Chapter 4

　　The tea party was in full swing in the garden. Tables were adorned with vibrant flowers from the greenhouse, and noble ladies in bright, fresh dresses chatted amongst themselves. The sight made Sylvia’s posture instinctively stiffen. She rarely attended such gatherings.

　　Since the age of fifteen, she had spent more time on the training grounds than at home, and as an adult, more time on dispatch than in the capital. It would be a relief if she did not cause some sort of trouble. She clenched her fists, and then, among the welcoming smiles, she saw a familiar face.

　　Rosalyn!

　　It seemed that her friend, from whom she had just parted this morning, had also been invited. Rosalyn’s brow furrowed, her eyes asking a clear question: Why are you here?

　　Sylvia could only shrug, implying that she had no clue. If the Princess had invited Rosalyn too, then perhaps this really was just a simple attempt to befriend those closest to Heston.

　　She sat down and glanced at Katrin. Since the engagement had been just yesterday, the conversation was mostly praise for how beautiful she had been or how she and Heston seemed a match made in heaven. The other ladies quickly flocked to Princess Katrin’s side, begging her to tell them how her secret romance with Heston had begun and how he had proposed. When the princess demurred, embarrassed, a lady-in-waiting beside her spoke up instead.

　　"It began at the recovery banquet, of course! You all know how Her Highness has always been grateful to the heroes who devote themselves to the Empire. This time, too, she went to thank Sir Heston for his great work. But Sir Heston…"

　　As the story dragged on, a burning thirst clawed at Sylvia’s throat, and she gulped down her tea. She had braced herself for this, but hearing it firsthand was more agonizing than she had imagined. Listening to stories of a Heston she didn’t recognize was agonizing, as if she were a stranger. It was a torment to learn of the special tenderness he reserved for the woman he loved, and to feel the crushing weight of that loss with every word.

　　Rosalyn, seated beside her, subtly leaned closer and cringed. "Can you believe Heston was like that?"

　　"He must have been, to propose in three months," Sylvia said, deliberately feigning indifference. Having failed to get a reaction, Rosalyn shrugged as if she had lost interest and sat up straight again. Sylvia rubbed her arm and frowned.

　　What is wrong with my body?

　　Her heart had been pounding for a while now, and her head felt light. It was strange to call it a hangover, as she had taken medicine before coming to the palace and had felt perfectly well. And unlike a hangover, her body and mind felt as if they were growing more sensitive by the moment. So sensitive that she felt she would tremble if someone so much as poked her in the back.

　　As she tried to understand her body’s strange state, she lifted her head and her eyes locked with those of Ariel Dernilper, seated across the table. Ariel, who boasted an exceptional loyalty to the princess, saw Sylvia’s expression and did not hide her look of offense.

　　"I suppose such stories must be dreadfully boring for Lady Appleton," Ariel remarked, her voice dripping with false sympathy.

　　"Oh, no. That is not it…" Sylvia denied it in a fluster, but they had already taken the bait. They smiled even more brightly and whispered in sly voices.

　　"You need not deny it," another whispered, her voice a venomous caress. "The bond between you and Sir Heston is truly remarkable. Why, Lady Rosalyn herself told us that if we wanted to know about Sir Heston, we should simply ask you. She said your connection is so profound, you likely know him better than his own sister."

　　The words were like fuel poured on a raging fire. Sylvia shot a betrayed look at her friend, but Rosalyn merely shrugged, as if to say, Well, I didn’t know you were coming! before popping a pastry into her mouth and feigning innocence. The ladies-in-waiting beside Princess Katrin showed no mercy for poor Sylvia’s plight and closed in on her with sly, predatory smiles.

　　"That is right, Lady Appleton. Please do help us. Sir Lockwood is such an enigma; we truly cannot figure him out. Just when you think you understand him, he does something completely unexpected. Do you remember? He proposed right in front of the temple, of all places. We were so shocked! Is Sir Heston normally so impulsive?"

　　The faces staring at her seemed to genuinely want an answer. A blush crept up Sylvia’s neck as she finally broke the silence.

　　"Of course, Sir Heston… is not usually like that. He is a cautious man."

　　But they merely exchanged glances and curled their lips, utterly uninterested in her answer.

　　"Does a cautious man act so? Come to think of it, during the Holy Relic recovery, he insisted on putting his hand into the monster’s core even when everyone else said it was too dangerous. Of course, we are overjoyed that the relic was recovered because of it, but it is frightening sometimes when he charges in so recklessly."

