Chapter 2

　　She remembered it as a chilly evening. When she heard that Heston had made a rare visit to the estate and was waiting for her, Sylvia threw on a thin dress and hurried to the garden.

　　He must be here to put the rumors to rest.

　　As she hastened across the lawn, which was carpeted in the light of the setting sun, Sylvia desperately hoped he would quickly put her anxieties to rest. But Heston, far from offering a denial, simply confirmed the rumors with an unnervingly calm demeanor.

　　"I have decided to become engaged to Her Highness the princess."

　　Those unwavering green eyes. The way they met hers was so unfamiliar that Sylvia could not help but stumble back a step. Of course, the rumors that Princess Katrin and Heston were courting had been circulating for three months. But Sylvia had not believed a word of it. How could she, after a decade of devotion?

　　Heston Lockwood was the most distinguished knight in the order, and though he had renounced his ducal title, he was still the eldest son of the Lockwood ducal family. What was more, with his handsome features and uniquely serious attitude, he was never short of female admirers.

　　Consequently, Sylvia had watched countless women try and fail to breach the fortress of Heston’s heart. Each time, they would spread baseless rumors to protect their pride or relentlessly slander him. Sometimes the rumors were so convincing that even Sylvia, who had known him for so long, had her doubts. But Heston always came back to her, as flawless as ever.

　　So she had assumed this time would be no different. Even when Rosalyn had chirped, "My brother might actually get married this time." Even when the papers were filled with stories of him and Princess Katrin day after day.

　　"Are you truly marrying Princess Katrin?" She did not have the presence of mind to steady her trembling voice. She was dizzy, unable to comprehend how Heston, who had never given his heart to anyone, could fall in love with the princess so deeply as to propose after only three months.

　　Had it all started at that banquet, as everyone said? The banquet that had left quite an impression on Sylvia as well, for that was the day she had planned to confess her feelings to Heston.

　　***

　　It had been three months prior. The First Knight Order, including Heston and Sylvia, had just returned from a long expedition, having successfully retrieved an undamaged Holy Relic. For the Empire, such a recovery was of the utmost significance. The Emperor, overjoyed by the first success in twenty-eight years, threw a grand banquet and honored Heston, the hero of the hour, with a medal and treasures of the Empire.

　　Sylvia had watched Heston, surrounded by dignitaries, including envoys from the Holy Empire, and had felt restless. Since the end of the dispatch, her mind had been consumed with thoughts of her confession. The mere thought of speaking her heart to Heston was enough to make her feel ill.

　　But I shall not hide like a coward any longer.

　　Ten years was long enough. Even setting aside her father’s increasingly active attempts to marry her off, she had planned to confess around this time. She was no longer the insignificant girl she had been a decade ago. She had earned her place as Heston’s partner and had begun to gain the respect of her peers. And now, they had recovered a Holy Relic.

　　It felt like the onset of a new beginning, an opportunity to finally stand beside him as an equal.

　　"Heston."

　　At her serious tone, he raised an eyebrow and looked down at her. His brow was furrowed in mild displeasure at the lavishness of the banquet. He clearly felt undeserving of being hailed as a hero for something he had not accomplished alone. Every time someone praised him, he tirelessly insisted that his partner, Sylvia, had done the hardest work and that he had merely followed her lead. The only time he had smiled all evening was when she had begged him to stop tormenting her.

　　"It is difficult enough as it is. Could you not bear the attention on your own?"

　　Seeing her grumble, he had offered that characteristic, amused smile of his and, unseen by others, had lightly flicked her forehead.

　　"You should accustom yourself to it. You are only going to become more remarkable."

　　Sylvia recalled the moment, rubbing the spot on her forehead where his hand had touched. The subtle warmth that had lingered there seemed to have given her courage. When she looked up, she saw Heston was still waiting for her. His gaze was gentle, his demeanor patient. Had time permitted, he likely would have stood there indefinitely, unmoving, until she finished speaking. That was the kind of man Heston was.

　　But the night was not on their side. Everyone at the banquet wanted a moment with the hero of the hour. This time, it was the Emperor’s chamberlain who came to deliver the message that His Majesty was looking for him, and Heston had no choice but to turn away.

