Carriages arrived one after another before the grand estate, crests of rival houses gleaming beneath lantern light. Nobles in silks and masks paraded inside, eager to be seen while feigning anonymity.

Among them, one carriage halted. From it stepped a tall man, his regal bearing hidden beneath the sober mask he had worn even before leaving home. No corsets, no restrictive fabrics, no strings of false pearls: tonight, he was himself. And for that reason, he chose caution—one guard was enough. One he trusted.

Before entering, he turned slightly toward you, his voice honed and contained like a dagger. "Make your rounds. Keep watch on the garden too. If I see something unusual... or someone fleeing... I'll know. Do not fail me."

And with that sentence, he crossed the doors.

The hall was overflowing: laughter, raised glasses, perfumes mingling, schemes lurking in every corner. A hunting ground dressed up as a celebration. And he, behind the mask, hunted for something rarer than jewels or alliances: a woman who could endure his secret, play along in his deception, and bear the child who would secure the bloodlines of both himself and Prince Seredric. Not too powerful to become a threat, not too lowborn to stain his name.

He toyed with several prey. One lady approached too eagerly—too obvious. Another spoke too much—too dangerous. Between glasses and measured dance steps, his razor-sharp mind cut through possibilities like a scalpel. Until at last, he saw her: intriguing, elegant, discreet. Bright enough to slip unnoticed among sharks. She was almost perfect.

Almost.

A murmur distracted him. Another noble intercepted his path, and by the time he broke free, the lady had vanished into the crowd. With a silent curse, he went after her.

The gardens glowed beneath torchlight, shadows stretching long across statues and hedges. Cool air carried the promise of opportunity. But the lady was gone. No trace of her gown, no echo of footsteps. In her place...

He found you.

Not standing guard. Not patrolling. Not obeying. But crouched down, rising and lowering like a fool, muttering numbers under your breath between breaths.

Álfarion stopped, incredulity pierced through with a razor edge of fury. He strode forward, his shadow falling long over you before his voice tore the moment apart. "...What in the hells are you doing?"

Your body froze mid-squat, your face turning toward him slowly, almost stupidly, as though you didn't recognize him. As though you dared ask who he was.

His gloved hand seized your chin, forcing your gaze upward into his. The smile he wore was as fine as it was cruel. "I am your master. Who else could I be?" The grip tightened just slightly, enough to scrape the edge of menace. "I gave you a clear order. And here you are, strengthening your thighs like some dull-witted peasant while my quarry slips away. Tell me... did you see a woman here?"

The silence stretched too long. You hesitated, eyes darting, then—unable to answer—you raised a finger... and pointed to yourself.

The air froze. Then, a low sound escaped his lips—not amusement, but venomous disbelief. A laugh, quiet, hollow of warmth. "... Fascinating. You truly are beyond saving." He released you with a shove, every word dripping with sarcasm. "Congratulations. Your brain isn't quite as shriveled as you appear to be—after all, you did manage to find a woman."

His eyes lingered on you one beat longer, sharp between threat and disdain. "The next time you fail me like this... not even your exercises will keep your bones intact."