The commotion subsided. Even the musicians stopped playing, their hands still as they stared in a daze. In the perfect silence that followed, I gazed blankly at the woman standing in the distance.

Ebony-black hair. A snow-white face in vivid contrast. Eyes that shone like stars. Features so perfect that nothing could be added or taken away. They all belonged to a woman I knew.

And yet I could not be sure she was truly that woman. Surely she—the woman who had said she would sooner kill herself than become a sword-wearing whore, who had asked me to treat her as a knight because that was how she wished to live, not as a woman—would never suddenly appear before me, beautifully adorned and wearing a dress.

I looked, then looked again. At last, I had to admit it. Though she wore a pure white dress instead of a crisp uniform and steel armor, though the hair she usually tied back just enough to keep it out of her way had been carefully brushed and left flowing like ebony, she was indeed the woman I knew.

Arwen Kirgayen. My most trusted knight. I was dumbstruck.

Even as I pondered it, my gaze followed her inexorably. Unlike the ladies who bared their slender necks and delicate shoulders as if to flaunt them, she wore an old-fashioned dress that covered both completely, and it stood out all the more.

Her hair, simply brushed smooth and left to fall like ebony without any particular ornament, dazzled my eyes. My gaze kept straying to her cheeks, their color enlivened with a light dusting of powder. Looking into those night-sky eyes set against her pale face, I felt as if my senses might slip away.

Such consummate beauty could shake even a Master's unwavering mind, stronger than any fortress. Until now, I had thought the Elder High Elf Sigrun unrivaled in sheer physical beauty. I had believed no human could ever match an elf's natural looks. It seemed I would have to revise that opinion today.

Sigrun's soul, warped and twisted until its light was murky and faded, could not begin to compare to hers. Arwen was the finest.

"Whew."

I steadied my breathing. Then I suddenly realized how unnaturally quiet my surroundings were, and turned to look around.

There was something alarming about the men staring at Arwen, forgetting even to breathe. They looked as though a succubus had bewitched them.

CLAP!

I clapped my hands hard. The clear energy I summoned spread through the banquet hall.

"Hah!"

"Ah..."

The men exhaled roughly. Only then did light return to their dazed eyes.

Dangerous. Truly dangerous. I clicked my tongue to myself. I was suddenly downright relieved that she usually took little interest in adorning herself. Otherwise, there would have been no end of trouble.

Thank goodness it was Arwen. Thank goodness her soul was flawless, without the slightest distortion. I was profoundly grateful for her steadfastness, her insistence on following her own path without even considering looking elsewhere.

As I reassured myself over and over, the musicians finally came to their senses and resumed playing. Arwen began approaching the dais in time with the music.

But her stride was remarkably vigorous. Dressed up, she was a peerless beauty; walking, she was unmistakably a knight. Who else in the world would walk like that in a dress?

I could not help laughing. The manner so ill-suited to her attire was, to me, so perfectly Arwen. Apparently, her clothes could change, but her nature remained the same.

Arwen came to a crisp halt before the dais.

"Your Majesty."

She paid her respects with precise, thoroughly knightly movements.

Behind her, I saw Siorin clutching his head. I fought down the laughter threatening to burst out.

"Your Highness."

Arwen turned toward me. I put away my smile and looked at her.

I had so many questions. Why had she appeared before me dressed like this? Whose scheming had she fallen for? But I did not ask. Only now, face-to-face with her, did I notice her agitation.

Her shoulders were stiff with tension, her aura subtly unsteady. This was more than awkwardness or discomfort at wearing a flowing dress instead of a crisp uniform and rough armor. Something was strange.

I decided to calm her first. Reaching out, I took her awkwardly fidgeting hand, just as she had done for me when I had lost my composure upon meeting the descendant of the Marquis of Foresight at the Imperial Palace.

I believed it would help her regain her calm, as it had helped me. But it did not. The instant I took her hand, Arwen flinched.

I felt her body stiffen further. Her unsteady aura was now positively churning. Her expression was awkward, her eyes trembling as though an earthquake had struck. Far from calming down, she seemed even more agitated.

Puzzled by an expression I had never seen on her before, I tilted my head and said quietly,

"Square your shoulders. Aren't you a proud Silver Lion?"

Arwen's eyes, which had been wandering without finding anywhere to settle, turned toward me. Two conflicting emotions flitted through them. Disappointment, and relief. I could make sense of neither.

Before I could ask why, those fleeting emotions vanished as though they had never been. At the same time, her turbulent aura began to settle rapidly. The awkward tension in her face eased, and the ripples in her eyes disappeared without a trace.

Arwen looked at me, her face unburdened. I felt a sense of déjà vu. I had seen this somewhere before, experienced something like this. After pondering it for some time, I finally found the answer. My uncle. This was exactly the expression he had worn when he finally shook off the inner demon whose delusions had ensnared him.

"You truly never change, Your Highness."

She smiled gently as she spoke.

Now that she seemed calm, I tried to let go, but Arwen gently closed her hand around mine.

"That is why I am so very fond of you."

I had never heard such warmth in her voice. My eyes widened. For some reason, my heart tingled.

In one way, it resembled the sensation of activating a Martial Spirit Hymn; in another, it felt like summoning an Aura Blade. But it was not the same. This familiar yet strange sensation came not from the artificial heart made of mana, but from my real heart, made of flesh and blood.

How very strange. There should not even have been any mana flowing through it.

Arwen began regretting her decision the moment she entered the banquet hall. She must have gone briefly mad. Something must have happened to her head. Otherwise, she would never have appeared before the crown prince looking like this.

It was all her foolish father's fault.

["What do you think of Arwen, Your Highness?"]

["Would you be willing to take Arwen as your consort, Your Highness?"]

