“If you’re going to go mad, at least do it gracefully and alone.”
Once the banquet ended and the imperial couple withdrew, the remaining guests drifted into the ballroom, where the atmosphere changed entirely.
With the emperor no longer present to restrain them, the nobles relaxed into idle conversation and leisurely indulgence. And among all the topics circulating through the hall, there was unquestionably one at the center of everyone’s attention.
Lucius and Celia.
The ballroom felt nothing like the grand, gold-drenched solemnity of the banquet chamber.
It was softer here—more luxurious, more elegant. Beneath the gently domed ceiling, violins and violas intertwined in a flowing melody while Celia lifted her wineglass with little grace or restraint.
“Ah, then I’ll have the same as my wife.”
Sitting across from her at a small table, Lucius accepted an identical glass.
The way he naturally referred to Celia as his wife drew attention all over again, especially after the outrageous things he had said earlier. One by one, as though taking turns, the nobles glanced toward them.
“Tired?” Lucius asked.
“...No. Why?”
“You look bored. I was wondering when you’d want to leave.”
At those words, a faint spark returned to Celia’s lifeless eyes—eyes that had seemed utterly dead ever since Lucius’s absurd remarks earlier.
Showing far more initiative than before, she snatched the pocket watch from him. After checking the time, she tapped lightly against its surface and called to him in a low voice.
“Maybe...”
At her quiet summons, Lucius leaned closer so she could whisper into his ear.
“About an hour. I think we can leave in an hour.”
The platinum watch, driven by delicate springs and gears, ticked smoothly onward. Every time the minute hand moved, Celia stared at it with shameless affection.
Unlike the banquet hall, where conversation had been limited and controlled, the ballroom demanded far more caution.
Any “private” conversation carried risks.
And most importantly, contrary to Lucius’s expectations, Celia knew almost nothing about his social circle.
If someone approached him now, she had absolutely no confidence in her ability to respond appropriately.
“Lucius! It’s been a while. Have you been well?”
God clearly wasn’t on her side.
Though despair briefly flickered across her face, Celia quickly masked it and looked up. The one who had boldly approached Lucius first was—
Who was that again?
Celia’s complexion darkened instantly. She was terrible at remembering faces. The man looked vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t recall his name no matter how hard she tried.
How irritating that she had to panic over not remembering Lucius’s acquaintances.
While frustration curled inside her, Lucius casually reached over and wrapped his hand around hers.
The sudden warmth made her nose twitch faintly, and her gaze naturally shifted toward him.
“Abel. It’s been a while.”
After briefly squeezing her hand, Lucius released it and rose from his seat.
“It really has! The last time I saw you was before I left for the west... Has it already been half a year?”
“Only four months, probably.”
“Was it? Either way, I’m glad I ran into you so soon!”
Lucius spoke effortlessly. Not only did he know the man’s name, but he sounded entirely certain of where they had met and what sort of relationship they shared.
Only then did Celia finally understand.
Of course there were countless people around Lucius who knew him better than she did. And Lucius—whose greatest talent was absorbing information like a sponge—must have already learned enough about his former self’s relationships to imitate them naturally.
“Ah, I should greet your wife as well, shouldn’t I?”
Lucius remaining beside Celia at an event like this was highly unusual.
No—that word wasn’t strong enough.
It had never happened before.
Even when they attended parties together out of necessity, they usually separated almost immediately, each returning to their own circles and obligations.
Perhaps because of that, the man turned toward her awkwardly.
“I’m sure you remember me, of course... Aberon Colton.”
“Yes... Lord Aberon.”
Aberon briefly kissed the back of Celia’s hand before stepping away.
Behind him, Lucius’s shoulder twitched ever so slightly. The movement lasted only an instant—too brief for anyone else to notice.
“Abel.”
Stepping forward naturally, Lucius positioned himself between Celia and Aberon before continuing the conversation smoothly.
“Speaking of which, how was the west? I’d like to hear about it.”
“That topic’s always welcome! The men there boast endlessly about how well they ride horses—”
While Celia quietly scoffed at Lucius’s perfectly polished smile, more people gradually gathered around him.
Most of the faces were unfamiliar, and for a brief moment panic rose inside her again.
Then she quickly lost interest.
Whether he was simply perceptive or extraordinarily skilled socially, Lucius carried on flawlessly, never allowing anyone to suspect something had changed about him.
Boring. This is so boring.
It felt strange seeing Lucius wrapped in a kindness he had never once shown her.
Had he always smiled like that?
Or was the smile he wore now—after losing his memories—nothing more than another performance?
Thoughts rose one after another, yet Celia could not settle on any conclusion. Instead, she found herself unable to look away from him.
Whenever the shadows beneath his golden lashes shifted, light shattered brilliantly across his green eyes.
And the moment she realized their gazes had met through the crowd—
Celia couldn’t bear it any longer.
She pressed strength into her neatly crossed legs and stood.
Perhaps she would go walk through the gardens.
“Cel—”
Someone seemed to call after her, but she thought she knew who it was, so she stubbornly kept her eyes forward.
Without looking back, she left the ballroom in search of someplace empty.
Amilda Rostin seized the opportunity she had been waiting for and slipped neatly to Lucius’s side.
The troublesome obstacle was gone. The distinguished lady of House Brickwell—the only wife of the young Duke of Windmere—had disappeared from the ballroom.
Gentlemen who wished to speak with that young duke naturally approached him, while hesitant ladies quietly slipped into the openings the men created.
Lucius Elior Rowan Windmere.
Could anyone truly resist desiring him?
