Beyond the railing, the cheers from the square blended with the music, gradually dissolving into an indistinguishable hum. Only one voice could still translate that wave-like noise into something familiar to me.
"They're in awe… If your steps get tangled, just relax your legs. I'll carry you."
Tristan whispered softly. Almost simultaneously, my body leaned into his arms, tracing a graceful arc through the air. Another wave of cheers surged.
This time, I understood what they meant.
The crowd was shouting about how dashing the prince looked.
And how beautiful the crown princess—though not officially yet—was. Even from a distance where faces were blurred, their admiration felt genuine.
It wasn't just an observation—it was the spectacle they wanted to see.
The citizens gathered here yearned for the image of a royal couple, radiant and harmonious, dancing together.
And we…
"Dory. Two more spins, and we're done."
Leaning against Tristan's arm, gazing at the streaking starlight and shimmering reflections—
Even if it was a self-centered delusion—
I thought of us in this moment as a perfect pair suspended between the dark sky and a sea of light.
Soon, Tristan set me down on the balcony. The sharp click of my heels against the floor snapped me back to reality.
This wasn't a world just for the two of us.
"Wooaah! Prince! Princess!"
Though the dance had begun in the square, the spectators at the edges still cheered for us.
I asked Tristan, "Should we wave to them?"
"You know the drill. Tilt your head 30 degrees to the left, start waving with your left hand, then slowly turn inward."
"Ah, got it!"
For me, "inward" meant toward the right—where Tristan stood.
A few seconds later, we stood side by side, waving to the crowd.
The cheers didn't stop. Even knowing they couldn't see my expression clearly, I kept smiling and whispered, "How long do we wave?"
"Not much longer. Then hold still for a moment."
"Okay… Huh?"
Tristan placed his left hand on my shoulder. I thought he was about to escort me out.
A hasty assumption.
He cupped my chin, tilting my face toward his, then leaned down and pressed his lips to my right cheek.
…My mind remained sharp enough to analyze the situation.
But my heart? It pounded so violently it felt ready to explode.
My cheek burned. Every nerve in my body hyper-focused on Tristan.
If the brief, teasing kiss before our dance had been meant to encourage and provoke me—this one was…
"…Wait, he's still holding it!"
Just as I considered asking if he planned to stay glued there forever, Tristan slowly pulled back.
The prolonged contact hadn't been my imagination. After a beat of silence, laughter and applause erupted from the square.
"Congratulations on your marriage!"
"Blessings to this nation in the season of harvest!"
Tristan murmured, "Time for our bows. A curtsey will do."
"Right…"
I lifted my skirt slightly and bowed to the square. Another round of applause followed.
"Now step back, wave with your outside hands, and retreat. After three steps, we'll be out of sight—then turn and head inside freely."
"Understood."
Like driftwood carried ashore by waves, we slowly withdrew from the cheers and stepped through the glass doors.
Unlike the terrace, ablaze with lanterns, the hallway was dimly lit. My rationality gradually returned.
It felt like I'd finally transitioned from "a piece of the festival's tableau" back into Dorys Redfield.
Just as I took a deep breath to steady my racing heart—
Tristan spoke abruptly.
"Dory, the cheek kiss earlier—it was unavoidable. After Percival's failed engagement—well, wedding—collapsed so spectacularly, we needed to present a model of unwavering unity."
"Ah… I understand."
No wonder it lasted so long.
An awkward silence settled between us.
We'd fulfilled our duty.
But should "the two of us" be driven by duty alone?
The festival…
I wanted to experience it with him.
Not for anything grand—just walking through that atmosphere together would've been joy enough.
But before I could voice even that small hope, Tristan said, "I should head back. There's much to attend to."
"Oh… I see. Do you need any help?"
"Don't worry. I don't make a habit of sharing my burdens."
His tone was final.
We walked down the hall in silence. The only consolation was that Tristan's posture showed no trace of his past injuries.
Then I remembered something.
"Your Highness… Was the dance alright?"
"Hm?"
"I practiced hard. Like I promised you at the hospital."
Remember what I said?
That after you recovered from being stabbed, I'd practice dancing so we could do this.
Tristan's steps slowed.
Pausing at the stair landing, he looked down at me.
"Your Highness?"
"…It was wonderful."
"Ah… Really?"
"Yes. If circumstances allowed, I'd have danced a few more songs."
"..."
Once the meaning sank in, a foolish grin spread across my face. Tristan looked mildly startled.
"Was that such happy news?"
"Yes. There'll be more official events where we dance together—I didn't want to embarrass you by being carried through every step forever."
"I could carry you for hours— Ahem. What time is it now?"
"Huh?"
"The time."
"Around half past eight, I think."
"Let's hurry down. You should rest soon too."
"Alright."
I didn't press further. At the first floor, servants greeted us—marking the end of our private moment.
"…See you next time."
Tristan helped me into the carriage bound for the Redfield estate. Letting go of his hand felt like forcing myself out of warm blankets on a winter morning—but I wasn't anxious.
Tristan.
You were about to say you could carry me for hours, weren't you?
"You fool."
The unease I'd felt over his ambiguous behavior before was washed away by today's display of unwavering, foolish sincerity.
Tristan definitely…
"..."
After boarding the carriage, I deliberately faced forward—then suddenly turned to the window.
Through the glass, Tristan flinched at our locked gaze, briefly looked away, then met my eyes again as if realizing there was no need to pretend. Just then, the carriage lurched forward.
I waved at his "puppy who just lost its bone" expression, then burst into laughter inside the carriage.
"Ahahaha!"
I won't doubt anymore.
Tristan's feelings for me are real!
I swallowed the thought, "Do I even deserve this?"
I won't run just because I feel unworthy—that'd be trampling on his precious emotions.
He loves me.
My fingertips tingled. It felt like someone had stuffed a balloon with hydrogen into my chest. Bit by bit, my body seemed to float, buoyed by joy.
But as the carriage rolled through streets still pulsing with festival energy, my heart's ascent paused.
"Ah…"
Laughter that wasn't mine drifted in. Dozens of lively footsteps accompanied off-key instrumentals.
Loneliness struck instantly.
Truthfully, I'd wanted to share even these fleeting festival moments with Tristan.
At a late breakfast with my parents (my sister was still recovering from a dawn banquet at a friend's estate), a maid approached.
"My lord, my lady—His Highness Tristan has sent flowers of fruition to the Redfield ladies."
"Oh my, how thoughtful of His Highness! Place them in the parlor."
"Flowers of fruition" were a tradition—after the Harvest Festival, people shared decorative blooms as tokens of celebration.
Nobles, of course, rarely stooped to gathering them personally (though original-flavor Arthur was an exception), preferring to buy them.
On the parlor table, three lavish bouquets awaited.
My mother beamed. "To think we'd enjoy such luxury! How does His Highness remain so flawless?"
Seems she's forgotten all the heartache from earlier this year.
I forced a smile and searched for my bouquet.
"Dory, what will you do with yours? If you don't mind, we could display them here and invite guests to admire them."
"Invite people just to see flowers?"
"Of course! We must show how dearly His Highness cherishes you at every opportunity. Though yesterday's dance alone made that quite clear!"
"..."
"Well? Will you hand yours over?"
"Ah, no."
Belatedly spotting an envelope labeled "To Dorys Redfield" tucked in the bouquet, I shook my head.
Though disappointed, my mother didn't stop me from retreating to my room with the flowers.
What does it say?
With slightly trembling hands, I opened the letter.