She had overheard her father speaking with the crown prince.

At first, she had only been furious at her father's recklessness in trying to sully her relationship with the crown prince. Truly, that had been all. But when her anger subsided, a small question arose in its place. What would the crown prince have said if she had not interrupted?

Her heart would not settle. However she tried to stop herself, she kept noticing his every move. It was a different sort of interest from before, something a little more personal.

It was all her father's fault. He had muddled her head by following her around at every opportunity and saying strange things. She deeply resented the way his foolishness had made a perfectly good relationship awkward. She was no happier with herself for constantly trying to read meaning into insignificant actions.

Her muddled mind had eventually earned her a stern scolding from the crown prince, who told her to pull herself together. She worked to steady her heart and banish her distracting thoughts. The lingering scraps of emotion she could not clear away, she cast off while crossing swords with the knight of Teuton. Only then had she regained her composure.

Concluding that she had briefly succumbed to an inner demon, she devoted herself all the more to training so that it would never happen again.

Then the king summoned her. He asked her to attend the banquet not as a knight, but as a daughter of House Kirgayen.

["If you ask me to fight the enemy, I shall fight. Even against enemies ten or a hundred times our number, I shall draw my sword without hesitation. But if you ask something of me as a woman, I cannot obey. His Highness the Crown Prince has given me his word on this matter. I beg your understanding."]

It was an order she could not accept, and she resisted firmly. But the king would not give up. He sought to sway her with a cause she could not refuse.

["Have you ever heard that boy praise the blue of the sky? Have you ever seen him captivated by the brilliance of the stars? Or lost in thought beneath the gentle moonlight?"]

["All he knows is the sword, and war."]

["That cannot be right. He too is human. How can he live looking only straight ahead?"]

The king's words matched her own concerns precisely.

["What is taut will snap; what is rigid will break. That is the way of the world. And to my eyes, that describes him exactly."]

["I want him to look at the wider world. I want him to find room to breathe again. And through that, I hope he can live a little more happily."]

After much deliberation, she agreed. Her decision sprang purely from concern for the crown prince's future. She repeated that to herself countless times. And it was, in fact, true.

What worried her was the faint possibility of disaster befalling the crown prince, who knew nothing but the sword and war, who rushed through life as though ceaseless struggle were its only purpose. If this was for her liege's future, what did it matter whether she wore a dress or rags? Steeling herself, she headed to the banquet hall.

Her long, loose hair and flowing dress were many times more awkward and uncomfortable than she had imagined. Enduring the discomfort, she stood before the crown prince. In that instant, she forgot everything: the stifling makeup on her face, the cumbersome hair, the dress.

It was a strange feeling. When he suddenly took her hand, her heart even gave a heavy thump.

"Square your shoulders. Aren't you a proud Silver Lion?"

But unlike her, the crown prince was perfectly at ease. His gaze was full of trust, his eyes clear and utterly free of confusion.

She felt disappointed, and relieved at the same time. Hurt, yet freed. The conflicting emotions whirled through her until only one remained. Lightness. Only then did the clouds in her mind clear.

"You truly never change, Your Highness."

Just as he had promised at the beginning, the crown prince still looked at her without any ulterior desire.

"That is why I am so very fond of you."

She was so glad to have him in her life.

Her spirits suddenly lifted. The change was so abrupt that she could not understand it herself. Perhaps that was why.

"Your Highness. I have a request."

She indulged a whim.

"Would you dance with me?"

It was something she would never ordinarily have asked.

"I don't know how to dance."

The crown prince frowned.

"Neither do I."

A questioning look appeared on his face.

"Then why..."

"I wish to clear the confusion from my heart."

His puzzlement deepened.

"Would you rather not?"

Instead of answering his unspoken question, Arwen pressed him again.

"It's not that."

The crown prince looked flustered as he replied.

She chuckled at that rarely seen expression. Then she abruptly reached out and took his hand.

"Uh, oh."

As he made those bewildered noises, she led him to the middle of the banquet hall, almost dragging him along.

The quick-witted musicians began to play. Sweet music flowed around them. The man and woman exchanged looks. Blank looks.

Arwen felt at a loss. Her boldness had been all well and good. The problem was that neither of them knew how to dance. If someone else started first, they could at least copy them.

Just then, another couple glided into the center of the hall. They began dancing as if expressly for the two of them to watch, moving very slowly so they would be easy to follow.

Arwen narrowed her eyes at the couple who had volunteered to be their dance instructors, then opened them wide. Her gaze was riveted to the man's hand around the woman's waist.

"Aha. So that's how you do it."

"Y-Your Highness. Just a moment..."

Before she could stop him, the crown prince strode over and wrapped an arm around her waist, almost embracing her.

His face was so close she could almost feel his breath. This was not quite what she had imagined. All she had wanted was to dance away the confusion in her heart.

Could she really dispel it like this? She would be lucky if it did not grow worse. Yet even as she tried to sort out her thoughts, her feet followed the crown prince's steps with ease, oblivious to their owner's heart.

"Relax. It's not as hard as you'd think."

The crown prince spoke to her rather smugly, without the slightest idea of what she was thinking.

Arwen sighed. With that single breath, she let everything go. Things had come to this; what could she do? She decided to live for today. Tomorrow would be soon enough to become Arwen Kirgayen the knight again.

But the world does not always go as one wishes.

BOOM!

With a sudden explosion, the banquet hall doors shattered. A dark mass flew through the wrecked doorway.

CRASH, THUD!

The mass rolled several times across the floor.

"Urgh!"

Young Lord Eli sprang to his feet and vomited a gush of blood.

"We're under attack!"

Before his urgent shout had even ended—

CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!

Bells rang out in a deafening clamor, their peals short and urgent. They were sounding the alarm of an enemy incursion.