Translator: Nox

Chapter 19

The First Unit of the palace guard was buzzing with quiet speculation as they watched their superior.

“What has gotten into the deputy commander today?” Will whispered, leaning toward his companion.

Philly shrugged. “He’s never exactly warm.”

“True,” Will countered, “but he’s usually just stoic. Today, he’s like a block of ice.”

Philly took a closer look at Kishin Hayward. The man’s features were indeed set in a more severe mask than usual. Because Kishin was naturally stern, Philly hadn’t picked up on the shift immediately, but now the tension radiating from him was unmistakable.

Will lifted his sword hand, which was visibly shaking. “My fingers are vibrating. This drill is supposed to be five hundred repetitions, but he pushed me to seven hundred. I’m about to collapse. If my arm falls off by morning, make sure everyone knows Kishin is the culprit.”

“Maybe don’t lose your spot in the formation during maneuvers next time,” Philly remarked dryly.

Similar complaints rippled through the gathered members of the first squad. Only those with a keen eye for detail could see that Kishin Hayward was having a terrible day.

The source of his agitation was entirely a woman: Classie Kalashi.

The thought that she was attempting to juggle two men at once gnawed at his patience. Kishin, who had been overseeing the drills with a merciless eye, finally reached his limit and retreated to his private quarters to seek the clarity of a cold beverage.

He couldn’t scrub the image of her correspondence from his mind. When she had sent that note requesting a meeting on the seventh of December, he had been genuinely stunned. Had it not been for her own relative confirming her pursuit of Dernick, Kishin likely would have accepted the invitation with a sense of anticipation.

That realization was what fueled his temper. He was furious with her for her duplicity, but even more enraged with himself for his own vulnerability. He had always held a deep-seated loathing for the manipulative games played by the nobility, yet he had nearly walked straight into one. It turned his stomach to think he had almost been fooled, and he felt a sharp pang of disappointment in Classie. She had seemed so sincere and spirited, but it appeared she was just another socialite plotting to keep two suitors on a string.

He needed more discipline. Kishin berated himself for letting a single person disrupt his emotional equilibrium. He shrugged out of his uniform jacket, deciding that merely watching the guards wasn’t enough to burn off his frustration; he needed to be out in the yard, training his own body.

He was in the middle of pulling off his shirt when the door swung open without the courtesy of a knock. Dernick sauntered into the room.

Kishin shot him a hard look. Dernick gave a mock start of surprise and reached back to tap on the wood of the door from the inside.

“Ah, my mistake. I meant to do that before I walked in. But it’s done now, so we’re square, right?”

The casual disrespect only added to Kishin’s irritation. He found himself wondering what Classie Kalashi could possibly find appealing about this man—someone who spoke of her as nothing more than a merchant and treated her with such flippant disregard.

Dernick moved across the room like a lingering shadow, a smirk playing on his lips. “Stripping down already?”

“I’m heading out for some drills,” Kishin replied curtly, pulling on a light training shirt.

Dernick hopped onto the edge of Kishin’s desk. He began to toy with a quill sitting in the inkpot, his grin widening. “Why the long face?”

Kishin remained silent.

“It couldn’t be because that lady merchant admitted she prefers me, could it?”

The arrogance in Dernick’s voice was grating. Kishin felt a surge of pity for Classie’s poor judgment in men. Yet, a tiny flicker of uncertainty sparked in his mind. He remembered a previous occasion where Dernick’s warped retelling of events had caused him to misjudge Classie. Could this be another case of crossed wires?

He tried to dismiss the thought. He had heard the confirmation with his own ears this time.

“Anyway,” Dernick continued, “I’ve been invited to Lady Classie’s residence on the seventh. Eleven o’clock sharp. Are you off duty then? You should come along.”

The seventh at eleven. The exact window Classie had proposed for their meeting. Kishin’s heart hardened into a cold stone. There was no longer any doubt; she was indeed playing them both.

“I have no interest,” Kishin said, his voice flat. “I’m occupied that day. Enjoy yourself.”

“Really? Your loss.”

“And do me a favor,” Kishin added. “Don’t bring up Lady Kalashi to me again. I don’t care to hear it.”

On the sixth of December, Classie allowed herself exactly half an hour of wallowing before pulling herself together. It was her second time being dismissed by Kishin, and surprisingly, there were no tears. She felt a sense of emptiness, but the sharp sting of the first rejection was absent. By late afternoon, her sadness had evolved into a nagging curiosity.

She couldn’t understand why she had been turned away again. Sitting down with a pen and paper, she reconstructed every moment of their second outing, analyzing her behavior and his. No matter how she looked at it, she couldn’t find a fatal flaw. She had talked to Dernick quite a bit, but Kishin had done the same. It was simply the nature of being around Dernick—the man never stopped talking.

