“A favor? You? Of me?”
The surprise knocked the question out of him before he could stop himself.
“Yes.”
Kasha was perfectly steady. As though she already knew he would say yes. Or as though she were asking for something that was simply her due.
Come to think of it — her shoulders were not hunched the way they usually were. With that different look in her eyes, that different way of holding herself, she seemed almost like another person.
“What… favor?”
Daryl asked carefully, feeling inexplicably put on his guard.
“You’re escorting me to the ball tonight, yes?”
“Yes. That’s right.”
A manageable topic, at least. The ball tonight had already been weighing on him.
“Were you about to say you don’t want to go? That won’t do. You haven’t attended a single social event since your debut.”
Her debut had been his to manage as well. He had escorted her — though in truth, he had only brought her there and stood at her side for a moment before considering his obligation done.
In the seven years since his mother’s death, House Rüschino had stepped away from society almost entirely. More accurately, they simply hadn’t thought to need it. Their father had always been distant from extended family — no one was pressing Daryl on the matter of an heir, so he’d been living freely without interference from anyone.
And so at Kasha’s debut, too, he had considered his duty fulfilled the moment he introduced her and placed her in the room. Standing there in awkward silence beside her had been unbearable. So he had excused himself to smoke with a few friends.
That had stretched longer than he meant it to. When he returned, something felt off.
In the middle of that crowded imperial hall, there was a circle of empty space around Kasha. As though no one had spoken to her the entire time he was gone.
Hey. Are you all right?
He had approached with that clumsy attempt at conversation. She hadn’t looked at him. She’d turned away with a coldness that cut the air and walked out.
In the carriage home, he asked if something had happened. She hadn’t answered, as he’d expected.
After that evening, what few invitations arrived from families close to the Rüschinos had been declined, one by one, by Kasha.
He wasn’t oblivious — he could tell her debut hadn’t gone well. But he hadn’t thought it would matter much.
She was alone before. She seemed to prefer it that way. If she was uncomfortable, she would have said something.
He had thought it through that simply, and let it go.
Tonight’s ball was something neither of them wanted — but the host was the Duke of Tyrot himself. When all of the capital’s society would be present, only they could not be absent.
It is my duty, and it is yours.
Their father’s words surfaced in his mind again. Duty. Responsibility. The categorical imperative of House Rüschino.
“…Then we go. That’s our obligation.”
He thought that was rather a fine thing to say, for once — quite the older brother. He looked at her, expecting some sullen acknowledgment.
What he got instead was unexpected.
“Of course. I’ll be there. Without fail.”
The eyes looking back at him — those deep pink irises — held something that could only be called resolve.
Resolve toward what, exactly?
And resolve, of all things. In the same sentence as Kasha. The words seemed to resist each other.
He blinked.
“I’m… sorry?”
“That’s not the favor.”
“Then what is it?”
Kasha paused a moment, as though gathering herself. Then she spoke, slowly and clearly.
“…When you escort a woman to a ball, you must not leave her alone.”
“What?”
“I have no chaperone. I know no one in society. So you — as my escort — must carry out that obligation. Fully.”
Daryl opened his mouth and said nothing. Being called to account this way, by Kasha of all people, was something he had never once anticipated. But the criticism was undeniably fair, and he had no response to it.
Without warning, the memory of Kasha standing alone at her debut surfaced in his mind — and his conscience gave a sharp, quiet sting.
Then she spoke again.
“Tonight — don’t leave my side.”
“…Hm? Oh, that—”
“Don’t leave me alone.”
Thud.
In the moment her eyes met his as she said those words, Daryl felt something strike him — the way a blow to the head leaves you stunned before the pain arrives.
She hadn’t said everything. But those quietly reproachful eyes were saying it all the same.
If you’re my brother — if you’re family — then protect me.
An obligation half-fulfilled is no obligation at all.
A pressure settled over his chest — the heavy, uneasy weight of having done something badly wrong.
And then Kasha did something he had never seen from her.
A smile.
She smiled at him — small, a little stiff, clearly an effort. But it was genuine. The kind of smile that reaches toward someone, trying to close the distance between them.
The pressure on his chest grew heavier.
“I know that my very existence is… an enormous inconvenience to you, brother.”
He had always thought of her as someone who didn’t understand anything — a thoughtless burden, oblivious to her effect on others.
“But from now on — at the very least — I won’t be a disgrace to this family. You’ll see.”
She let the unfamiliar smile fade as she said it.
And the moment it was gone — as though the warmth had been a trick of the light — her expression became cold and precise. Composed with a clarity that permitted no approach.
She looked, Daryl thought, like someone who had walked through something long and terrible and come out the other side.
Without knowing why, the back of his neck went cold.
⁂
She had made him promise. Then she turned quietly, pulled the door shut behind her, and left.
Daryl Rüschino held duty and obligation above almost everything — she had known this for seven years of living under the same roof, even from a distance. Even a family that had barely exchanged glances.
He had never liked her. But not once had he directly harmed her.
He had resented her, yes — and yet he had never failed to carry out the duties of an older brother, not once.
