Olive stepped forward and placed a small black box on the desk.
Marin looked up from the report, curiosity sparking in her eyes.
The Duke lifted his head, angling it toward her as though he could see her perfectly well.
"Open it."
"Me?"
"You saved a mine that was nearly abandoned. You should be the one to open it."
"...All right."
Marin set down the papers and carefully lifted the lid.
Inside lay two stones, each round and roughly the size of a thumb.
The first rested on an opaque black background, its surface alive with iridescent fire—colors shifting and dancing with every angle. The second sat against deep green, equally prismatic, equally mesmerizing.
Marin picked up the black stone and carried it to the window. She held it up to the light and turned it slowly in her fingers.
With each rotation, it sparkled differently—as though multicolored stars were flickering within a captured fragment of night sky.
"Wow... *beautiful*."
Behind her, Perido gasped.
"It's true!" He pressed his small hands against the windowsill, straining to see. "So pretty!"
"I've never seen anything like this." Even Olive's composure cracked slightly, admiration bleeding into his voice. "So many colors in a single stone... The nobility will lose their minds over these."
The Duke's voice cut through their wonder:
"Marin. Name it."
"*Me*?" Her eyes went wide. "I can?"
"This stone has never existed before. You were the first to take interest in it—so you have the right to give it a name."
Marin smiled, slow and satisfied.
"Opal. Let it be called *opal*."
In the original story, the heroine had discovered this stone and given it a different name entirely. But Marin knew what it was *really* called—knew its true name from a world that no longer existed.
"Opal." The Duke tested the word. "I like it. Olive."
"Yes, Your Grace?"
"Begin mining operations immediately. Guard the site at the same level as the diamond mines."
"Understood."
When Marin returned the opals to their box and set it back on the desk, the Duke raised an eyebrow.
"Why are you leaving it there?"
"It belongs to you, Lord Gerald."
"You found it. You named it. How is it suddenly mine?"
"This..." Marin's face broke into a delighted smile. She picked up the box again, cradling it against her chest. "This is *for me*?"
"We waste time stating the obvious."
"Yes, yes."
"One 'yes' is sufficient."
"Yes."
Olive, watching their exchange from behind, turned away sharply—struggling to contain the laughter threatening to escape.
His gaze landed on Perido, who sat on the sofa with his lips pursed in clear displeasure.
"Lady Marin is my uncle's fiancée." The boy's small brow furrowed. "Ruby said that engagement is when two people *love* each other. So why does Uncle speak like *that* to someone he loves?"
*Bravo, Perido.*
Marin immediately cast her line:
"And how does he speak?"
The boy propped his chin on one tiny finger, considering the question with visible concentration.
"Um... hmm..." He searched for the right word. "...*Rude*."
"*Pfft—*"
Marin tried to suppress her laughter. She failed entirely.
Perido hopped off the sofa and marched toward the Duke's desk with purpose.
"You have to speak *beautifully* to the people you love." He planted his small hands on his hips. "Like this: 'Oh, how beautiful you are! Oh, how kind you are!' See? Uncle, try it."
"...Is that necessary?"
"'Oh, how beautiful you are. Oh, how kind you are.'" Perido repeated the phrases with patient insistence. "Just like that."
The boy was fearless. Relentless.
"...Oh. How. Beau. Ti. Ful. You. Are."
Under Perido's unwavering pressure, the Duke repeated the words—stiff, mechanical, as though each syllable had been individually programmed.
*Remarkable*, Marin thought. *Apparently robots exist in this era after all.*
She bit down hard on her lower lip, fighting to keep her composure.
"No, no—you have to say it in a *gentle* voice!" The boy's correction rang out with the authority of a seasoned instructor.
"Perido." The Duke's tone shifted, suddenly casual. "Do you like cotton candy?"
He reached beneath the desk and produced a wicker basket, setting it on the table with suspicious timing.
Marin stared at him, expression flatly incredulous.
*Bribing your excellent tutor with sweets? How low.*
"Cotton candy! I *love* it!"
Perido threw both hands in the air, lesson immediately forgotten.
The Duke's lips curved into a knowing smirk.
He lifted the lid and withdrew a fluffy white cloud of spun sugar, offering it to the boy. Perido's eyes went round with wonder.
"Wow! Uncle can make clouds too!" He accepted the treat with reverent care. "I thought only Mom could do that. Dad and my sisters couldn't."
The adults' faces froze.
