Evelia stood quietly to one side, never imagining the banquet meant to welcome the estate’s new master would turn into a small bonfire gathering.

It all began when Arman strolled toward the kitchen—and happened to bump into Evelia holding *The Maid’s Knight*. He barely glanced at the book, gave her a quick greeting, and hurried off. Soon, the entire banquet shifted into a courtyard celebration for everyone on the estate.

Laughter and chatter filled the air. What started as a welcome party now felt like a mixer. Young people mingled, hoping sparks might fly. Rules still applied, though: nothing indecent tonight. Any “deeper understanding” would wait for days off. Maids and knights alike had duties tomorrow.

Evelia, who disliked lively crowds, stayed silent by the small artificial pond, savoring the familiar hush of night.

“Why are you here?”

Peace shattered—by the Captain of the Royal Knights himself. His hair dark as a moonless night, yet his blue eyes twinkled like stars against the gloom.

“Lord Arman.”

Evelia gave a slight bow.

“Seems you’re not fond of the crowd.”

Arman smiled, leaning against the railing beside her.

“Not really,” Evelia lied softly, trying to blend in. “Just enjoying the night breeze.”

“The breeze? It’s freezing. But your maid’s winter coat looks warm enough.”

Late winter air bit sharp, yet the roaring bonfire and flowing drinks softened the chill. Evelia no longer shivered like before—Arman ensured his maids were well cared for. The fine fabric kept her cozy.

Others danced in pairs, warmed by joy and wine. When a girl sneezed, a knight draped his coat over her shoulders—a sweet, romantic gesture. Knights cheerfully taught maids regional family dances. Arman’s squad was handpicked: trustworthy, honorable. Maids accepted kindness without fear.

It felt like a grand mixer. And honestly, that was the point of such gatherings—to meet people.

“Did you escape?” Evelia murmured, gaze fixed ahead. Laughter swirled before her, but her eyes held only the darkening sky.

“‘Escape’? Interesting word.”

“Because this is *your* banquet. As host, leaving unnoticed… is escaping.”

“Haha, fair~ But I came looking for *you*. I want you where I can see you. Among all my maids, you’re the one I know best. We’ll work closely from now on.”

Arman laughed, bending slightly. He glanced down at Evelia, searching her face—but found only placid stillness.

“Speaking of escape… have *you* ever thought of it?”

After a pause, he asked it softly, studying her expressionless beauty.

“Escape?” Evelia tilted her head up, meeting his blue eyes half-hidden by bangs. “I don’t understand.”

Both sought meaning in the other’s gaze. Found none.

Her eyes: calm. His: smiling.

“Escape. Like me. Doing what you want. Skipping what you hate.”

“Are you referring to *avoidance*?”

“Don’t make it sound so harsh, Sif. Just… slipping away~”

“It’s *Evelia*, Lord Arman. Not Sif.”

“Haha, Evel, Evelia—they’re so alike! Hard to tell apart.”

“…Sigh.” Evelia exhaled wearily. “I truly don’t understand how you became Captain of the Royal Knights.”

All day, the question nagged her. Beyond *“Is he the Crown Prince’s favorite?”*, how did such a careless man rise so high? They’d barely met, yet he’d already mangled her name repeatedly—even after getting it right once. Was his brain smaller than a walnut?

“I just forget names sometimes. No need to doubt me… I’d be heartbroken.”

He grinned, utterly unbothered.

“If you forget names, how do you lead?”

“Temporary! I’ve served with these men for years. On the battlefield, we use nicknames—safety first. Enemies learning true names? Too risky.”

Arman leaned back, scanning his knights and attendants.

“Names fade. Traits stick. Today you’re Evelia; tomorrow, Eleya or Sifia. Hair color changes. Features alter. But habits carved into bone? Never.”

A simple remark. Evelia’s heart skipped.

Unnoticing her subtle shift, Arman pointed lazily.

“Left one? ‘Cook.’ Best chef, left-handed. Taps his foot to the knife’s rhythm, thumb always on top. Middle dancer? ‘Foxhound’—clever, cheeky. Cracks his left middle and ring fingers just to hear *click-click*. Drinking there? ‘Balloon.’ Shed weight faster than you’d believe…”

He named quirks of knights—and even maids he’d barely seen. For new attendants, he used descriptors: “black-haired girl from the kitchen,” “green-eyed cabinet-polisher.”

To others, this might feel tender—thoughtful. To Evelia? Terrifying.

Dozens of people. Every detail precise. She’d moved among them all day… never spotting *him* observing.

—*What about me?*

A cold thread tightened in her chest.

—*Will he uncover my true identity?*

For the first time, tension flickered. Not fear of Arman’s reaction.

But failure.

If she failed… the Second Prince would—