Chapter 189

The mansion where the party was held was one of several grand estates owned by Rebecca, located on the outskirts of the capital.

As the lively sounds of festivity reached them from the entrance, Nerys stepped gracefully down from the carriage. Cledwyn, holding her hand, leaned close and whispered in a low voice,

“Don’t leave my side.”

Rumor had it that these masked balls were filled with all manner of scandalous behavior. Nerys nodded.

“I won’t.”

His hand naturally slipped around her waist. Thinking of the previous night, she swallowed dryly, trying not to show it.

Since that strange first night, similar evenings had followed. There were plenty of kisses, embraces, and everything in between, but whenever things threatened to cross a certain line, everything stopped.

Was there something wrong? Was she so terribly unappealing that she couldn’t stir even the slightest desire in him? Was he restraining himself out of disgust? But then, each time he held her close, his warmth and the way he clung to her said otherwise.

So perhaps they needed to talk about it. They were married, after all—there was no reason to hold back. Even if one day he were to meet another woman, that wouldn’t erase the fact that they were married now.

But saying it out loud would sound strange, so she kept her mouth shut.

‘…Still.’

Kissing was, honestly, nice. The more they kissed, the more she understood it.

‘Kissing feels good.’

Being touched was fine too. When his hands moved over her, her toes curled and her heart raced—but not unpleasantly.

And his embraces were the best of all. They made her feel safe. It must be uncomfortable to hold someone for so long, yet he always held her tightly, as if unwilling to let go.

The first morning she woke in the same bed, she hadn’t known how to greet him. But now, both of them were used to waking up face to face, exchanging a kiss, and lingering in each other’s arms beneath the warm blankets.

She had analyzed her own feelings carefully—and concluded that she wanted to keep spending such moments with him.

Even if she eventually had to give this man to someone else—whenever that might be—surely it was fine to be a little selfish until then.

Just a little longer. Just a few more gentle moments like these.

Because she liked him. And because she had no intention of ever being with any other man.

She found herself liking his touch more and more. Each time she saw him, she unconsciously anticipated his hand reaching for hers, his lips pressing against hers.

But was it really all right to stop halfway every time? Was that normal? Or not?

‘I don’t know.’

She had no idea what “normal” even meant.

From her school days, to her life as an adopted daughter, to her years in the Imperial Palace—nothing in her life had ever been normal.

Perhaps that was why her head ached these days. Life with Cledwyn was becoming too comfortably natural.

And every time he so much as brushed against her, no matter where they were, her thoughts involuntarily returned to the memories of those nights.

Unaware of her turmoil beneath the mask, Cledwyn leaned down and whispered by her ear,

“Cute.”

Nerys’s face flushed crimson, the color spreading all the way to her ears.

Hearing his soft laugh, she stepped with him into the hall. From the gardens to the ballroom, people in outlandish costumes and masks milled about in chaotic merriment.

Half of them were already drunk; the other half were on their way. But the quick-witted among them instantly noticed the newcomers’ high status.

A tall man in black, and a smaller woman dressed in pale tones.

The woman walked with elegance straight out of an etiquette manual, while the man’s arm around her waist carried a silent warning to everyone else.

Rebecca’s masquerades were known for mingling guests of all ranks, but in truth, only those of considerable standing ever received invitations. A few commoners did attend, but always ones with connections to powerful nobles.

So most people quickly guessed who these new arrivals were.

Before long, a woman approached—wearing a flamboyant pirate-themed gown with exaggerated lace and a matching mask. Nerys greeted her warmly.

“Thank you for inviting us.”

“Oh my, you recognize me, Your Grace?”

Rebecca, the lady in the pirate dress, replied cheerfully.

“I heard about you from my mentor. He said Miss Rebecca Shirley is the kind of woman who can wear the most daring dresses to any party and still remain elegant.”

“Would it be presumptuous if I said that I’ve also heard much about Your Grace from Sir Sheridan? You’re exactly as described.”

“As described?”

“If I may be so bold—wise and graceful. More so than anyone I’ve met.”

Rebecca Shirley, famed in the social scene, was close to Sir Sheridan, the Academy’s etiquette instructor and a prominent socialite himself. Those who had studied under him—the so-called “Sheridan Circle”—often mentioned Rebecca’s name.

Though she wasn’t a noble and thus not part of that circle, her influence in high society was undeniable.

“Thank you.”

“The honor is mine, Your Grace. Please enjoy yourself. If you need anything, look for a servant with a blue ribbon—they’ll help you with anything.”

Rebecca excused herself to greet other guests, her poise never faltering.

