Chapter 10
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As a child, her mother had tried to raise her like nobility.
She had taught her embroidery with scant thread and forced her to memorize aristocratic tones as well as the rhythms of ballroom dances.
Amarion had considered it pointless—no one else in Amari did such things—but she could not disobey her mother. Her mother had married into a foreign land and been honed and trained to perfection.
For her mother, born and raised in a wealthy, warm estate, Amari was hell.
She showed no interest in the land’s circumstances and never left the castle. She passed her time embroidering the same pattern over and over: the sun.
When she learned her daughter was studying swordsmanship, she flew into a rage and lashed out at the servants.
–How could a lady hold a sword?
Hearing her cries, the knights rushed in and restrained her mother.
–Will she be safe if she encounters a goblin? Will she return unharmed? That’s what Amari is like!
At their words, her mother collapsed, looking as if she might faint. She never taught her daughter anything again.
‘And that was the end of my noble education.’
She remembered some things, but it wasn’t enough to navigate the Capital’s social circles.
She reviewed the etiquette books she had read so far and studied with renewed vigor.
Yet social etiquette was not only vast but cryptic.
Sumona, her temporary etiquette instructor, taught her how to hold a fan, how to hold a glass, how to converse with friends versus acquaintances. Honestly, she could scarcely keep up.
How could anyone distinguish between placing her index and middle fingers on a fan versus her index finger and thumb?
She thought it easier to list every type of monster.
As she groaned in frustration, Diederik entered the room.
“As Your Grace knows, during the social season, you must be escorted by a knight.”
She nodded vigorously.
A knight escort was essential for upper-class ladies.
She recalled reading how knights’ wives brought several knights to flaunt before others.
Diederik bowed and ushered a knight into the room.
“He will escort you this season.”
Her eyes widened.
She recognized him from the training ground: the red-haired knight with the cheerful pout. He knelt politely and kissed the back of her hand.
“I am Carlz of Denion.”
“Ah! Please rise, Sir Carlz.”
Flustered, she withdrew her hand.
Playfulness sparkled in Carlz’s eyes.
“Sir Carlz is a knight and chief of staff to the Grand Duke. He is respected throughout the Empire.”
At Diederik’s explanation, Carlz nodded happily.
“That’s right. So I’ll be escorting Madame. Isn’t it great to bring a famous knight?”
She laughed. It had been ages since someone spoke to her so casually.
He rubbed his chin with mock seriousness.
“Escorting you… That sounds odd.”
“What?”
“Truth be told, with us together, it’d be more accurate to say I’m the one being escorted.”
‘That’s a joke… right?’
He grinned mischievously but quickly turned to the etiquette manual she was reading, as if avoiding further explanation.
“Ah, ladies’ manners? This stuff is tricky.”
She nodded eagerly.
“It’s so difficult…”
He laughed brightly.
“Don’t worry, Madame. I’ll help from now on.”
“Sir Carlz?”
“Yes. I’m quite popular with ladies.”
Sir Carlz flashed a skilled smile.
It was handsome—all perfect teeth on display.
She narrowed her eyes, scrutinizing his face.
He was handsome…
Yet lately, she struggled to distinguish faces.
She only recognized those she saw daily: Victor, Sumona, Diederik… Everyone else blurred together.
Sir Carlz flinched, reading doubt in her expression.
“It’s true, Madame. I really am popular.”
“It’s not that I doubt you, Sir Carlz.”
“Don’t lie! You’re eyeing me with total suspicion.”
“Oh, no, it’s not…”
As she waved her hands in embarrassment, Diederik and Sumona stifled laughter behind their hands.
Thus, Sir Carlz’s impression was set. She pictured him as a raging cockatrice.*
[*A cockatrice is a mythical two-legged beast with the body of a dragon and the head of a chicken. It was first mentioned in the Bible and entered mainstream mythology in the 14th century.]
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With Sir Carlz added, preparations for the social season began in earnest. Mornings were for etiquette lessons, afternoons for dance practice, and nights for putting Victor to sleep.
Sir Carlz skipped training daily under the guise of helping her. The other knights were envious.
‘If Sumona taught formal manners, Sir Carlz taught the informal ones.’
For example:
“When a man tugs the tip of your left sleeve, it means he wants to go to the garden.”
“Why the garden?”
“Why do you think?”
He smirked mischievously.
As she narrowed her eyes, Sumona coughed.
The next moment, realization dawned.
Her face flushed crimson.
“Why tell me that…!”
“Your Grace should know. I don’t want a duel in the Capital.*”
[*He means he doesn’t want to see an innocent man slain by the Grand Duke xD Victor is jealous~]
Sir Carlz shrugged.
“If the Grand Duke sees it by chance, shove the offender away fast. Got it?”
She turned from the teasing red-haired knight’s gaze.
She worried about everything.
‘Who would court me like that?’
‘Even Victor’s affectionate gaze… I can’t comprehend or withstand it.’
‘That’s why it melts me like ice before fire.’
Sumona scolded Sir Carlz sternly.
“Sir, don’t embarrass Madame. Who would dare such rudeness to the Grand Duchess Morte?”
“True. You’ve got a dragon of a husband.”
Sir Carlz finished his refreshments and stood.
“No need to fret. Shall we practice again?”
She nodded and followed him to an open space. Her long indoor dance dress fluttered.
She learned dances quickly. Basic four-beat steps, light southern dances, and the slow, intricate Capital footwork came easily.
Come to think of it, everyone had said since childhood she excelled at everything.
She breathed deeply, feeling proud for the first time in ages.
Carlz greatly aided her progress.
As the self-proclaimed ‘best dancer in the Knights Templar,’ he gladly served as her partner.
Carlz had real talent, leading her skillfully.
Though she stepped on his feet a few times, Carlz and Sumona praised her lavishly.
“Excellent, Madame. You’re nearly flawless now.”
“From the side, you look like a graceful swan.”
But that was the issue.
She fanned her face vigorously, feigning to cool off.
‘They’re such friendly people.’
Her hometown folk were kind too, but life there was harsh—friendly chats were rare.
She recalled more splinting broken legs or sewing leather armor than laughter.
It made her love this place more.
She savored the gentle atmosphere and… Victor.
Thinking of Victor warmed her cheeks anew.
Naturally, a thought surfaced.
If she kept this up, could she become a fitting wife?
Could she ever be a lady worthy of him, the continent’s most revered knight?
Just then, a sharp knock sounded.
“Practicing dance?”
“Victor!”
Victor smiled softly and approached. A spring breeze clung to his collar.
He gazed fondly at her braided, curled hair.
“Rehearsing for the banquet?”
“Yes. Sir Carlz is my partner.”
The Grand Duke’s gaze shifted to Carlz. His amber eyes narrowed like a griffin’s, and Carlz swiftly retreated.
‘What’s wrong with him?’
She glanced over her shoulder, then back at Victor.
He spoke kindly.
“Why not call me if you needed a partner? I was nearby.”
“Uh…”
She recalled it was improper for couples to spend excessive daytime together, regardless.
Glancing at Sumona and Diederik, they looked troubled, sharing the sentiment.
Carlz’s gaze was blunter: ‘Is he mad?’
Then, a large hand gently turned her face to him.
He was so close his breath brushed her cheeks.
Victor’s voice was syrupy sweet.
“Marion?”
Her face ignited.
‘Doesn’t he know I’m weak to his face?!’
She hesitated, heart pounding. It was a rare request from him, so she wanted to agree.
But…
Eyes squeezed shut, pulse racing wildly.
“I’ll just practice with Sir Carlz!”
She couldn’t break yesterday’s etiquette.
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