________________________________________
“Hm.”
He considered it briefly.
Sending another capable spy was certainly preferable to the mediocre string of agents he’d dispatched so far. But then again—none of those agents had been unremarkable, either.
And yet even the most skilled of them failed before they could reach the duchy walls.
That was the truth of it. Skill was no longer the variable. If Aisha truly had defected, Krost would know the identities of every spy he sent—and whoever it was would be stopped regardless.
A spy’s greatest strength lay in secrecy. But if they were exposed before they even arrived?
No amount of physical power could overcome that disadvantage when confronting someone like Calypse Krost.
“There’s no need for you to go.”
Duke Foss had turned to a different approach altogether.
“Then who will you send, Your Grace?”
He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he stared down at the chessboard in silence for a long, long moment.
Then—
“If it’s too difficult to bring the child to us, then we’ll have to make her come to us willingly.”
“I’m sorry?”
Duke Foss’s fingers settled on the queen—the single piece still standing behind the scattered wreckage of pawns.
“Bring me that woman.”
Checkmate.
He had drawn the last card he held, and behind his eyes, a plan was already forming.
* * *
The day of the banquet. Six hours before the banquet was set to begin.
“We have a problem.”
I sat in a plush chair, surrounded by handmaidens wearing the grave expressions of knights about to charge into battle.
The battle in question—
“Even so, the bun is what suits her best.”
“But it’s the royal banquet. The bun is sweet, but a wave might be lovely—”
“For the royal banquet, it simply must be an updo. Which means the bun wins, definitively.”
Waves versus the bun.
They were deliberating over my hairstyle.
…It’s a bun, not a “bun bun,” thank you very much.
I parted my lips to correct their terminology—but then I caught a glimpse of the handmaidens’ eyes.
No. Their expressions are not normal.
They were giddy. It had been a long time since they’d had an occasion to dress someone up, and there was a particular kind of dangerous light in their eyes. I was not about to poke that bear.
Besides, the word mandu would mean nothing to people who had never encountered dumplings.
That left only one option.
I stood up from the chair, raised one finger with great authority, and declared—
“I want the bun!”
As the Lady of House Krost, I would resolve this dispute and bring peace to the land.
“See? She prefers the bun.”
“No—let’s at least try a wave first? Why won’t you trust me? She’ll look absolutely beautiful, I promise!”
“Split the difference—half wave, half bun—and we’ll decide which looks better.”
“Fine. Let’s try it.”
Not a single person paid me the slightest attention.
After being subjected to having my hair pulled, twisted, and pinned every which way, I was transferred without mercy to the dressing room—and forced to try on ten different gowns before the handmaidens finally released me.
The result—
“Oh! My lady, you look absolutely precious!”
“Everyone at the banquet will have eyes only for you, my lady.”
The girl reflected in the mirror was not anyone I recognized as myself.
Gone were the familiar twin pigtails. In their place, golden hair that had been carefully smoothed with perfumed oil cascaded below her shoulders in loose, undulating waves.
The dress was white as a snowfield—its sleeves were sheer puffed organdy, light as air, while the skirt fanned out from the knee in a wide, umbrella-like sweep that made the whole silhouette feel full and airy at once.
“Oh.”
I gave a little spin—
Twirl—
—and the hem of the skirt opened like the petals of a flower.
Goodness. I feel like a princess.
“Do you like it?”
“Do you, my lady?”
The handmaidens on either side smiled at me.
“You’re both total professionals. Absolute legends!”
One thumbs-up wasn’t enough. I gave them both—a double thumbs-up, beaming at them with everything I had.
The handmaidens turned pink with embarrassment.
“We did fuss over you rather a lot. We’re sorry.”
“Not at all! It was exhausting, but it turned out so beautifully. Please fuss over me like this every time I go out!”
If these two had lived in Korea in another life, I had no doubt they would have been celebrated stylists.
At my words, the handmaidens’ eyes went wide—and then they smiled. And then—
“Actually…”
“…….”
Something else was coming. They glanced at each other, and then one of them spoke carefully.
“This is the first time we’ve done something like this since five years ago.”
“Five years ago?”
“When the Duchess Ariana was still with us.”
“She was always so kind to us. When we styled her hair and dressed her—we were truly happy in those moments—”
One of them let her voice trail off. She seemed to feel she had said something too heavy for a child to carry, and quickly changed her expression.
“But since you arrived, my lady, the atmosphere of the duchy has changed so much.”
“It really has. And we’re so glad to be able to dress you beautifully.”
“The gown we chose for you today—actually, it’s the design closest to the white dress the Duchess used to wear most.”
Oh. I looked down at myself again, newly seeing the dress.
It resembled the Duchess’s gown. I had thought it was simply beautiful before—but now it seemed a little different, somehow.
That was when—
“Honestly, how long does it take to get ready—why is everyone dawdling—”
Mai pushed open the door, already launching into a scold, and then stopped.
“Mai?”
I had finished my preparations. Yet—
“My lady… Aisha, my dear.”
Mai rubbed at her eyes in disbelief and looked at me again.
“Dressed like that, you look… a little like the Duchess. Just slightly…”
“Me?”
At first I thought it was simply a compliment—but Mai looked genuine. Her eyes shimmered.
She gazed at me for a moment, then asked quietly—
“Would you like to pay your respects to the Duchess, before it gets too late? Her portrait hangs in the grand hall. It’s long past due.”
“…Pardon?”
My eyes went round at the unexpected invitation.
Duchess Ariana—the bittersweet minor figure who had vanished without a trace, taking her newborn daughter with her.
If she were alive somewhere—like Lucas—perhaps I could help find her.
I clenched my fists and nodded rapidly.
“Yes. I’d like that.”
A short while later—the grand hall of Krost Duchy.
“Here we are.”
The ceiling was high enough to make a voice echo. It was a space of sweeping grandeur—a great domed ceiling, a floor wider than a football pitch, all of it gleaming and ornate, lit by lanterns that cast a warm, dim glow across walls decorated with painted cherubs.
“The grand hall was where the duchy used to hold its own banquets. It hasn’t been used in five years.”
Exactly as Mai described—the space had the feeling of a historic ruin: impeccably maintained, yet untouched by any living occasion. I looked around, taking it all in, following Mai while the handmaidens held my hands.
“The Duchess is over here.”
Mai’s footsteps slowed, and I turned.
At the heart of the grand hall, atop a stately dais, hung an enormous portrait—larger than a grown man was tall.
In it, Calypse stood to one side wearing an impassive expression, and at his side, a beautiful woman was seated.
“…Oh?”
I saw her face—and the breath left my body.
Golden hair, rich and full as spun thread, falling in graceful waves. Eyes the color of sunlight over a wintry sky—warm, golden, luminous. And a gown of white, embroidered in silver.
“…She’s stunning…”
Nothing but an awed exhale came out.
And as the handmaidens had said—the dress in that portrait, the white gown with silver embroidery, bore an unmistakable resemblance to what I was wearing now.
Looking at it like this—
I glanced down at myself, then back up at Ariana.
…Do we look a bit alike?
Oh, no—this is disrespectful!
The thought had slipped in on its own, and guilt bubbled up at once. Cold sweat prickled at my scalp.
Gold hair and gold eyes—the most common combination in this world—were the biggest difference between us. She had golden eyes; I had blue. She was heartbreakingly beautiful; I had my own charms, none of which were to be dismissed lightly—but she was simply on another level.
And yet… slightly alike…
Eek—!
I was about to commit the same offense a second time. I shook my head vigorously and chided myself.
No! How could I say we’re alike! Impious thought, begone!