　　The princess’s attendants would not genuinely slander Heston. They were laying a trap, beckoning Sylvia to walk right into it. They wanted her to bristle, to leap to his defense. If she spoke up while the princess herself remained silent, she would be branded a presumptuous woman who didn’t know her place. Yet if she said nothing, or worse, agreed with them, she would be condemned for failing to defend her oldest friend and partner.

　　"Of course, Sir H-Heston has an impulsive side," she began, knowing her only way out was not to refuse their bait, but to turn it back on them. "But he only shows that side of himself when…" She had to say it. She had to claim he acted that way because he was so madly in love with the princess. The thought of forming those words was gut-wrenching, but her body felt increasingly strange, and she just wanted to give them what they wanted and escape their scrutiny.

　　She was stammering, forcing the words out, when it happened.

　　Suddenly, a low, breathy moan seemed to bloom right beside her ear. Her body, already simmering with a strange heat, went rigid. Her back straightened, and a shiver traced its way down her spine. Her neck flushed a deep crimson, and her hand flew to clutch the fabric of her dress.

　　What is this? Why is this happening? Why… does my body feel… like last night?

　　Her arms trembled. The arousal, which had ambushed her without warning, was bewildering. More horrifying still was the chilling realization that the moan sounded exactly like Owen’s. A low, raspy sound, tinged with steel. The same sound he had made last night as he had gripped her shoulders, his eyes glazed over, and buried his face in her neck.

　　N-No. I must get a grip. If Father hears that I made a scene here, it will be the end of me.

　　Forcing her mind through the fog of arousal, Sylvia willed herself to finish speaking.

　　"Heston… must have what he wants, no matter the cost. Perhaps his feelings for Her H-Highness…"

　　Just then, a jolt of intense pleasure shot through her, so powerful it felt as if a hand were stroking her intimately. Sylvia had no choice but to stop talking and duck her head sharply.

　　I am going mad.

　　As she bowed her head mid-sentence, the princess’s retinue raised their eyebrows. They all knew of Sylvia’s feelings for Heston, so they assumed she was acting this way because she was overcome with emotion. But Rosalyn, remembering how strongly Sylvia had reeked of alcohol that morning, saw her deeply flushed neck and concluded she must be ill.

　　"Sylvie, are you unwell?" Rosalyn murmured, placing a hand on the small of her back.

　　The touch on her hypersensitive skin made Sylvia flinch violently. If she hadn’t been biting her lip, a strange sound might have escaped. Tears welled in her eyes, a reaction to her body’s utter betrayal. How could this be happening? How could she possibly be aroused now? As she clenched her thighs together, the memory of Owen flooding her senses, she wanted nothing more than to perish. A soft, desperate gasp escaped her lips.

　　To her horror, the moans in her ear grew more intense, as if building toward a climax. If her body hadn’t been burning with this strange fever, she would have sworn someone had cast a mind-altering spell on her. Or perhaps someone had cast a spell and put a strange drug in her tea? Although it was an unlikely suspicion, since everyone at the table had shared tea from the same pot, Sylvia would rather there be a terrible villain targeting her than for her to be a pervert who became aroused at a tea party by thinking about the man she had slept with the night before.

　　"So, um… I…" Sylvia tried to stand, but her legs buckled beneath her. She grabbed the tablecloth to steady herself, sending dishes sliding and crashing to the floor with a deafening clatter. She was so mortified her face couldn’t possibly get any redder. She had to escape. Displeased gazes fell on her as she stumbled to her feet.

　　"I-I am sorry," she stammered. "I am… not feeling well at all. I shall take my leave now."

　　She fled without another word. She could feel their incredulous stares burning into her back, but it couldn’t be helped. She had to get her body under control.

　　As the others watched her hasty retreat, Princess Katrin’s dark eyes grew deeper and more somber than usual. For when Sylvia had bowed her head low a moment before, she had clearly witnessed the red mark on the nape of her neck, revealed between strands of her hair.

　　This presents an unwelcome complication.

　　No matter how one looked at it, the red mark was unmistakably the trace of a lover’s lips. She did not know whose lips they were, but whoever they belonged to, their existence would disrupt her plans.

　　I shall simply have to pray it was not Heston, Katrin thought cynically, a humorless smile touching her lips.