has learned self-defense.”
A low, smooth voice cut in.
“It is only natural to face consequences for laying hands on a lady without permission.”
Rita turned. A man walked leisurely down the pebble-covered garden path.
Long silver hair, lean build. His face was entirely covered by a silver metal mask; only ash-colored eyes were visible through the slit.
Appearance of a stranger. His build was different, his voice unfamiliar. Yet something about the air around him felt unmistakably familiar.
…Gide?
The masked man’s eyes curved upon meeting hers. He strode over, bowed, took her hand gently, and brushed his lips over the back of it.
“My apologies for being late, milady.”
Everything about the touch felt familiar—because it was. She could see the wink through the mask. It was Gide.
Rita stared down at him, dumbfounded.
“You’ll manage fine on your own, but… it’s the Grand Duke’s party. Make sure you disguise yourself well enough not to get caught.”
“Of course. Expect great things.”
He said he’d disguise himself well… but this was too well. There wasn’t a hint of his original appearance! What did he do?
Joseph, finally realizing what happened, burst out angrily.
“Who are you!?”
“The lady’s escort.”
The silver-haired man straightened his back and casually produced the invitation. It was the same one Rita received.
“E-Escort? Milady, who is this man!?”
“Isn’t asking someone’s identity outright at a masquerade considered rude? Inviting guests to bring a companion is a rule meant to ensure trust while still protecting anonymity. The host shouldn’t break their own rules.”
Gide replied so smoothly it was almost elegant, then naturally took Rita’s hand.
“The party will begin shortly, milady. Shall we?”
“W-wait! I haven’t finished—”
“What do you mean ‘this’? His Lordship screams because he tried to lay hands on a lady and was promptly thrown, and now he wants to complain?”
The eyes behind the mask chilled—completely different from the warmth they held a moment ago.
“If this story spreads, people will enjoy it greatly. Another lovely tale, right after the boat incident.”
“….!”
Joseph’s mouth snapped shut.
Gide tapped the mouth of his mask lightly, then turned and escorted Rita away.
Once Joseph and the garden were far behind, and they entered the mansion’s hallway, Rita lowered her voice.
“Gide?”
“Yes.”
“…How did you do this?”
“I borrowed our genius magician’s help.”
He lifted his mask slightly. The inside was covered in miniature magic circles, and his appearance shimmered oddly.
“Illusion magic?”
“Exactly. Oh, the hair is a wig.”
His voice sounded familiar when the mask was raised, but when he lowered it, the tone became lighter—almost like a bard. Clean, gentle, pleasant. Completely different.
“How’s your leg?”
“Better. I can dance slowly now. Just no running.”
“That’s a relief. Still, don’t push yourself.”
His voice was gentle. Peaceful.
Rita recalled everything she’d been told by Ollie and Ethan. Did Gide know she knew? Had they told him? Or was he still unaware?
Her thoughts tangled.
Before she could untangle them, they reached the entrance to the ballroom. After showing the invitation to a servant, they stepped inside.
Guests in vibrant masks and peacock-like feathers swirled together. It was far more extravagant than an ordinary party—almost dizzying.
Rita steadied herself, reminding her mind of the mission. She needed to find the red-feathered mask—or get the guest list—or approach someone from the crown prince’s faction.
This is harder than I expected. Because of these masks—ugh.
A woman passing by reeked of patchouli perfume. Rita stiffened instinctively, but Gide gently wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her close.
“How about a dance first?”
“What?”
“It’s a ball. Not dancing at all would look suspicious.”
He whispered calmly, then spun her away from the patchouli-scented woman and guided her toward the center of the hall.
He slipped neatly between couples already dancing, moving in rhythm without hesitation, taking her hand and drawing her into the flow.
Before she knew it, they were dancing.
It was a popular waltz of recent trend. Thanks to her debut preparations, her body moved naturally.
Spinning with the music, Rita glanced up at him. A strange mask, strange eyes—yet they curved exactly like Gide’s always did.
Now that she thought about it, this was the first time they’d danced since the debutante ball—back when they had danced without knowing one another.
