"You see, I got the time mixed up. My apologies." Susan's smile didn't waver. "The young ladies were *so* insistent on showing me my dress that I simply had no choice."
She blamed the other girls without a trace of embarrassment. Behind her, several ladies exchanged looks of open displeasure at being used as shields.
"Oh, I see." Daya's voice was pleasant, but her eyes had turned to ice. "So in the West, guests are invited simply to admire dresses?"
"There are quite a few *young* ones among them, you understand." Susan's smile tightened as she retreated behind the wall of ladies once more.
She seemed to have calculated that remaining close to Daya would only force her into further apologies. Her gaze swept the room, seeking escape.
"Well! Since we've gathered to congratulate the debutantes, shall we raise our glasses?"
The young ladies lifted their champagne flutes obediently.
"Congratulations on your debut." Susan's voice carried across the greenhouse like honey poured over thorns. "And a *special* congratulations to Lady Adria—you've faced so many challenges... truly, *congratulations*."
She raised her glass higher than anyone else, her smile radiant.
Perhaps because no men were present, the girls allowed themselves small sips of champagne—a minor rebellion against propriety.
Daya's face turned to marble.
Marin moved quickly to her side.
"Are you all right?"
"Lady Marin, I don't like it here." Daya's voice was low, controlled. "Let's leave."
Marin looked at her with genuine regret.
"I had hoped you might make some friends."
"But you *are* my friend, Marin."
Daya's eyes widened slightly, as though surprised the clarification was even necessary.
The words caught Marin off guard. She laughed—soft, warm.
"Thank you for saying so."
"I'm also very grate—"
"*Oh*, that thick skin."
The voice cut through their exchange like a blade.
"Pretending to be so *kind*, yet she snatched up His Lordship just like that."
Daya froze mid-sentence.
Marin squeezed her hand gently—*it's all right.*
After her past had become public knowledge, such whispers were inevitable.
"If she lost her virtue and *still* didn't leave His Lordship, then everything's clear, isn't it?"
"I heard their entire house was destroyed."
"Lady Adria obviously doesn't understand anything. That's why she sticks so close."
"How *pitiful*."
The malice was thick, dark, viscous—coating every word.
Daya looked at Marin with open concern.
Marin held back a sigh and smiled, showing she had everything under control.
The insults themselves barely stung anymore. She'd grown calluses over those wounds long ago. The problem was different: because *she* was here, Daya was being forced to hear things no young lady should have to endure.
She'd tried to restrain herself. But these girls kept tugging at the sleeping lion's whiskers.
Marin patted Daya's hand once more, then turned sharply toward the whispering cluster.
The young ladies—most of them Daya's age or younger—exchanged awkward glances.
*Remarkable.* Such little girls, and each had a pre-memorized line, delivered like actors in a rehearsed play.
The sheer absurdity of it momentarily cooled Marin's fighting spirit.
Susan glided over, frowning prettily, and parted her scarlet lips:
"Dear ladies, you really mustn't throw around such words."
"Why not, sister?" The blonde at the center of the group looked at Susan with open challenge. "It's the honest truth."
"Even if it *were* true, it would still be impolite."
Marin chuckled quietly.
She'd thought the hostess might try to *stop* the gossip. Instead, Susan had just declared the lie a settled fact—truth by implication.
Daya looked at Marin, seeking guidance.
Before Marin could respond, a round-faced young woman hurried toward the circle, her expression anxious.
"You can't speak like that, girls. You'll face a scolding from His Lordship for spreading such fabrications."
Her tone was admonishing—the voice of an elder sister—but the warning was unmistakable.
"I heard it too." The blonde's chin lifted in defiance. "If *that* happened to her, is she really allowed near the Duke?"
The round-faced lady—Lady Borandi, apparently—flushed and shook her head.
"That's *enough*, my lady."
"Ah, Lady Borandi." Susan's voice dripped with false sweetness. "Why are you scolding my sister? How unexpected. You adored the Duke so *passionately*—and now you're ready to hush up the truth?"
