That afternoon, upon learning Loko would attend the evening banquet, Shilufei felt it improper to stay alone at Loko’s house and returned to the academy of her own accord.

Loko couldn’t persuade her to stay and reluctantly agreed to meet again tomorrow.

As dusk fell, the York Family finally sent a carriage—still adorned with its signature white rose motif. This time, Teresa stepped down slowly in an elegant blue evening gown.

Her crystal-embellished heels clicked crisply against the cobblestones with each measured step.

At the door, she glanced at the servant but did not enter.

“Have your young mistress come see me.”

Her crimson lips parted slightly. The servant bowed and hurried inside to report. Teresa waited silently.

Moments later, Loko rushed out of the mansion in a gown carefully chosen by Vera.

Teresa’s eyes flickered with surprise at Loko’s changed appearance—then swiftly looked away.

Loko approached and bowed.

“Young mistress, I’m late.”

“No matter. The banquet won’t begin for some time.” Teresa’s smile hovered between amusement and reproach. “This time, I didn’t insist on entering your home to talk. Does that count as considerate?”

Loko caught the implication instantly and laughed nervously. “Ahaha… Shilufei returned to the academy this afternoon. She didn’t want to impose once she heard I’d be attending the banquet.”

“So it *would* be fine for me to enter your house now?”

“Yes.”

Loko nodded. An awkward silence settled between them. One second. Two. A full minute passed before Loko whispered tentatively, “Um… young mistress… what should I do next?”

“What do *you* think?” Teresa glanced at Loko, then at the door.

Sighing faintly—as if resigned to Loko’s denseness—she stated plainly: “The banquet hasn’t started. I’m a little tired.”

Loko finally understood. “Then… please come inside and rest first…”

“Mm.” Teresa followed, satisfaction softening her features.

…

Night fell over the Rickrode Imperial Palace.

Beneath glittering chandeliers, middle-aged nobles in formal attire clinked glasses and exchanged pleasantries.

At the center stood Emperor Jelka—short light-blue hair, draped in a crimson robe, surrounded by ministers. He smiled, raised his glass, and drank with them.

Beside him stood the empire’s pillars: chancellor, marshal, frontier governors, border generals—all scions of Saint Velia’s great houses.

Such banquets, held yearly, smoothed tensions and renewed alliances. Jelka orchestrated it all.

Half a month prior, a York Family border commander and a Veneto Family mayor clashed over supplies, dragging the dispute to Rickrode and shaming both houses. Jelka arranged this feast to offer reconciliation.

Now, arm draped over Duke Drake’s shoulder, the other around Gaffur, Veneto Family head, he spoke calmly:

“Gentlemen, a border squabble needn’t escalate in court. I’ve already dispatched extra supplies.” He turned to Gaffur. “We know frontier hardships. Thanks to diligent ministers, the treasury holds surplus—I’ve allocated funds for local development.”

Jelka chuckled. The nobles laughed politely, burying lingering resentment.

After a pause, he sighed. “Alas… we are growing old. The empire’s future rests on the young.”

Count Gaffur seized the opening. “Duke Drake, your daughter’s brilliance is famed across the realm. My son, merely two years her senior and unwed—might he earn your consideration?”

The emperor’s gaze shifted to Drake. “Times have changed. We must not chain promising youths. I leave the choice to her. The adjacent hall hosts the younger guests. If they connect… well.”

Upon hearing this, Jelka burst into laughter, gently steering the topic aside.

…

In the side hall, Loko sat beside Teresa, juice glasses before them.

Since the banquet began, guests had approached Teresa—only to retreat after her frosty replies, then openly seek out Haya.

Haya stood nearby, laughing with a handsome young man. Eve, the maid Loko recognized, stood silently at her side.

“Young mistress… isn’t it unwise… to push every connection toward Miss Haya?” Loko murmured after sipping her juice.

“Loko, are you hungry?” Teresa deflected.

“Ah… a little.”

“The buffet is over there. Bring me something.” She added deliberately, “No sweets.”

Loko rose promptly. Noble banquets prioritized talk over food; options were sparse. She selected light fare per Teresa’s request.

A shadow fell beside her.

Loko turned. Eve stood there, also fetching food.

“Disrespectful,” Eve murmured without looking up, as if sensing Loko’s gaze.

Confused, Loko froze.

Eve shot her a sharp glare. “If not for you, I wouldn’t be here with the young mistress. *Your* mistress may ignore the shame you bring—but she should consider Miss Haya’s standing.”

She plucked two cake slices onto her plate and strode away.

Loko stood alone, utterly bewildered.

What had she done wrong?