Zeromian's laboratory occupied the castle's highest floor.
Marin climbed the winding staircase, higher and higher, until her path was blocked by a massive door—iron-bound, imposing, and utterly without handles or visible mechanisms.
*How exactly am I supposed to get through this?*
While she was puzzling over the problem, the door swung open on its own.
Zeromian, though technically an alchemist, behaved exactly like a sorcerer.
"What brings you here?"
He greeted her warmly, a half-eaten carrot clutched in one hand.
"Still researching carrots, I see?"
"The deeper you dig into the carrot, the more interesting it becomes."
His face was paler than she remembered—gaunt, almost fragile. They hadn't seen each other since the engagement ball.
"How have you been lately?"
"The Duke has given me a task that's making my head spin." Zeromian pushed back his silver hair with theatrical exhaustion. "'Make it so nothing is visible from the outside, but everything is clearly visible from the inside.' And *then* he ordered me to build a freezer within a few days—one that preserves freshness indefinitely."
The tired shadows beneath his eyes couldn't diminish his radiant beauty; if anything, they lent him a sickly, ethereal sophistication.
"You really do have it rough."
Marin didn't fully understand what he was creating, but her sympathy was genuine. Something in her sincere gaze made his violet eyes brighten.
"Then abandon this engagement and become my apprentice instead?"
Marin looked away awkwardly and held up the invitation she'd been carrying.
"What's this?" Zeromian glanced at the card.
"Lady Eyre has invited me to a gathering. Olive said if I spoke with you first, I could... prepare."
Zeromian's lips curved into a mischievous grin.
"Going into battle, are we?"
"No. Just a regular get-together for young ladies."
"So—battle."
"...Well. Sometimes."
It was difficult to argue with that assessment.
Zeromian retreated to a corner of the cluttered laboratory and fiddled with something amid the chaos of beakers and scattered notes. He returned moments later and fastened a silver bracelet around her wrist—nearly identical to his own.
"What's this for?"
"Press this red stone, and a transparent dome will form around you—just like last time. It'll repel both water and wine." His smile turned knowing. "Press the blue one, and you'll see something *very* interesting. Watch..."
Marin's eyes went wide.
*Video surveillance?*
---
## — The Eyre Estate —
Marin rode to Count Eyre's estate on horseback; Daya arrived by carriage.
They disembarked at a discreet distance and strolled toward the entrance together, arms linked in the picture of aristocratic elegance.
"Daya, I should confess something."
Daya glanced at her questioningly.
"I'm your chaperone today, but I'm not exactly... *experienced* at these events."
"I have a feeling, Marin, that everything goes as it should when you're involved." Daya smiled, her surprise tinged with warmth.
"Thank you for such faith. Truly—it's given me confidence." Marin deliberately adopted a haughty, reserved expression. "You can rely on me completely."
"Yes!" Daya's smile widened until her eyes became crescent moons.
At the entrance to Count Eyre's manor, a butler in immaculate livery awaited them.
"Welcome, my ladies."
Marin presented their invitation. The butler skimmed it—and his eyes widened slightly before he bowed even lower than before.
"I confirm your invitation. Please, allow me to escort you."
They followed him into the mansion.
Inside, everything glittered with aggressive opulence: a chandelier dripping with diamonds dominated the central hall, paintings by celebrated masters lined the walls, and expensive porcelain decorated every available surface.
They passed through the main house and into a manicured courtyard, arriving at last at a grand greenhouse. The butler opened its glass doors with a flourish.
"This way, my ladies."
"Are we early?" Marin surveyed the empty space, her voice carefully neutral.
A long table draped in white linen held an array of canapés, fresh fruit, and champagne flutes—but no guests occupied the delicate chairs arranged around it.
The butler's confusion was evident.
"No, my lady. The other guests have already arrived."
"And where are they?"
Marin's face turned cold.
"I—I'm afraid I don't know, my lady. I'll locate Lady Susan immediately."
"Do that."
As the butler hurried away, Marin turned to Daya with genuine remorse.
"I'm sorry, Daya."
