Chapter 10
The First and Last Date
“My goodness. It appears we have stumbled upon the sort of domestic secrets noblewomen usually keep under lock and key, haven’t we?”
Following a momentary hush, Dernick began a frantic display of agitation, swatting at Kishin’s sleeve.
The blood rushed to Classie’s cheeks, her face burning with a deep crimson heat.
“I offer my sincerest apologies, ladies. We truly didn’t mean to intrude. Even the most poised socialite must feel the urge to dash about within their own walls. It is only natural, of course.”
Dernick offered a series of apologies, folding himself into a deep bow with a hand pressed to his midsection. Despite his facade of sincerity, his mocking intent was blatant; he was clearly enjoying Classie’s discomfort.
Classie’s mouth worked soundlessly as she fumed, her eyes darting from the jester in front of her to the space behind her.
Merran, however, remained unaffected. She treated the teasing as something beneath her notice, calmly smoothing the creases from her gown and patting her hair back into place.
With every motion, her thick golden tresses shifted with practiced ease. There was no hint of rudeness in her manner; rather, she looked like a charming, spirited girl who had simply been caught in a moment of play.
Classie felt a sharp sting to her self-esteem. She realized that no amount of effort could grant her that level of unstudied poise.
Merran possessed the luminous quality of a fairy-tale princess, the kind of person who had known nothing but affection since birth. Her errors and occasional selfishness were viewed not as flaws, but as signs of a vibrant, lovable personality.
When Merran stumbled, the world smiled. People were quick to dismiss her lapses as endearing quirks of human nature.
Classie occupied the opposite end of the spectrum.
While she matched Merran in physical beauty, her aura was entirely different.
To the public, Classie was the embodiment of the rigid, perfect aristocrat. This meant that any slip-up, no matter how minor, felt like a catastrophic breach of decorum. People reacted with a cringeworthy level of discomfort, as if they had seen something forbidden.
She was well aware that her stern, chilly, and imposing presence was a social liability.
Lize, her second sister, frequently voiced this exact criticism with a click of her tongue.
The sister often pointed out that Classie’s reputation was locked in by her severe expression. She argued that if Classie adopted Merran’s sunny disposition, people would be far more willing to accept her mistakes as genuine accidents.
Tugging nervously at her skirts, Classie tried to force her sluggish brain to invent a plausible excuse for their behavior.
Merran, however, seized the initiative before Classie could find her voice.
“Actually, since you are both here, this works out quite well.”
Merran spoke with crystal clarity from her position on the stairs, her attire now perfectly rearranged. She turned with an air of command.
“Follow me. There is no reason to pester my aunt with this. I will handle the discussion myself.”
Without pausing to see if Kishin complied, Merran began to climb the stairs. Her gait was heavy with the certainty that he would trail behind her.
Classie watched them, her heart sinking as she realized her window for an explanation had slammed shut.
A cloud of melancholy settled over her. She sighed, her eyes drifting toward Kishin.
She expected the refined gentleman to follow Merran immediately, much like a bird drawn to a bright light.
Instead, the scene took a strange turn.
Kishin didn’t move an inch. It was Dernick who sprang into action.
Classie looked between the two men in confusion. Kishin stood perfectly still, as if his lack of movement was the most logical thing in the world, while Dernick hurried up the steps like a bird preening its feathers for flight.
She wondered if Merran had actually requested Dernick’s presence instead.
Classie felt a wave of bewilderment. She was certain she hadn’t misheard the name.
Merran had specifically asked for Kishin.
She seemed to be the only person bothered by the odd swap. While she was caught in her own thoughts, Kishin’s voice pulled her back to reality.
“Miss Classie, why don’t we find a place to speak privately?”
Still in a daze, she allowed him to lead her away.
“I have come to invite you on a date.”
Classie followed him like a ghost, her mind still looping over the earlier confusion—why had Dernick followed Merran when Kishin was the one summoned?
Kishin’s sudden proposal made her feel remarkably dim-witted and out of sync with the world.
“You aren’t here because of the flowers?” she managed to ask, her body going rigid.
Kishin’s features shifted into a slight grimace at her question.
“Is that why you think I’m here? Because of a bouquet?”
A sharp edge of annoyance colored his voice, the kind of subtle irritation that made her pulse quicken with anxiety.
She worried she had offended him, but she chose to remain transparent.
Kishin offered a blunt clarification.
“I am not. My presence here is an attempt to make amends for my previous lack of courtesy regarding our broken plans.”
Classie let out a slow blink.
The flowers were irrelevant. This was a direct invitation. But then, why had the pairing upstairs gone so strangely? She understood the literal words being spoken, yet the logic of the entire afternoon remained a mystery.
Kishin stood by, giving her the space she needed to wrap her head around the situation.
