*Knock-knock.*
At the sound, Marin looked up from her book.
"Come in."
The door swung open to reveal Daya, the thick robe Marin had lent her draped over one arm.
"I'm sorry to disturb you."
"Not at all. Come in, Daya."
Marin gestured toward a chair, and the girl settled into it carefully. She held out the robe with a small bow of her head.
"Thank you for this."
"It's nothing."
Smiling, Marin accepted the garment and set it aside on the table.
When she looked up again, she found Daya watching her with an intense, determined gaze—the expression of someone who had come with purpose.
"I'm an excellent listener," Marin offered lightly.
Daya's lips curved into a shy, hesitant smile.
"They say you'll be my chaperone."
"That's true."
"But you've never tried to convince me to attend the debutante ball. Why?"
Marin's eyebrows rose slightly, as though the question surprised her.
"It's your choice, Daya. If you want to go, you'll go. If you don't, you won't."
"But His Lordship wants me to go."
"Ah..." Marin's expression shifted to something softer, almost apologetic. "I'm sorry. It's probably because of me that he's been so insistent."
Confusion flickered in Daya's dark green eyes.
"What do you mean?"
"I never had my debutante ball. Circumstances... intervened."
"I know."
Daya's voice was quiet.
"The Viscountess told me."
"She did?" Marin blinked, genuinely taken aback. "My mother doesn't usually share things like that." She paused, then laughed awkwardly. "Oh—surprised that I still call her 'Mom' at my age? It must seem strange."
"On the contrary." Daya shook her head, her expression grave. "I'm envious. It's good to have someone you can still call that."
The words landed with unexpected weight.
"Anyway," Marin continued gently, "because of what happened to me, I never made my debut. The aristocrats... well, they weren't kind about it. That's probably why Lord Gerald has been pushing so hard for you to attend. He doesn't want you to face what I did."
Daya's face darkened with thought.
"I still don't understand the Duke." Her voice was low, troubled. "What he thinks. How he truly feels about us. I can't read him at all."
Marin regarded her calmly, choosing her words with care.
"I think it's natural that you feel that way. Lord Gerald *should* have done better—I won't pretend otherwise." She paused. "But if there's anything to be said in his defense... he has many enemies. More than you might realize."
Daya's dark green eyes flickered. She seemed to retreat inward, processing.
Marin waited patiently, giving her the time she needed.
Finally, Daya lifted her head.
"I'm going to the debutante ball."
The words came out clear. Decided.
"And I want to speak with the Duke myself."
Marin smiled—warm, encouraging.
"Then go."
---
## — The Duke's Study —
Daya stopped before the study door.
*After this, I won't need to come here anymore.*
Her face was tense, her pale skin stark against the dark corridor. In one hand, she held her mother's handkerchief—retrieved from the still-unpacked suitcase, clutched now like a talisman.
She raised her hand to knock.
"Come in."
The Duke's voice rang out before her knuckles could touch the wood.
*Where's the candle?*
She should have watched more carefully when Olive had prepared one before. But no matter how she looked around, there was nothing to light her way.
*Perhaps it's better this way.* The Duke kept his eyes closed regardless. It might be easier not to see his face.
She pushed the door open—and stopped.
The study, which she'd expected to find shrouded in darkness, was flooded with winter sunlight.
Daya approached the desk slowly, her gaze catching on details she hadn't anticipated.
A long sofa sat against one wall—new, or at least newly placed. Children's toys were scattered across its cushions. On the low table before it lay pastel drawings in bright, cheerful colors.
She knew Perido visited here every day. But she hadn't expected the space to be so thoroughly arranged for him—so *welcoming*.
She stopped before the Duke's desk and looked at him intently.
"What brings you here?"
His voice was level, neutral.
"*Why?*"
The word burst out of her, sharper than she'd intended.
"Why are you doing all of this?"
"..."
The Duke remained silent, eyes still closed.
"You make me hope." Her voice climbed despite her efforts to control it. "Again and again, you make me *hope*—and I don't understand *why*."
The tightness in her chest was suffocating.
After her parents died, she couldn't trust anyone. The world had become a place of betrayal and disappointment.
