The Duke took his place at the head of the table in silence.
Killon settled into the chair beside him, positioned just around the corner—close enough to observe, far enough to suggest deference.
"Girls. Greet His Grace."
Daya held the hem of her skirt and dipped into a calm, measured curtsy.
"It is an honor to meet you, Your Grace. I am the eldest—Daya Adria."
Rubiena grabbed awkwardly at her skirts, her voice trembling.
"H-hello. I'm the youngest... Rubiena Adria."
Garnet crossed her arms over her chest.
"Hmph."
She offered nothing more—not a bow, not a word. Pure, deliberate insolence.
Killon's eyebrow twitched. But the Duke remained silent, and without his reaction, Killon could not intervene.
The Duke acknowledged the greetings with the barest inclination of his head.
The sisters exchanged uncertain glances. *Were they permitted to sit?*
"His Grace has accepted your greetings. Ladies, please be seated."
Olive, standing at the Duke's side, smiled warmly and offered a polite bow.
"I am Olive Lyon, His Grace's aide-de-camp. A pleasure to meet you."
Daya curtsied again on behalf of them all.
"The pleasure is ours. Daya Adria."
"Likewise."
He gestured graciously toward their chairs. Daya nodded to her sisters, and they sat.
The servants glided forward, placing bowls of fragrant mushroom soup before each guest, then retreated to their positions along the walls.
"Ha-ha! Since His Grace honors us with his presence tonight, I instructed the chef to spare no effort." Killon lifted his wine glass, swirling it lazily. "You may not be able to *enjoy* it with your eyes, Your Grace—but at least you can savor the taste."
The subtle mockery hung in the air.
The Duke did not respond. Did not even turn his head.
He ignored Killon as though the man simply did not exist.
Killon's smile curdled. He swallowed his irritation and set down his glass with a soft *clink.*
Silence stretched across the table.
The Duke made no move to begin the meal, and no one dared start without him.
Killon had been searching for his missing nephew Perido all day. He hadn't eaten since morning. His stomach gnawed at him.
He shot the Duke a look of barely concealed displeasure—*why hide his expression from a blind man?*—and spoke with forced pleasantness:
"Your Grace, shall we begin?"
"His Grace has no appetite this evening."
Olive answered without so much as glancing at Killon. His attention remained fixed on Daya.
"You may begin without him."
Daya looked toward Killon.
His eyes burned with fury as he glared at Olive. But he didn't dare curse openly—not here, not now.
He bit down on his lip and spoke coldly to his nieces:
"Eat."
Rubiena, who was starving, reached for the bread first. She tore off a piece and dipped it into her soup. Garnet followed slowly, lifting her spoon.
Only Daya did not touch her food.
"Daya, why aren't you eating?" Rubiena asked around a mouthful, her brow creasing with worry.
"I'm not very hungry."
"You haven't eaten *anything* all day. Please—eat."
Rubiena broke her bread in half and pressed a piece into Daya's hand. Daya couldn't refuse.
"...Thank you, Ruby."
Having finally begun his meal, Killon's mood improved. He leaned back in his chair, took up his wine glass once more, and turned toward the Duke with renewed confidence.
"Your Grace—since you have no appetite, perhaps some wine instead? This is the finest vintage from the southern vineyards. Truly *exquisite.*" He chuckled. "Ha-ha!"
"Olive."
The Duke's voice cut through the air—low, cold, utterly flat.
Every eye in the hall turned toward him.
"Have the children eaten?"
"Yes, Your Grace. It appears they have."
"Then dismiss them."
Olive turned smoothly toward one of the maids pressed against the wall.
"Have the remaining food sent to the ladies' chambers."
"Yes, sir." The maid nodded quickly and slipped from the room.
"Ladies—I must ask you to leave the table for the moment."
The sisters exchanged bewildered looks.
Daya's heart began to pound.
She couldn't name it precisely, but from the moment the Duke spoke, the very atmosphere in the room had shifted. The air felt heavier. Colder.
She nodded to Garnet and Rubiena and rose from her seat.
