No one had expected that.
Not the people watching. Not Odette, who had been staring daggers. Not even Leon himself, who had been perfectly composed until this moment.
“…Why?”
Leon asked it, one beat behind.
The people around them listened, bewildered. Her answer, when it came, went past everything they had anticipated.
“Because I don’t need your pity.”
“……!”
Kasha took a quiet breath.
Then she looked up at the immaculate figure who had appeared in front of her — as unerringly as he had appeared once before — and continued, word by word.
“I am not… so small a person that I need to accept a dance offered… out of sympathy. Leon.”
I am no longer pitiable. No longer helpless.
She swallowed the rest.
And for a moment, something broke open across Leon’s composed face — cleanly, almost audibly. He looked, for once, like someone who had been caught completely off guard.
Kasha nearly laughed before she could stop herself.
I’ve only ever seen you cold, or a little unhinged. This expression suits you, too.
She found herself adding a few words more, simply to see it a moment longer.
“Please don’t be so ready to pity people, Sir Knight.”
“…….”
“It tends to… cause problems.”
A small, one-sided curl of her lips. Then she turned away, without hesitation.
She had no interest in replaying her reunion with Leon in slow motion in front of a crowd of useless nobles. What needed to pass between them was private. What she wanted was to strip off the perfect knight’s mask and meet the unguarded Leon underneath — to make a real alliance with him.
So I’m counting on you to come find me, Leon. Don’t let the provocation go to waste.
The ballroom was utterly quiet behind her.
She left them there — all those faces wearing the expression of someone who had reached down to pet a cat and been bitten — and walked away slowly.
⁂
“Kasha. There you are.”
She had found a quiet balcony to clear her head. Daryl tracked her down not long after.
“…How is Miss Margaret?”
“The house physician said nothing serious — so she took a carriage home. I’ve arranged to call on the Yonder viscountcy tomorrow.”
“…….”
“Of all the thoughtless, inconsiderate things to do — what kind of people behave like that? Honestly, these days young nobles think of no one but themselves!”
Daryl seethed to himself.
He hadn’t pieced together that Margaret had been deliberately targeted, that what had happened had been orchestrated by someone with a plan. He probably assumed she had been accidentally jostled into the center of the floor in the chaos of the dancing.
A person who was born strong never thinks about how the weak manage.
And the weak fight desperately to hide just how much they’re struggling. Because it’s a matter of dignity.
So they run on parallel tracks their whole lives, always misunderstanding each other.
Like Kasha and Daryl, once. Like Kasha and Leon.
Kasha leaned against the balcony railing, a cool smile on her face.
Daryl noticed her expression and hesitated.
“…What is it?”
“Don’t step in, brother.”
“…What?”
“Next time you see something like that — don’t call out loudly to ask if someone is all right. Don’t get angry and demand to know who’s responsible.”
“What in the world are you saying?”
“That kind of intervention… only makes her feel worse.”
“But I was just—”
“Miss Margaret is not stupid.”
“……?”
“But even a clever person… can be made helpless… if they have no power. If someone with enough influence decides to make it so.”
Daryl had gone rigid at the unexpected turn the conversation had taken. He looked up without thinking — and was startled.
Kasha’s eyes were burning.
“So don’t rush in playing the knight. Not like that.”
“K— Kasha.”
“If you genuinely want to help… become someone she can rely on. Even when you’re not there. So that she isn’t made helpless… when you’re not around.”
“But how do you—”
“For what it’s worth — the way you rushed in tonight… I think it’s safe to say your feelings for Miss Margaret are now known to everyone here.”
Kasha said it matter-of-factly. Daryl’s face, hearing it, went a slow, steady red.
He looked absurdly young like that. Unexpectedly transparent.
Something in Kasha’s expression, without her meaning it to, softened.
At that moment—
Knock, knock.
Someone rapped on the balcony wall from outside.
Daryl pulled back the curtain — and the person Kasha had been waiting for appeared.
“Lord Leon Aranias?”
Daryl murmured it, thrown.
A man in a white uniform stepped onto the balcony without ceremony.
“Young Viscount Rüschino. It’s been some time.”
“Yes. Your Highness. Likewise.”
“Please call me Leon. I prefer to be addressed by name.”
“Ah, yes. Sir Leon. But — what brings you here?”
“If it wouldn’t be an imposition — might I have a brief word with your sister?”
The question was unexpected enough that Daryl’s composure slipped slightly.
Why would this man — of all people — be seeking out his sister?