But then the Duke had come south. He'd saved her younger siblings from that devil Killon. He'd found Perido when no one else could.
For one brief, fragile moment, she'd thought: *Perhaps this is an adult I can trust.*
And then they'd arrived at the castle to find a ball in full swing—celebration where mourning should have been—and that hope had collapsed into the abyss.
Now she didn't know *what* to feel. Even when she wanted to hate him, he kept doing things that made her want to believe again.
"That night, with Perido—" Her voice cracked. "You said, 'Don't hate your mother. Hate me.' *Why* did you say that?"
"Because it's true."
At last, the Duke spoke.
"Lady Marin told me you have many enemies."
"That is also true."
"And because of these enemies—" Daya pressed forward, desperate now. "—you deliberately held that feast on the day we arrived? Made it seem as though we didn't exist? Is that why you never came to visit us? Tell me the truth. *Please.*"
She stared at his face, searching.
He looked so much like her mother.
And yet they were utterly different. Her mother's face had always been alive—expressive, warm, full of feeling. The Duke's was nearly always impassive, unreadable as carved stone.
She couldn't guess his thoughts. She needed him to *tell* her.
"...I'm sorry."
The words came quietly.
An indirect admission—but an admission nonetheless.
*Thank God.*
Relief flooded through her in a warm, dizzying wave.
*He doesn't hate us. He never hated us.*
She probably hadn't wanted to be hated by the only adult she had left.
To keep from crying, she turned away—and her gaze fell on Perido's drawing lying on the table.
Her siblings were there: Garnet with her golden hair, Rubiena with her dimpled smile, Perido himself with his round cheeks. The Duke stood among them, tall and dark. And beside him—Lady Marin, rendered in bright pastels.
A family portrait drawn by a child who was learning to hope again.
"I'll attend the debutante ball."
The Duke's head lifted sharply. A shadow of relief crossed his usually impassive face—there and gone in an instant.
"Like you, I'll maintain my distance to deceive your enemies. I understand now." Daya's voice steadied. "But please—continue looking after Perido. He loves you very much, Your Grace."
She held out the handkerchief she'd been clutching.
"Here."
The Duke accepted it in silence.
His fingers moved slowly across the old fabric, stroking it gently—as though listening to its texture, reading something written there in thread and memory.
"This was my mother's favorite."
"..."
His lips pressed together tightly, as though suppressing something that threatened to overwhelm him.
Daya knew what was embroidered on that handkerchief. Her mother had shown it to her many times, always with obvious pride.
*[Congratulations on your wedding, sister.]*
---
## — The Corridor —
"Lady Marin."
Marin encountered Olive in the hallway on her way to the library.
"What brings you here?"
"I was looking for you, my lady. You've become quite difficult to track down."
Marin smiled and nodded.
"True. Even by my own standards, I'm impossibly busy these days."
Olive returned her smile with his usual gentle warmth.
"An invitation has arrived. For you and Lady Daya both."
"For both of us?"
Since the engagement ball, invitations to tea had been arriving regularly. They'd politely declined each one—but Marin knew they couldn't refuse forever.
"From Lady Susan Eyre of the Earldom of Eyre."
There was obvious displeasure in Olive's voice.
"You know this lady, Olive?"
"Do *you* know her, my lady?"
Alarm flickered in his hazel eyes.
"I noticed her at the last ball. Only in passing."
That piercing, predatory gaze rose unbidden in her memory.
"Be careful."
"Of Lady Susan specifically?"
"Yes." Olive's expression grew serious. "She's shown... considerable interest in His Lordship."
"I see."
*Noticeable indeed*, Marin agreed silently.
"Shall I decline the invitation?"
"Hmm..." Marin considered. "Designer Idre mentioned these gatherings—apparently it's tradition to bring the young ladies together before the debutante season. A sort of informal club." She tilted her head. "Daya doesn't know anyone in the West. Perhaps we should attend."
Olive nodded, though his reluctance was evident.
"Then we should prepare before you go."
"Prepare?"
"Visit Mr. Zero."
"Mr. Zeromian?"
"Yes." A hint of cunning crept into Olive's soft smile. "He has something very valuable to show you."
"All right." Marin's curiosity stirred. "I'll pay Mr. Zeromian a visit."