Finally, Classie managed a soft response.
“Yes, I would like that.”
A carriage bearing the insignia of the palace guard sat a short distance from the gates. Kishin stepped forward to hold the door for her.
As Classie climbed inside, her arm brushed against his. The brief contact sent a surge of heat to her face.
She took the seat facing the rear, while Kishin sat across from her. Though they were positioned diagonally, the interior was cramped enough that their knees were in constant danger of colliding.
With every bump in the road, she felt the solid weight of his leg against hers, causing her to look away in a fit of nerves.
When she stole a glance at him, however, he looked entirely unbothered. He certainly didn’t look like a man on a romantic outing; he simply stared out at the passing scenery with an air of total detachment.
Regardless of his coldness, the mere fact of his presence made her heart flutter. She couldn’t help but let a small, private smile touch her lips.
The carriage eventually pulled up in front of Rochez on Driblue Street. It was the exact restaurant where Classie had wasted her previous day waiting for him.
“Have you had your meal yet?” Kishin inquired as he prepared to exit.
Classie had finished breakfast quite recently and wasn’t the least bit hungry. However, she found herself telling a lie.
“No. I was starting to feel a bit famished.”
“Understood. I have already eaten myself.”
“But since you require a meal, we shall prioritize that.”
Inside, Classie was screaming at her own foolishness. She didn’t want food.
But she had committed to the lie, and there was no going back now.
Kishin held the door open for her, and with a silent prayer for her own stomach, Classie stepped out onto the street.
The restaurant staff recognized her the moment she walked through the doors.
One waiter looked at the man accompanying her and gave Classie a subtle, encouraging thumbs-up.
She desperately wished they would stop. Their silent rooting only served to deepen the flush on her cheeks.
To her relief, Kishin either missed the gesture or was polite enough to pretend he hadn’t seen it. He made no comment.
She watched his profile carefully, only relaxing when she saw that his stoic expression remained unchanged.
“This way, please.”
Once they were seated, Kishin pushed the menu toward her.
“I’m quite full, so coffee and a light snack will suffice for me. Please, select whatever main course you prefer.”
Classie was also stuffed to the brim. The idea of even a cup of coffee felt like a burden to her digestive system.
Pinned by her own lie, she felt forced to order the chef’s daily special.
To her horror, the dish turned out to be a massive portion of layered meats. She felt a wave of nausea at the sight, but she managed to force down half the plate.
The struggle to eat left her no room for social anxiety. By the time she finally set her utensils down, she felt a profound sense of relief.
With the meal finished, Kishin looked at her.
“Do you have a preference for our next stop? Perhaps a play or a musical at the theater?”
Classie found herself craving fresh air.
“I would prefer a walk. If that is acceptable to you, Sir Kishin?”
“Certainly. Let’s do that. Since you are new to this area, have you visited Driblue plaza?”
“I haven’t had the chance, though I’ve heard Princess Memoir redesigns the promenade’s theme every month.”
“That is correct. Let’s head there, then.”
The square was packed with people, despite there being no official celebration.
As they reached the entrance to the walking path, Kishin offered her his arm. Classie looked at him, startled, and he provided a brief explanation.
“I recall you mentioning that your legs can be troublesome at times.”
She was stunned that he remembered such a minor detail from a passing conversation.
She tentatively looped her hand through his arm, her face heating up once more. The muscle beneath his sleeve felt as hard as stone.
His physical presence was a stark reminder of his life as a soldier.
Throughout the stroll, Classie was consumed by the sensation of his warmth and the faint, masculine scent that clung to him.
She wasn’t usually a quiet person, but the novelty of being alone with such a striking, unfamiliar man left her tongue-tied.
Kishin was equally reserved, his quiet nature matching his cold exterior. They walked in near-total silence.
Despite the lack of chatter, Classie enjoyed the rhythm of their shared steps. The air was cool, but she felt perfectly warm.
By the end of the walk, she was glowing. She realized she hadn’t paid any attention to the promenade’s monthly theme at all.
As they reached the end of the path, Kishin looked down at her flushed face.
“Shall we conclude things here?”
Classie felt a sharp pang of regret.
She had imagined dates lasted until the moon was high, ending with a lingering, reluctant goodbye. She wondered if her silence had bored him. She regretted not forcing herself to speak more.
Kishin waited for her to respond, his patience seemingly infinite.
Even as she hesitated, he didn’t offer to extend their time together.
Left with no other choice, she gave a small, defeated nod.
“Miss Classie.”
He spoke her name before she could turn away.
She snapped to attention, waiting for his next words.
For a split second, Kishin’s composure seemed to flicker. But he quickly smoothed over the crack in his mask.
“This concludes the settlement of my debt. I trust you will now stop telling people such ridiculous stories about us.”