"You have nothing to apologize for."
Daya's dark green eyes swept across the empty hall, her expression unreadable.
In the South, no one would *dare* ignore the name of Count Adria. But here in the West, young ladies were openly boycotting both the Duke's niece and his fiancée. Those who had attended the Duke's reception—who had witnessed how coldly he treated his own family—might understand the logic behind such treatment of Daya. But to so blatantly disregard the Duke's *fiancée*?
"I've never encountered anything quite like this." Daya chuckled softly. "It's almost... fascinating."
Her face hardened into ice.
Marin struggled to suppress her own indignation.
Yes, after the engagement ball, whispers about her past had spread through society. She'd expected quiet obstruction—the subtle freeze-out, the turned shoulders.
But *this*? This open, theatrical contempt?
It was difficult to know what to marvel at more: Susan's stupidity or her audacity.
Marin sighed.
"Let's go. I don't want to watch you be treated like this."
But before they could move—
"*Welcome*, Lady Daya Adria."
The greenhouse doors swept open with dramatic flair.
Susan Eyre entered like a bride at her own wedding, dressed entirely in white—a gown that seemed designed to declare ownership of the room.
"I am Susan, of the Earl of Eyre's household. You may call me Susan." Her gaze slid to Marin with barely concealed disdain. "And hello to you as well, Lady Marin Shuvents. Daughter of the Viscount."
"Thank you for the invitation, my lady."
Marin suppressed a laugh and dipped into a polite bow.
*Almost touching, these clumsy attempts at humiliation.*
According to proper etiquette, Daya—as the Duke's niece—should have been greeted first. But Marin was the Duke's *fiancée*. Any young lady present was obligated to acknowledge her with deference before anyone else.
Susan had just committed a deliberate breach of protocol. In front of witnesses.
A parade of young ladies filed in behind Susan, each offering greetings in turn—a chorus of calculated slights disguised as courtesy.
"Hello."
"Hello."
A young woman with plump, rosy cheeks and a scarlet dress broke from the group and approached Daya, her expression anxious.
"Have you been waiting long?" she whispered.
"No. We only just arrived."
"We wanted to come down earlier—before Lady Shuvents arrived—but Miss Susan kept showing us her dress..." The girl's face crumpled with genuine remorse. "I'm so sorry to keep you waiting."
Her apology was completely sincere. She clearly hadn't been part of the scheme.
Marin smiled reassuringly. *Everything is fine.*
"Lady Adria, are you settling in well?" Susan inquired with saccharine sympathy.
"Yes." Daya's response was clipped.
"You must be *so* looking forward to your debutante ball. I'm certain you'll be the most beautiful one there." Susan's smile sharpened. "This would look *lovely* with your luxurious black hair—don't you think?"
She opened a red velvet box with exaggerated ceremony.
Inside lay a hairpin shaped like a delicate leaf, densely studded with diamonds. It would indeed complement the deep green of Daya's eyes.
The assembled ladies gasped in performative admiration.
"How lovely!"
"It suits Lady Adria perfectly!"
Susan preened at the chorus of approval.
Daya regarded the ornament with flat indifference, then raised her head.
"I exchange gifts only with those I consider close."
Susan's smile faltered. This was clearly not the response she'd anticipated.
"Then let's *become* close." Her recovery was swift, if graceless. "May I call you Daya?"
"No."
The refusal was cold, direct, and utterly without softening.
"I understand." Susan's composure strained at the edges. "You're still unfamiliar with the West. Do feel free to call on me anytime—I understand local society *far* better than some."
Several ladies lowered their gazes, shooting furtive glances toward Marin.
That same *"some"* was currently standing at the refreshment table, enjoying a glass of champagne.
*Mmm. They have excellent champagne.*
"But you know," Marin said, taking a leisurely sip and turning to Daya with an expression of innocent curiosity, "I'm far more interested in something else. Is it customary in the West to greet guests by leaving them alone in an empty greenhouse? I hadn't encountered this particular tradition before. How novel."
Daya met her gaze.
She was the Duke's niece—and that alone was worth a hundred Susans.