Dorys stood in the hallway, using the framed picture hanging on the wall as a makeshift mirror to tidy her hair. A few loose strands brushed against the apricot-colored nape of her neck.
Tristan, who had been watching the scene with a longing to gaze at it forever, finally took a step forward.
At the sound of unfamiliar footsteps echoing through the familiar corridor, Dorys turned her head.
"Oh, Prince Tristan."
"Hello, Dorys."
"You greet me as if we're meeting for the first time today. Do you have something to say?"
"The second banquet is about to begin, for the relatives who arrived late. I thought I should show my face, so I came to escort you."
"Ah, relatives from other territories have arrived."
Tristan silently bent his left arm slightly toward Dorys as she walked toward him. Though momentarily flustered, Dorys slipped her hand into the offered arm without hesitation—like someone certain of where she belonged.
Her steps instantly became lighter. It didn't feel like walking down the Count's stairs, but like stepping onto a dewy meadow at dawn.
The voices of the guests seated in the banquet hall flowed as meaninglessly as the sound of rain.
"Welcome, Auntie. How long has it been?"
"I rushed over, hearing of a great event. Not that Grace's was any less, of course… Ah, here they are! Greetings to the Prince and Princess!"
Percival, as always, wore a cheerful smile, entertaining the Redfield relatives. Meanwhile, beside him, Natalie maintained her elegance and beauty, gracefully embracing each elder.
'Why? That's so unlike her personality.'
It gave Tristan a strange chill, but it wasn't something he needed to worry about now. If anything happens, it'll happen to Percival first.
'What I should be thinking about right now is…'
Just as the greetings ended, the aperitifs were served. Those who had already dined would leave after the toast.
Right at that moment, Tristan stepped beside his chair and knelt down on one knee.
All eyes in the hall surely turned toward him—just as he had hoped.
Dorys, startled, looked down at Tristan. Her innocent gaze was both lovely and guilt-inducing.
'It's okay, Dorys. It'll be over soon.'
Fortunately, his voice didn't tremble.
"Dorys Redfield."
"Your Highness…?"
"It's been five years since the royal letter bore the names of our two houses. No one questions the weight of that agreement, but today, with our beloved families as witnesses, I wish to finally convey my personal intent to you."
"Oh…"
"Tristan Winter Albion asks you with all his heart: Dorys Redfield, will you marry me?"
A hush fell over the banquet hall.
In the silence, Tristan saw Dorys's eyes begin to quiver.
What once looked as beautiful as the first bud of spring now held the weight of Medusa's gaze, tightening around Tristan's heart. Please, please, please—
"O-of course. I'd be happy to marry you."
Dorys's trembling hand touched Tristan's palm. As he clasped her hand firmly, the Count beside them clapped his hands.
"Oh, Your Highness! I never imagined you'd be so considerate as to formally propose to our daughter!"
"As the one who kept Lady Dorys from receiving any proposals these past five years, I couldn't let her miss out on the one chance a lady gets in life."
"How sweet! Well then, I suppose we've found the perfect reason for a toast. Everyone, raise your glasses! To the bright future of Prince Tristan and Dorys!"
The orange aperitif glimmered under the candlelight like starlight. Percival, seated beside Tristan, met his gaze, mimed a whistle, and whispered,
"What's with the theatrics, not like you?"
"Exactly what I said. Unlike you, who proposed gracefully, I wasted five years. I'm just trying to make up for it now."
It wasn't a lie.
By proposing proudly in front of their gathered relatives, he could quiet the whispers of "Will Tristan really settle down after chasing other women?"
More than anything, hearing Dorys's clear answer was the greatest achievement.
They were getting married.
A clean ending was within reach. Surely.
"Ladies and gentlemen, the appetizer is served: young leek salad with pecorino cheese…"
As the meal for latecomers was served, those who had eaten earlier began to leave the dining hall. Natalie and Percival were the first to head to the ballroom.
Dorys seemed interested in her salad, but after a few nods at a relative's questions, she eventually chose to stand. Tristan had anticipated that, too.
He followed her and called out to her in a quiet corridor.
Standing before her, Tristan opened a velvet box and held it out.
"Dorys. Will you accept this?"
"Huh? A-are you giving it to me now?"
"I couldn't propose empty-handed. It's not a ring, but think of it as a symbol of my promise."
Inside the box, an emerald necklace waited for its new owner's touch. As Tristan alternated his gaze between the necklace and Dorys's face, he felt assured he had made the right choice.
"It's cliché, but I chose it because it most closely resembles the color of your eyes."
"Thank you…"
Dorys's cheeks turned slightly pink. She looked down shyly, then, as if determined to properly express her gratitude, she raised her head to meet his eyes—and the sight gripped Tristan's heart all over again.
It was a perfect day.
"Well, then. I should get back to greeting the Redfield relatives."
Tristan turned, ready to leave. He figured he'd move around the hall to exchange pleasantries while Dorys could rest somewhere quiet and perhaps have a snack.
But then an unexpected voice stopped him.
"Your Highness, are you okay?"
"Okay? You mean my health? No major issues now."
No need to detail his scars. He'd probably show them off soon enough anyway…
'Or maybe not. That might be hard.'
But Tristan was wrong.
Her voice was even firmer than when she accepted the proposal.
"I'm not talking about your health, Your Highness. To be honest… are you hiding something from me?"
"…What makes you think that?"
"That right there—how you answered—is how people who are 'hiding something' respond. Instead of denying it, they ask for proof and try to argue logic."
"I'm not hiding anything. Nothing's changed."
"Your Highness."
"We're going to be married."
That's all that matters.
Last August, in the Blue Atrium, he had thought clearly:
'Even if I take what remains of Dorys's life, could I survive a life unloved by her?'
But whether he could or not didn't matter.
He had to.
For the sake of someone who walked away empty-handed.
And above all—
For the woman who, without even loving him, still wished to marry a man like him.
Tristan spoke from the heart.
"I will make sure you're happy."
…Never again will I trouble you with words like love.
A public proposal, a gift prepared with the other person in mind, and even the words that millions of men must have used as their final vow—he offered them all, one by one.
Dorys, her face flushed as if she might suffocate from embarrassment, remained silent.
From the ballroom, new music drifted in, layering over the quiet of the hallway. Tristan broke the silence in his usual voice.
"May I have this dance, my lady?"
"…Y-yes."
Dorys nodded and placed her hand atop his. Tristan clenched his teeth to stop himself from pulling her into his arms too tightly and slowly began walking her toward the ballroom.
Percival and Tristan returned to the royal palace before it got too late.
I let out a sigh of relief—meant the party had made it over one big hurdle today.
…But that was a mistake.
"Don't we have more wine? Couldn't drink properly with the princes around! Come on, let's all have another round!"
"Surely someone who's now related to the royal family by marriage wouldn't be stingy with wine, right?"
You came here just to drink, didn't you?
But the moment someone suggested, "Is the prince's father-in-law going to be stingy?", my father's eyes flared like axes, and he immediately ordered the passing maids to prepare a fresh round of drinks.
Of course, we ladies weren't expected to join.
I was about to excuse myself and quietly slip away to bed, when I heard someone call out from down the hall, waving at me.
"Hey, Dory!"
It was my sister, Grace.