So this time, too, he would do as she had asked.
In the past, the reason Daryl had allowed Kasha’s isolation was simple: he had been bewilderingly ignorant of how noble society worked, and of what life was actually like for women within it.
The past Kasha had understood this. But she had never thought to point it out, or try to change it.
Because she had believed her very existence was a burden and a humiliation to him. She had crouched down, tried to erase herself from his life, done nothing that might give him more reason to resent or reject her.
But the woman she was now had nothing left to be afraid of. Nothing left to lose.
Resentment? Rejection?
Neither of those things was even a fraction as painful as frostbitten toes falling off one by one through a winter prison. Let alone what a guillotine blade felt like.
Walking down the corridor, she felt the weight of the household staff’s attention on her back.
“What’s gotten into the young lady? Out and about in broad daylight?”
“And she actually went to the young master’s room…”
Every gaze had shifted.
The revulsion and pity had become curiosity and confusion.
She found that interesting.
I wonder what tonight’s ball will be like. Those swollen-headed nobles, whose skulls seemed to contain more vanity than sense. Would they, too, notice the difference?
⁂
Clop. Clop.
The four-wheeled carriage rolled forward at a steady pace, the crest of House Rüschino fluttering at its side.
The two passengers sat facing each other.
Between them — silence. Nothing but silence.
Honestly, this suits me better.
Kasha settled deeper into her performance of sleep.
Even with her eyes closed, she was aware of Daryl observing her. Still unsettled by their earlier conversation, perhaps. Or simply unsettled by how unfamiliar she seemed.
His expression when she had descended the stairs before they left — that had been worth seeing. A look cycling rapidly between shock and something reluctantly close to admiration, as though a small monkey had begun reciting magical equations.
Well. I suppose I can’t blame him.
She tried not to think too hard about the way the dress cinched around her ribs.
Sena’s reaction when she had chosen it earlier had not been much different.
My lady. You’re actually going to wear this? Really? You’re absolutely certain?
Is it really that strange? Kasha had nearly let herself deflate — but caught herself.
She had made a decision.
To want what she wanted. To take what she wanted.
This dress, hanging in her wardrobe — it was the most beautiful thing she owned. One of four the dressmaker had brought for her debut preparations.
It was a design she would never have touched in her past life. She had been certain it couldn’t possibly suit her, that people would laugh.
But the measure Kasha used now was not other people’s opinions.
What do I want? That was the only question that mattered.
The truth was, she had loved this dress the moment she laid eyes on it.
Vivid and luminous as a freshly opened rose. Layers of chiffon at the hem, dreamy and soft as morning mist. Puff sleeves and a nipped waist that spoke of both youth and something more — and the bare line of her shoulder.
On nights when everyone else was asleep, she had stood before the mirror more than once, holding the dress against herself.
She had wanted so badly to try it on — but the laces at the back needed another pair of hands, and she’d always failed.
So she no longer cared who laughed. This was a second chance, returned to her from the other side of death. She was going to wear this dress.
What she hadn’t expected was Sena’s reaction once the dress was on and the finishing touches complete.
Oh, my lady! Goodness. You’re — you’re so beautiful—!
Both hands pressed to her cheeks, eyes very wide — that wasn’t performance. That wasn’t comfort. That was genuine.
Kasha had been reading through magitool research notes while Sena worked on her hair, and only looked up at the mirror when Sena spoke.
The papers nearly slipped from her fingers.
…I’m… pretty?
She hadn’t counted on this.
The dark blue-black hair that had always fallen limp and dull across her face was now swept up — and beneath it, features she had never quite looked at before emerged: neat and fine, soft skin despite its pallor, the delicate line of her neck, the shadow pooling in her collarbones.
Most strikingly — her eyes, the same deep pink as the dress, had come alive.
Sena had pinned a single fresh flower into the upswept hair. Her fingertips trembled slightly — nerves or excitement.
A peony.
At Kasha’s murmur, Sena had blinked in delight.
You knew the name! I cut it from the garden a little while ago — I thought the color would match perfectly.
Sena had looked like she was enjoying herself enormously. The wary, put-upon look from earlier that day was entirely gone, replaced by the particular pleasure of a lady’s maid doing exactly what a lady’s maid ought to do.
Kasha let her have it. Where beauty and adornment were concerned, her own instincts were essentially nonexistent — Sena’s enthusiasm was not just welcome; it was necessary.
And the results of that enthusiasm had been immediately apparent the moment Kasha stepped out of her room.
Everyone she passed in the hallways had stopped. Eyes gone wide. Hands flying to mouths.
Who is that beautiful woman? What is she doing walking through our house like she owns it?
Even servants who should have known her face had whispered that.
So it was hardly surprising that Daryl, too, had found himself blindsided by a half-sister who looked like a stranger wearing her face.
She smiled a little, inwardly.
I’m curious what he’ll think of me tonight.
The reason she was willing to risk what was coming — the humiliation she knew awaited her at this ball — was Leon Aranias.
He would be there tonight.