Even setting aside who Leon was, having a nobleman request a private word with her in a setting like this was simply something that had never happened before. He fumbled.
“That’s — well, for what—”
“I believe I may have mistepped with Miss Katiana earlier in the ballroom. I wished to apologize.”
“A misstep? What sort of misstep—”
“Brother.”
Kasha stopped him.
“I’m sure it will only take a moment. Won’t it… Sir Leon?”
“…Of course.”
Her phrasing was a little halting, but her grasp of the situation was clear and immediate. Leon gave a quiet nod.
Daryl lingered, unconvinced, but found no argument that held. He conceded with visible reluctance.
“I’ll be right outside this balcony. Kasha.”
He said it while looking directly at Leon, making very certain it registered.
Just the two of them on the balcony now.
An early summer wind drifted in from the dark garden. The loose strands of hair across Kasha’s forehead stirred gently.
The deeper she looked into Leon’s violet eyes, the more a piercing, bittersweet ache welled up in her.
Standing with him under the moonlight like this — it brought back those nights in the ruined temple. The cruelty and the loneliness of that time. And the strange, particular closeness that had grown between them in it — two people who had been discarded, pressed up against each other at the edge of the world.
I haven’t forgotten a single thing you told me then, Leon.
She thought it quietly.
I remember exactly how unhappy your life has been. Every detail.
Even though you remember none of it.
And perhaps that’s a mercy — for you.
She smiled, faintly and without warmth.
Whatever was showing in her eyes right now — he would find it difficult to make sense of. The confusion in his gaze confirmed it.
She tilted one corner of her mouth, just enough to be reassuring.
“You had something you wanted to say.”
He paused, as though only then recalling why he had come.
“Yes. I believe I caused you discomfort earlier, unintentionally. I felt I owed you an apology.”
“…….”
He waited in silence when she didn’t answer. He seemed to want to ask her something, but held back, waiting for her to speak first.
Trill. Tum-ta-rum.
From inside the hall, the sound of lute and flute — the next dance had begun.
And then Kasha moved closer to him.
He looked faintly surprised, but he didn’t step back.
They were near enough now that their chests were almost touching. Near enough to hear each other breathe.
Kasha spoke.
“Would you… like to dance?”
He took a moment before he understood. Then his eyes narrowed, just slightly.
“Here? Right now?”
“Yes.”
“You refused me earlier.”
“That was… pity. Then.”
“…And this isn’t?”
“Hardly… You’re a Grand Prince and a Holy Knight. How could I possibly… pity you.”
He looked down at her — this woman with her halting speech and her colorless face, speaking as though she were teasing him.
When he didn’t move, Kasha stopped waiting and reached for him without ceremony.
Flinch.
The moment her cold hand touched his gloved one, Leon startled visibly.
Kasha felt the tension too.
Touching a body under the curse of lust was like reaching her hand into boiling water. She knew what she was doing.
But she knew it, and she intended to provoke him anyway — more deliberately than she ever had before her return.
Because that’s the only way to get past the mask and meet the real you. And I have something I absolutely need to say to you.
He pulled back against her grip. She tightened it, ignoring the resistance — and went further, sliding her free hand around his waist.
She felt him go rigid.
She stepped forward anyway and led the first step herself.
Ta-ra-ran. Trill.
The lute’s melody, muted through the thick curtains, was faint and distant. The moonlight was beautiful.
Stiff, but solid and warm — his body against hers brought back the memory she carried.
The brilliant knight. The way her cheeks had gone red as she’d stared at him, helplessly drawn in.
And then the moment he had turned away from her with such cold finality and disappeared.
That memory — long calcified into a bruise that never quite faded — Kasha found she could finally, fully release it.
Because now she understood. The desperate battle he had been fighting in that moment, trying not to let his curse show. The sheer stubbornness it had taken to hold her hand and finish the dance despite everything.
What had seemed like rejection — she saw now it had been something else entirely.
Leon, meanwhile, was looking down at the unfocused, faraway quality in her expression — and had begun, without quite deciding to, to move. Matching her clumsy steps. Catching her when she swayed. Pulling her gently upright when she lost her footing.
And clenching his jaw every time he caught her warmth, her scent — the involuntary responses rising in him that he was barely keeping in check.
Two people, each keeping their own thoughts and desires hidden.
Moonlight fell over them both.
And finally—
Ta-ran.
Roar—
The music stopped. Applause surged from inside.
Leon stepped back from her the instant the music ended — as though even one more second of contact was intolerable.
But before he could put more distance between them, Kasha’s hand caught his.
