ILVD 10

Chapter 10 

The words he spoke in place of a farewell were, in a way, very Raoul-like. Leticia couldn’t help but smile as she nodded.

“Yes! I’ll be back.”

“Good.”

“You’ll be coming with me on the way back too, right?”

“A partner’s duty isn’t done until he’s seen his companion safely home.”

Leticia thought it was a rather roundabout way of saying I’ll wait for you, yet his phrasing made her heart stir faintly.

“Please, this way.”

“Oh—wait.”

Just as the palace knight was finishing his formal bow, Raoul called out to him again.

The knight swallowed hard. Raoul’s calm gaze met his, and a faint smile curved his lips.

“What is your name, Sir Knight?”

“I belong to the First Imperial Order, sir! My name is Terros!”

Raoul repeated the name quietly, as though testing its weight on his tongue, then said:

“Then I’ll entrust you with my daughter.”

My daughter.

The words made Leticia’s heart float—light and weightless—as her toes curled inside her shoes.

“I will ensure her utmost comfort, my lord!”

“Then go well.”

Leticia nodded and waved slightly before following the now noticeably stiffer knight out of the chamber.

As they neared the garden, laughter—clear, innocent laughter of children—drifted through the air.

“This is where I must leave you, my lady,” said the knight, bowing once more. Leticia stepped forward alone.

The moment she crossed into the garden—where boys and girls her age, and some older, mingled freely—the laughter ceased as if silenced by a single hand. The air turned sharp with quiet.

She did not flinch beneath the sudden scrutiny. Step by deliberate step, Leticia approached and stopped before a young boy.

“I greet the small heaven of the Leroy Empire. I am Leticia Kuhn Kafka.”

Her curtsy was poised—neither too deep nor too humble.

The boy who received it had golden hair and eyes that, depending on the light, shimmered between violet and blue—colors that betrayed royal blood.

Genio Jen de Leroy.
Crown Prince of the Empire.

“Our final guest has arrived,” he said.

“…”

“Raise your head, Lady Kafka.”

When Leticia obeyed, her crimson eyes met his slanted smile.

She already knew what kind of words would follow. The boy had never once regarded her kindly, for she bore the Kafka name.

“We’ve already finished introducing ourselves. I would like the lady to introduce herself as well.”

The same phrasing as before—word for word.

Leticia glanced around her. A dozen noble children. Familiar faces all, from both past and present lives.

“My lady, here’s a list of all young nobles attending. I’ve included their features in detail—it’ll help you remember.”

Back then, she had greeted them all one by one.

“Oh my, I never imagined Lady Kafka would greet me first.”
“How could she bow to someone of lower rank? Does the Kafka household not teach proper manners?”

She had known it was improper for a duke’s daughter to greet those beneath her first. But the prince’s words had been so cunningly phrased—

That “suggestion” had sounded like an order. So she obeyed. And thus became the fool who didn’t even understand etiquette—fueling rumors that the Duke of Kafka was neglecting his daughter’s education.

“I merely offered a suggestion. How odd that my words should sound like a command.”

She would not make the same mistake again.

“Unfortunately, Your Highness, I cannot introduce myself to anyone here—save for you.”

Her voice carried across the silent garden. Dozens of eyes stung against her skin, but she simply clapped her hands once, the sharp sound breaking the stillness.

“Ah! I take that back. There is one more person I should greet.”

Her red eyes swept through the crowd. Each time they met another’s, the child flinched or averted their gaze.

How timid they are, she thought bitterly.

Then her eyes caught on someone—and stilled.

“There you are.”

A girl with wavy indigo hair, braided and adorned with small gems. Her violet eyes—deeper than her hair—narrowed like a cat’s, unblinking as she regarded Leticia.

Leticia inclined her head slightly.

“Good afternoon, Lady Wagner. I am Leticia Kuhn Kafka.”

It was a simpler greeting than the one she’d offered the prince.

The girl blinked slowly, then answered, her voice clear and crystalline—yet devoid of warmth.

“Pleasure to meet you, Lady Kafka. I’m Serpina Rune Wagner.”

A beautiful name—belonging to the sole daughter of the Wagner Ducal House, a pillar of the Leroy Empire as powerful as Kafka itself.
One day, this girl would become the Empire’s Empress.

Even on first meeting, Serpina’s eyes brimmed with wariness—hostility, even.

“Then, Your Highness, would that conclude the introductions?”

Leticia turned away from Serpina’s piercing gaze toward Genio, who merely watched in silence.

“…Yes.”

“I thank Your Highness for your generosity. Thanks to your consideration, I was able to greet Lady Wagner personally.”

Her polite gratitude made Genio’s expression twist.

“I’ve invited Lady Kafka to the party. Do make an effort to get along with her. You understand what I mean, don’t you?”

Kafka. Always Kafka.

The name burned in the boy’s mind. What was the Kafka Duchy to make even the Emperor—his father—so wary?

“The Duke of Kafka is a shadow that cannot be controlled. For now he may bow beneath my feet, but if provoked, he could swell large enough to devour me—or this entire empire. Do not act rashly, my son.”

That difference in tone—how his father treated Wagner with ease, but Kafka with fear—only deepened Genio’s resentment.

Hands and feet? Shadow?
He could see it already: his father’s reflection staring back at him from his own future.

So when he heard the Duke’s daughter would attend this party, he planned—just a little—to make her uncomfortable.

“As expected… like father, like daughter.”

But the girl’s crimson eyes looked straight through him—unflinching, knowing, insolent.

For a moment, he had believed the rumor that she wasn’t the duke’s real child.
Then she met his gaze—calm, imperious, Kafka’s daughter through and through.

Genio muttered under his breath, his lips curling despite the words:

“So she really is that duke’s child.”

Then, louder, his tone brightened with feigned cheer as he clapped his hands once—

Clap!

The sharp sound shattered the tension hanging in the garden.

“Lady Kafka’s introductions are complete. Let us return to the party.”

They were still children—but noble children.
And nobles obeyed rank.

So the chatter resumed, awkward and forced, as they returned to polite conversations—while the crimson-eyed girl stood quietly among them, smiling with composure that did not belong to her years.