Nerys surveyed the ballroom. Faces hidden behind masks, many guests behaved far less restrained than usual. She even spotted couples—clearly not married or engaged—slipping away to balconies or behind pillars.

There was always one place everyone was expected to stop by first at such parties. Nerys and Cledwyn made their way to the third column on the left side of the hall entrance.

A woman in a pink dress standing beside a man glanced at Nerys’s mask, hesitated, and then asked softly,

“…My lady?”

“Joan.”

Nerys smiled, dispelling her doubt. It had been months since she’d last seen Joan Moriér, who looked well.

“It’s been a while, my lady.”

Joan also smiled in relief at seeing Nerys looking healthy. Then her eyes flicked to Cledwyn, who still held Nerys’s waist.

“Your Grace.”

“Good to see you. I’m glad you’re well.”

Cledwyn, who turned away most audiences from nobles without hesitation, greeted Joan politely and calmly.

Joan wasn’t surprised. She’d seen them together back in Maindulante and was simply happy that her beloved lady had found someone who truly cared for her.

“This is Aaron,” Joan said, motioning to the man beside her. “He’s been helping me. I wanted him to meet Your Grace.”

“A pleasure to meet you.”

Nerys already knew of Aaron from Joan’s reports. Seeing them together, it was clear they shared deep trust and familiarity. She nodded approvingly.

“I’m glad we met. I’m pleased you’re here in the capital, Joan. Please visit our residence sometime. I’d like to personally reward you and your people for handling the Trofur affair so well—and for coming back safely.”

“You honor me too greatly, Your Grace. I only did what I should have—and gained much thanks to it.”

Joan’s voice was full of energy, likely due to the Moriér Merchant Group’s rapid growth since the Trofrur incident.

She and Aaron had arrived in the capital the day before and attended Rebecca’s party tonight. Knowing this, Nerys had arranged to meet her briefly here.

“I hope you’ll stay in the capital for a while, if possible.”

“Yes, Your Grace. Of course. I’ll always be available if you need me.”

“Good. Then next time, let’s meet somewhere quieter.”

“Yes.”

After exchanging farewells, Joan and Aaron left to mingle elsewhere. Nerys and Cledwyn decided to stroll around and enjoy the evening.

Despite the guests’ drunken behavior, everything about the party—from music to decorations—was of the highest quality.

Nerys chose a glass of juice from a beautifully arranged table of drinks.

“You’re not drinking wine?” Cledwyn asked casually.

“I’m not. I’d rather not get drunk in public.”

“It’s just a drink.”

In Bistor, nobles learned from childhood which wines paired with which foods; Maindulante nobles especially favored strong liquor. Nerys chuckled.

“Oh dear, pardon me.”

Someone had brushed past her lightly. The person didn’t seem even aware of whom they’d bumped into. Cledwyn was about to step forward, but Nerys stopped him and looked after the figure who’d passed.

The silhouette was familiar—too familiar. The posture, the way she walked.

Nerys knew most of the people at this party. But the one she saw now was someone who shouldn’t have been here—because she despised the hostess more than anyone.

Megara.

Wearing a lovely dress that, though styled playfully for the masquerade, still showed off her figure, Megara was clearly heading somewhere in a hurry. To the balcony.

Megara Lykeandros, who loathed Rebecca and refused every invitation to her gatherings, had come here in secret. Which could only mean she was meeting someone she didn’t want others to see.

Nerys signaled to Cledwyn with a glance and quietly followed.

Megara was too focused on the balcony to notice the pursuit. She paused before the curtained entrance, took a deep breath, and let her shoulders slump, as though weighed down by sorrow.

Then, looking like a tragic heroine, she stepped through the curtain.

“Who’s there?”

A startled voice came from beyond—the familiar voice of Abelus. Nerys’s expression cooled instantly.

Then came Megara’s trembling, tearful reply.

“…Your Highness…! Heavens, I—I’m so sorry! I was so distracted, I didn’t realize…”

“Lady Megara?”

Abelus sounded surprised. He was alone—no other voices were heard.

He had no reason to be out on the balcony alone at such a party. He must have come with someone—most likely Natasha. And then—

‘She must’ve seen Natasha step away and seized her chance.’

Nerys’s mind went blank.

She was no longer the betrayed Crown Princess. She had never once loved Abelus—not truly.

What they did now, whatever games they played—it no longer mattered to her.

Yet hearing them speak in those soft, intimate tones—the grown-up version of the same voices from years ago—brought back, ‘just like yesterday’, Megara’s mocking words.

“Your Highness, even if the door was open, it’s rather improper to peek at another’s private affairs.”