Borandi's flush deepened to crimson. Her voice emerged thin and trembling:
"Lady Susan, I respect His Lordship, of course, but how could you spread such *ridiculous* rumors?"
"Respect him?" Susan's smile sharpened. "And was sneaking into His Lordship's private chambers also an act of *respect*?"
Her scarlet lips curved into a perfect, painted crescent.
"*What* are you saying?" Borandi's eyes went wide with horror. "I've *never* done anything like that!"
For a young noblewoman, trespassing into a man's quarters was the gravest of shames. The surrounding girls stared at Borandi with dawning suspicion.
"Wasn't it about a different lady...?"
"I thought so too..."
Several gazes flickered between Susan and Borandi, weighing the accusation.
"*Susan!*" Borandi's voice cracked. "Why are you saying this? I've never done such a thing!"
"Oh, it's just what I heard." Susan shrugged with theatrical nonchalance. "If there's no proof, what can anyone do?"
A cruel gleam surfaced in her green eyes.
She knew perfectly well whose footsteps had echoed in those forbidden corridors. She herself was the culprit. But here stood a perfect target—someone onto whom she could deflect suspicion. The opportunity was too sweet to waste.
Tears welled in Borandi's large, wounded eyes.
*Enough.*
Marin had endured plenty. But watching someone be destroyed to cover another's sins?
That crossed a line.
"Stop lying, Lady Eyre."
Susan's head snapped toward her.
"What did you just say?"
"It wasn't Lady Borandi who entered His Lordship's chambers." Marin met Susan's glare without flinching. "It was *you*, Lady Eyre. Why are you trying to pin this on someone else?"
Fury blazed in Susan's eyes—but her smile remained fixed.
"*You*, Lady Shuvents, are the one slandering without a single piece of evidence."
"And if I had evidence?"
Zeromian's voice echoed in her memory: *"Going into battle, are we?"*
Very clever indeed. As befitting an alchemist.
"Then show it." Susan laughed—a sharp, confident sound. "Right here, in front of all these ladies. I *beg* you."
Without the Duke and his aide present to confirm events, there could be no proof. Or so Susan clearly believed.
"Very well." Marin's voice was calm. "Since the lady herself requests it."
She pressed the blue stone on her bracelet.
Light erupted from the silver band—and a projection blazed to life in the center of the greenhouse.
---
The image showed Susan—slightly younger, her face younger still—lying on a wide bed, arms wrapped around a pillow, her cheek pressed deep into the fabric.
*"His Lordship has such a scent... If I take this pillow, will I be caught?"*
The greenhouse had gone utterly silent.
In the projection, the chamber door swung open without a sound.
The Duke appeared—tall, dark, his expression carved from ice.
Marin, though she'd already seen this recording, couldn't look away from his eyes. Night-black and bottomless, utterly different from the silver she was accustomed to.
Both were beautiful in their own way.
*"If she's distracted by such trifles, she's clearly not a spy."*
The Duke's voice was cold, dismissive.
Susan in the projection froze.
*"This is Lady Susan Eyre."* Olive appeared behind his lord, contempt written plainly across his features. *"A spy? Hardly."*
*"A waste of time. Remove her."*
The Duke turned away without another glance.
Susan scrambled off the bed, cheeks flushed with panic.
*"Your Grace, I—"*
*"Lady, trespassing into someone else's quarters is a crime."*
*"I—I entered the wrong door."*
*"You walked through the wrong door and immediately buried your face in His Lordship's pillow?"*
Olive's cutting rebuke drew tears to Susan's eyes.
*"I only love the Duke—"*
*"Ha."* Olive's disgust was palpable. *"Lady, it's only because you're young that His Lordship has chosen to forgive this. But I suggest you stay out of his sight from now on."*
Susan fled the chamber, sobbing.
The projection flickered and vanished.
---
Dead silence filled the greenhouse.
Susan stood frozen, staring at nothing—her perfect composure shattered like dropped porcelain.
"*Lady Eyre.*"
Borandi's voice trembled with betrayal and barely contained rage.
"After *this*—you tried to blame *me*?"