Amilda’s eyes glittered.
She was once the eldest daughter of an old and influential count’s family that had held considerable power over the imperial treasury. But her father’s gambling addiction had driven their house to the edge of ruin.
And Lucius—
Lucius was still beautiful.
He was different from the thin, frail noblemen who filled the capital.
His back was straight like that of a soldier. Broad shoulders and a solid chest gave him an imposing presence, while his lean waist and narrow hips carried none of the softness of men proud of their swollen bellies.
“The Ministry of Finance submitted another tariff reform proposal this session, I heard.”
“Ah, that matter? It’ll be adjusted in the end. No matter how loudly merchants complain, we still stand above them.”
The men exaggerated their opinions shamelessly, eager to impress the women gathered around Lucius.
Amilda found them unbearably dull.
But Lucius listened quietly to even the most useless chatter. Whenever he tilted his head slightly to meet someone’s eyes, Amilda felt certain it was one of those subtle habits only someone who had watched him for years would recognize.
How can he possibly be this handsome?
Spellbound, she approached him—then suddenly stopped.
Holding a wineglass loosely in one hand, Lucius occasionally tapped its surface with his fingers. Each time he did, his gaze drifted toward the same direction.
Toward the place where someone had disappeared.
And every time he looked there, his eyes seemed to deepen ever so slightly.
No... I must be imagining things.
Amilda followed his gaze before quickly shaking her head.
That was the direction Celia had gone.
There was no way Lucius was looking for her.
Every noble raised in the empire knew how terrible the relationship between Lucius and Celia had always been.
They do seem slightly different after marriage... but that’s probably just appearances.
Even Lucius’s earlier behavior had been shocking, but surely there was a reason for it. The emperor had been present, after all.
Having organized her thoughts, Amilda approached him gracefully, like a delicate bird.
“Young Duke.”
Lucius’s distracted gaze lowered to her.
“It’s me, Amilda. Have you been well?”
“...Lady Amilda.”
His reply came a beat too late.
Fortunately, Amilda was too enchanted by the soft movement of his red lips to notice anything strange.
“It’s been a long time. My father asked me to thank you personally for the help you gave him before. I’m glad I finally had the chance to do so.”
She folded her hands neatly before her waist.
Lucius narrowed his eyes slightly and looked down at her for a surprisingly long time.
Under his steady gaze, Amilda’s eyelids trembled.
What is this?
Why was he looking at her like that?
She quietly drew her feet together, listening to the rapid pounding of her heart.
“Please tell your father I received his gratitude well.”
“Yes... of course.”
Yet even then, Lucius’s gaze never left her.
That habit of his—watching someone intently—usually appeared when he was listening carefully or trying to understand something.
And from that moment onward, Amilda’s nervousness slowly transformed into expectation.
“Speaking of which, Young Duke... there’s a newly opened opera that’s become very popular among the ladies lately. Have you heard of it?”
Normally, Amilda would have retreated long ago.
But hope emboldened her.
“An opera?”
“Yes. Very famous actors are performing in it, so tickets are difficult to obtain. They say it’s especially... wonderful for couples to attend together...”
Lucius turned toward her fully.
“Could you tell me more about it?”
The interest in his voice was beyond anything she had imagined.
She had loved Lucius secretly since her debutante days, yet he had never once given her even the slightest opening.
Why is he acting like this all of a sudden?
Naturally, her cheeks flushed red like those of a young girl.
Even married, Lucius remained desirable beyond measure. His flawless appearance, refined personality, elegant speech—
There had always been women eager to become his mistress.
Even those willing to settle for a single night’s dream.
Anyone familiar with high society knew how filthy its hidden side truly was.
Of course, Lucius was also famous for being a man unmoved by pleasure or temptation, but...
“Ah... it’s called Donavera...”
Amilda had once heard whispers that any man forced to live with Celia Brickwell—now Windmere—might eventually begin seeking comfort elsewhere.
“The story follows a man leaving for war while the woman waits for him, growing lonelier with each passing day. Even after the war ends, he doesn’t return for a long time, and terrible misunderstandings grow between them.”
Just as he had done earlier with the other men, Lucius listened attentively to Amilda now.
Her mouth went dry.
“But in the final act, the man confesses his feelings while looking into the woman’s eyes. I heard it’s a very... very sweet story.”
She looked directly at Lucius and took a careful breath.
By now, people around them had begun noticing.
“They say it’s tragic and beautiful at the same time. Couples leave the theater cherishing one another even more, reaffirming their love.”
“Couples... cherishing one another...”
But Amilda saw nothing except Lucius.
If only she could receive his affection once.
If only he would look at her with loving eyes—
That tiny wish alone was enough to keep countless ladies captivated by him.
Amilda was merely one of many.
Perhaps Celia Brickwell—now Windmere—simply enjoyed the superiority of possessing a love other women could never obtain in their lifetimes.
“Young Duke... do you like stories like that?”
Gathering her courage, Amilda slowly reached out her hand.
“The way you acted toward your wife earlier... that was only because His Majesty was present, wasn’t it?”
Beneath his glove, the veins along Lucius’s wrist stood out faintly. She imagined his skin would feel burning hot even from the slightest touch.
And then—
“I suppose I should consider this situation my own fault.”
Lucius seized Amilda’s hand before it could touch him.
His face twisted into something cold and terrible.
Understanding arrived too late for her.
Contempt flooded those dazzling green eyes instantly.
“It seems, my lady, that you were never taught how rude it is to touch a married man without permission.”
The flush on Amilda’s cheeks vanished in an instant, replaced by humiliation.