　　"My apologies," he had said, turning to leave. "I must go. Was it something important?"

　　His gentle voice had stolen her own. "No," she had managed. "I just… felt I had not congratulated you properly. Congratulations on recovering the Holy Relic."

　　At that, he let out a hollow laugh.

　　"What need is there for congratulations between us? You were always by my side."

　　The words had landed like a punch to her heart. When love is unrequited, one often gets wounded by words spoken without a second thought. But years of experience had taught Sylvia how to conceal the pain.

　　"I suppose so," she had quipped. "How could you have returned in one piece without me? I was sweating profusely trying to save your reckless hide."

　　"Such a braggart." His hand playfully pinched her cheek before sliding down to squeeze her shoulder. "I shall be back," he had murmured, and only after he was gone could she finally breathe again.

　　Right, I made a mess of that, she had thought, but I can try again later. She could lure him out to the garden after the banquet had died down and the crowd had thinned. Perhaps she would find her courage under the faint moonlight.

　　So Sylvia had thought, her hands clasped over her pounding heart.

　　But the opportunity she had been so sure would come never did. When she returned after a brief absence, Heston was nowhere to be seen. When she asked after him, people told her with laughter-laced voices that he had left with the princess. She had been stunned and told them not to speak nonsense. But more than a dozen people had witnessed them leaving together, and after that, rumors constantly surfaced of them appearing together across the capital, at art galleries and conservatories frequented by young lovers…

　　And three months later, Heston stood in her estate’s garden and announced his engagement.

　　"I wanted you to be the first to hear the news," he had said, acting the part of a faithful friend while she reeled in confusion.

　　What could she do? In the end, she had no choice but to bury her decade-long unrequited love and slip back into the guise of a friend. But even so, she could not stop thinking that if only she had confessed her feelings a little sooner at the banquet that day, everything might have changed. If only she had been a little braver. A little more forthright.

　　***

　　She had even been plagued by such thoughts last night, at Heston’s engagement ceremony.

　　"What on earth is this?"

　　Standing in Rosalyn’s bathroom, Sylvia stared blankly at her own body. The evidence of the previous night was scattered across her skin like a constellation of shame. Looking at it, she felt something beyond embarrassment, something closer to awe. And for the first time, it occurred to her that even if she had confessed back then, nothing would have changed.

　　Just as Heston had proposed to another woman after only three months, she had ended up in bed with another man. In the end, what might have been will never be, and what is meant to happen leaves its mark, clear as day, upon your skin.

　　Sylvia sank into the bathwater as if to submerge herself completely. Whatever happened last night would be buried, never to be spoken of again. She would wash herself clean, and the clothes that bore the traces of that night would be burned to ash.

　　The maids’ eyes widened when she told them to burn a perfectly good dress, but they soon nodded in compliance. Unlike their mistress, the maids knew of Sylvia’s agonizing, unrequited love for Heston. They could well understand a woman’s desire not to keep the dress she had worn on the day of her beloved’s engagement. And so, the lustrous apricot-colored dress, its lace torn and frayed, fell into the furnace of Sodern Castle. Sylvia, dressed in Rosalyn’s clothes, was able to return home safely.

　　***

　　"Leaving in such a hurry, I see." Owen leaned an elbow on the windowsill, watching a carriage exit the main gate. "Should I tell her?" he muttered to himself. The wind ruffled each strand of his messy blond hair, and the morning light fell upon his bare torso.

　　A nagging feeling came over him, and he scratched his chin. He had even whistled to get Sylvia’s attention as she rushed into the carriage, but she had departed without a backward glance, likely thinking it was just a bird chirping. Owen sighed. He should have told her. He had left a mark on the nape of her neck, just behind her ear. It was in a place not easily seen, and he worried whether she would be able to find and take care of it on her own.

　　Given Sylvia’s personality, the kind to scurry away like a mouse at dawn, frantically gathering her clothes, she would surely turn beet red with shame if someone else were to point it out.

　　"Leaving marks is not my usual style, though," he mused with a shrug, closing the window against the chill.

　　He had no clue as to why he, a man who was typically quite restrained in bed, had acted like a starving beast last night. Stretching his stiff body like a cat, he headed for the bathroom. Soon, the cheerful sound of splashing water echoed through the room.