Killon sensed it too. His wine glass came down hard against the table with a sharp *clang.*
"What is the meaning of this? Why are you dismissing *my* nieces?"
Olive exhaled quietly, moved to stand before the confused sisters, and positioned himself to block their view.
In that same instant—
Gerald lifted a knife from the table.
His hand moved with lazy grace.
*Whoosh.*
The blade sliced past Killon's face and buried itself in the wall behind him—up to the hilt.
It happened so quickly that Killon didn't comprehend it at first.
His right cheek *burned.*
Trembling, he raised a hand to his face.
"W-what..."
His fingers came away red.
Redder than the wine in his glass.
Blood began to drip from the split skin, spattering onto the polished floor.
"*Aaah—!*"
One of the maids shrieked at the sight of the blood, then clamped both hands over her mouth.
The sisters, shielded by Olive's back, did not immediately understand what had occurred.
"Missed," the Duke said.
His voice was perfectly calm. Almost bored.
Killon's blue eyes went wide with alarm.
*Missed?*
The greatest swordsman in the empire—*missed?*
And if it *wasn't* a miss... where had the blade truly been aimed, if not his cheek?
His throat. His eye. His heart.
Killon swallowed hard, cold sweat beading on his brow.
"Ladies, shall we proceed?"
Olive continued to block their view, gently guiding the sisters toward the doors.
Rubiena and Garnet walked out, their hands clasped tightly together.
Daya stopped.
"Garnet—look after Ruby."
"Daya, come *with* us."
Rubiena stared at her eldest sister, fear naked in her eyes.
"Garnet."
"...Fine." Garnet squeezed Rubiena's hand tighter. "But you *will* tell me everything afterward."
"I promise."
Once her sisters had disappeared down the corridor, Daya closed the dining room doors herself.
"This is no sight for a lady," Olive said, his voice laced with concern.
Daya forced her racing heart to steady. She shook her head.
"I want to see what happens next." Her voice did not waver. "I have the right."
"My lady..."
"In a few months, I will be an adult. Let me stay."
Olive sighed heavily.
"Ha-ah... His Grace will scold me for this."
"I take full responsibility."
She spoke the words like an oath.
At that moment, Killon's voice split the air—shrill with panic:
"Your Grace! *What are you doing?* There are laws in this empire! You cannot harm a nobleman without just cause!"
He pressed both hands to his bleeding cheek and stumbled backward, retreating from the Duke as though from a predator.
The Duke said nothing.
"No matter how powerful you are, *I* am also a nobleman!" Killon's voice cracked. "If you harm me, His Majesty the Emperor will not stand idle!"
"Olive."
The Duke's cold voice silenced everything.
"Yes, Your Grace."
Olive approached Killon with an expression of concern—almost sympathetic—and extended a pristine white handkerchief.
"You're bleeding quite heavily. It could be dangerous. At least press this to the wound."
Killon's head was already swimming from blood loss.
Without thinking, he snatched the offered cloth and pressed it tightly against his cheek.
His thoughts scattered. His vision swam.
He had only dared mock the Duke because the man was *blind.* A cripple. Harmless.
He hadn't expected—*never imagined*—that the Duke would so brazenly disregard the laws of the empire.
"The handkerchief is accepted."
The Duke leaned back in his chair, languid and unhurried.
"It's a duel."
*Hic—!*
Killon flinched so violently that the white cloth slipped from his fingers and fluttered to the floor.
And only then—too late—did he understand.
A white handkerchief, thrown to an opponent and accepted, declared a formal duel.
Once invoked, the Emperor could no longer intervene in a dispute between nobles.
"T-this is a trick! It's invalid!" Killon's voice rose to a shriek. "There are witnesses! Everyone saw!"
Desperate, he whipped his head around—and his gaze landed on Daya.
"Daya! You saw it, didn't you? I've never heard of such a duel in my life! This is *fraud!*"
Daya met his wild, pleading eyes.
Her expression did not change.
"I saw you accept the white handkerchief." Her voice was steady as stone. "And I heard His Grace declare a duel."
She paused.
"Everything was conducted according to the law."