She sighed, realizing that navigating romance was far more complex than she had anticipated. Finding no solutions, she balled up the paper and tossed it aside. She told herself it didn’t matter; the world was full of men, and eventually, she would find a husband. Kishin might be striking to look at, but his personality was far too prickly for her liking.

With her spirits restored, Classie’s thoughts turned to Merran. She wondered if Dernick had actually agreed to the invitation. Over dinner, she posed the question to her niece. Since Merran had already confessed her crush, she didn’t hesitate to share the news.

“He said yes,” Merran beamed. “Lord Dernick is such a gentleman—so kind.”

“He seemed a bit odd to me,” Classie noted.

“That’s just his charm. He’s sweet to me, and that’s what counts.”

Classie offered a small smile. “I suppose so, as long as you are happy.”

Merran was radiant. It was clear that her interest in Dernick was genuine and had nothing to do with any lingering competition with Classie. It looked like her niece was experiencing the rush of a first real love.

Watching Merran’s flushed face brought back a bittersweet memory of her sister, Mary. Before she had wed Marquis Omel, Mary had looked just like that. But the Marquis had been harboring a secret affection for a woman of lower status. Since noble families would never permit such a match, the Marquis had used Mary—the daughter of an earl—to secure his inheritance and social standing. After Mary passed away, he had finally married his true love, Alice, who now occupied the role of Marchioness with a sense of triumph.

“If things progress with Lord Dernick,” Classie said softly, “make sure to learn about his family background.”

Merran looked puzzled for a second before her smile returned. “I will. And you have to help me pick out something to wear later, Auntie.”

The morning of the seventh arrived. Merran was up with the sun, barely touching her breakfast as she threw herself into her preparations. This was a departure from her usual routine; typically, she relied on her natural beauty and put in very little effort, knowing she would outshine most women even in simple attire. But today, she was going all out, and the effect was breathtaking.

She looked just like Mary. Classie remembered how her sister used to command a room, drawing every eligible bachelor to her side like a magnet.

“You look stunning,” Classie whispered. Her voice caught in her throat as she smoothed a stray hair from Merran’s head.

Merran turned pink and gave Classie a playful nudge. “Don’t get all misty-eyed on me, Auntie. It’s just a date, not a wedding.”

Anna, watching from the side, found her own eyes watering, her mind drifting back to the days when Classie and Mary were both young girls in the house.

As the clock neared ten, the mood shifted to a light tension.

“Where are you heading today?” Merran asked, her tone making it clear she expected Classie to be elsewhere.

“I’m meeting a friend,” Classie replied, the memory of Kishin’s rejection casting a brief shadow over her.

“Florence?”

Merran didn’t wait for an answer, disappearing back into her room.

Classie dressed for the day and boarded a carriage around ten-thirty. She wasn’t actually going to see Florence. Instead, she directed the driver to the grand theater by Driblu Plaza. A specific play had become the talk of the town among the young elite, and Classie figured it was a perfect spot to observe people. She hoped she might catch the eye of someone interesting, but even if she didn’t, a play was a fine way to spend the afternoon.

The show was a massive hit, and tickets were scarce. She managed to snag a seat in the premium section, though it was tucked away in a corner with a limited view. After purchasing a drink, she climbed to the third floor, navigating through a throng of nobles and their servants. Once she reached her seat, she found it comfortable enough, despite only being able to see half the stage.

By the time she settled in, it was eleven-thirty. She took a sip of her drink, imagining that Merran and Dernick were likely starting their meeting at that very moment.

The drink turned out to be a necessity. As the performance began, the actors rarely moved into the part of the stage she could actually see. She spent most of the first half listening to the lines and enjoying her beverage.

When the intermission arrived, Classie stood up to find a refill. The lobby was a sea of people, some sending staff for refreshments while others stretched their legs.

She was nearly at the exit when a voice stopped her. “Pardon me, My Lady.”

She turned to find a pleasant-looking young man. He was blushing as he spoke. “Are you attending the theater alone?”

Classie did a quick check of his hands—no ring—and noted his expensive attire. He was definitely a noble and, more importantly, an eligible one. She gave him a playful, practiced smile.

“And why would you like to know that?”

The young man’s face deepened to a darker shade of red. He rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “I saw you earlier, just for a second, but I couldn’t get you out of my head. I think I finally understand what people mean when they talk about love at first sight.”

Classie let out a soft, bashful laugh, hiding her face behind her hand. “You certainly have a way with words.”

“I’m being sincere,” he insisted. “It took everything I had just to come over here and talk to you.”

Classie paused, as if weighing her options. “I am here by myself,” she admitted warmly. “I’m still fairly new to the city, so my social circle is quite small.”

She leaned in slightly, her demeanor inviting and soft—but then she caught sight of something that made her blood run cold.

Standing with a group of other guards was Kishin. He was in full uniform, his eyes narrowed into a sharp, piercing glare directed straight at her.