"I want to go to Mom." Perido pinched off a piece of the cloud and placed it on his tongue. He smiled—forced, fragile. "He-he."
Tears glittered in his laughter.
"Marin."
The Duke's voice cut through the sudden heaviness.
"Yes?" She'd been watching Perido with worried eyes and answered without thinking.
"You are beautiful. You are kind."
"*Wh-what?*"
Her gaze snapped to the Duke, utterly thrown.
"Perido." The Duke turned his attention to the boy, still drowning in his small sorrow. "How was that?"
Perido squeezed his cotton candy thoughtfully. He shook his head slowly.
"Nope. You need to say it more *gently*."
"Marin is beautiful. Marin is kind." The Duke spoke faster this time, as though hoping speed might compensate for awkwardness. "Better?"
"Oww. Too fast. Slow down."
The Duke's earnest—if deeply uncomfortable—attempts at tenderness gradually smoothed the grief from the child's face.
*Thank goodness.*
Marin watched them with quiet relief. The Duke's dignity had been thoroughly sacrificed, but the boy was smiling again.
She accepted their continued duet of stilted compliments with gracious good humor.
---
## — The Forge —
Things between the Duke and Perido seemed to be improving.
Leaving the boy in the Duke's care—or rather, entrusting the Duke to Perido's continuing instruction—Marin departed with Olive.
Their destination: the forge.
As in the novel, Garnet had begun studying swordsmanship with fierce dedication. Originally, she wouldn't have started training with Butler Sebas until much later—but Marin had quietly accelerated the timeline.
*Since we're already moving things along*, she thought, *I should give Garnet a sword that truly suits her.*
They passed through the forest bordering the Duke's castle and walked for some time until a small wooden cottage came into view. Beside it stood a spacious forge, smoke curling lazily from its chimney.
"Surenn! Are you here?"
"Oh, come in!"
*Finally—another character from the novel.*
Surenn didn't have much direct connection to the original heroine, but the female blacksmith had always been one of Marin's favorite figures in the story.
The moment they opened the door, heat enveloped them like a physical embrace. Outside, the air had been biting cold; in here, it felt like the peak of summer.
Swords and axes hung along one wall. The worktable was cluttered with tools Marin couldn't begin to identify—tongs and hammers and implements that looked vaguely medieval torture-adjacent.
Near the back door, something enormous sat covered by a white cloth.
*Do they make things that large in a forge?*
"Olive oil! How was your trip south?"
Surenn greeted them cheerfully. She wore a sleeveless top that showed off impressively muscled arms—the kind of arms that could bend iron bars or probably crush a person's skull if sufficiently motivated.
"Olive *Lyon*, to be precise." Olive's correction came with his usual mild smile.
"Uh-huh, olive oil. I can tell by your face the trip went well."
*Ah. One of those people who doesn't actually listen to what others say.*
Marin nodded to herself and turned her attention to the blacksmith.
Surenn's sharp gaze had already found her. Their eyes met, and Marin felt suddenly self-conscious. She dipped into a quick bow.
"Hello."
"Oh, hey! I'm Surenn." The blacksmith waved casually, grinning. "Welcome!"
"Surenn, please observe some basic formality." Olive stepped between them, voice diplomatically firm. "Before you stands the Duke's fiancée, Lady Marin Shuvents."
"*Oh!*" Surenn's eyes lit up with recognition. "So we finally meet, Lady Marin!"
"It's a pleasure."
"But what brings you all the way to my run-down little workshop?"
"I'd like to commission a sword." Marin met her gaze directly. "One designed for a woman's hand."
"Oho." Surenn's grin widened knowingly. "Popular request lately."
"Someone else ordered one?"
Olive's curiosity was immediate—and perhaps a touch too eager.
Surenn winked, slow and deliberate.
"*Secret.*"
Marin, standing slightly behind Olive, noticed something interesting.
The tips of his ears had turned faintly pink.
*Oh? Oh. Why? Why the blushing?*
She quickly averted her gaze, fixing her attention on Surenn instead.
The blacksmith had suddenly begun scratching at her ear, as though it itched. She shot Olive a pointed look.
"Who's talking about me behind my back? Olive oil, are you grumbling right now because I won't tell you?"
"I am *not* grumbling."
The words escaped him like a long-suffering sigh.
Marin watched the exchange with quiet sympathy.
*Tsk, tsk, tsk. He doesn't have it easy, does he?*