Chapter 88
Risha’s Identity (3)
Ruan caught Marican’s hands and examined them carefully. Embarrassed, she shot a glance at Charles before murmuring,
“Charles, stop that. Ruan, it’s fine. I’ve always been the one receiving from you, so I wanted to do something in return. My skills were clumsy, but thanks to Cléa’s help it doesn’t look too terrible.”
“My lady, how could you say that? This embroidery is the part I love most. You did all this for me. Truly, thank you. I’ll treasure this coat for the rest of my life.”
“Huh? No, not for life—just… I’m glad you like it, Ruan.”
Seeing his genuine joy as he admired her stitches, Marican felt as though all the sleepless nights bent over her needlework had suddenly been rewarded.
“Well, since we’ve chosen everything, shall we leave it here?”
At Cléa and Charles’s signal, the attendants carried away the dresses. Ruan sat down across from her.
“Only three days remain.”
“Eh? Oh… the ball.”
“I taught you once, but just in case, shall we practice again tonight?”
“At the ball, I’ll really have to dance, won’t I?”
“You don’t have to if you dislike it, but… since our marriage will be announced that night, we should at least dance once or twice.”
Marican recalled the summer festival—the first time she had danced with Ruan. Even masked, he had been breathtaking then.
And now… he’s even more so.
Smiling at the memory, she let him draw her to her feet.
“Ruan?”
“What do you think? We’re dressed for it. This gown is far too beautiful not to practice in.”
“Here? With no music?”
“Music… hmm. Wait.”
He pulled her gently into his arms and whispered at her ear,
“Close your eyes. Listen to my count, and match your steps. One, two. One, two…”
Close my eyes?
She obeyed, moving slowly to the rhythm of his voice.
“Hm. Head maid, how can they look so beautiful dancing without music? Truly, our master and mistress suit each other perfectly.”
“I agree. Soon, once the marriage is declared, she’ll officially be Duchess.”
“Head maid, she already is the Duchess of Canoluf.”
“Charles, that’s not how titles work. Now come on—let’s tidy these gowns and accessories, and leave them to their time together.”
“But I wanted to watch a bit longer…”
Grumbling, Charles followed Cléa out, arms full of dresses.
***
The Imperial Ball was customarily hosted by the Empress. But with the position vacant, Crown Princess Patricia had been charged with presiding.
She was anxious—still new to imperial customs—but Fiona, the Dowager Empress and Harmon’s mother, guided her step by step.
“Why must everything be decided down to the last flower arrangement? Shouldn’t professionals do this? This empire is more primitive than a kingdom!”
After endless days of planning food, tablecloths, and décor, Patricia collapsed on her bed, groaning.
“Your Highness, even in Allomande the Queen chose everything herself. Her Majesty is only teaching you so you’ll learn. Besides, with a delegation from our kingdom arriving tomorrow, we cannot risk disgrace.”
“I know. But I never realized balls involved so much work. You know I’ve never cared for such things. And now, because of it, I won’t see Marican until the ball. I meant to reveal my identity sooner, but now it’ll have to be there. What if she gets angry—what if she says I lied and refuses to be my sworn sister?”
As if the Duchess would be so childish.
“She won’t be, Your Highness.”
“Of course not… You’re right. I’ll rest then. Tomorrow is the ball.”
***
The next day—
“My lady, you look absolutely radiant!” Charles gasped.
Flushed, Marican smiled. “It’s thanks to you, Cléa, Becky… truly, thank you.”
“Today must be perfect. Come, it’s time.”
When the door opened, Ruan stood waiting. The sight of her struck him silent.
“Master?”
“…Forgive me. You’re too beautiful for words.”
“D-don’t exaggerate. You look wonderful too, Ruan.”
“Of course. How could I not, when you chose this attire for me?”
Cléa clapped her hands. “Enough admiring each other—let’s get to the palace.”
Ruan offered his hand. “Shall we, my lady?”
“Yes, Ruan.”
At the palace gates, Marican’s heart pounded. Her first ball—her steps felt heavier the closer she drew.
Can I do this?
Sensing her tension, Ruan slipped his arm around her waist and squeezed her hand.
“Don’t worry. I’ll be right here.”
“…Thank you, Ruan.”
With his words, her fear eased. The herald opened the doors, and together they entered.
All eyes turned to them. Silence swept the hall.
Her mint gown shimmered with tiny pearls, chiffon sleeves hiding the curve of her arms, her hair pinned with blossoms that seemed to sway like living flowers. She looked elegant, graceful, and ethereal.
“Is that the Duchess? She’s far lovelier than I heard. Her hair is like a crown of flowers!”
Lucianne’s lips twisted at a countess’s whisper.
“She must’ve slimmed down. And honestly, anyone looks pretty in jewels that expensive. If I wore that, I’d shine even brighter.”
The young noble beside her frowned. “She lights up the hall… could it be you’re jealous of your own sister?”
Lucianne seethed. So she finally steps out of my shadow—only because of wealth and title. Enjoy it, Marican. Tonight may be your first ball… and your last. Soon, I’ll send you back to that shabby sandwich shop where you belong.
Moments later, the herald cried,
“His Imperial Majesty, Her Majesty the Dowager Empress, and Their Imperial Highnesses the Crown Prince and Crown Princess!”
Marican lifted her head—and froze.
Risha?
Patricia entered on Harmon’s arm, wearing the crown of the empire.
No… don’t tell me Risha is the Crown Princess?
Shaken, Marican bowed with the rest.
Viseluc’s voice carried through the hush:
“This ball gladdens me greatly. Most of all, it was arranged by our new Crown Princess herself. Well done.”
Patricia curtsied. “Your praise is too generous, Your Majesty.”
“And our gratitude to Allomande, who sent rare fruits and delicacies with their envoys.”
The envoy, Patricia’s uncle Chancellor Arnold, bowed. “It is our honor, Your Majesty.”
“Now, let us celebrate!”
“Father, one more thing,” Harmon prompted.
“Ah, yes.” Viseluc’s gaze shifted toward Ruan and Marican.
So that’s the woman he searched the empire for.
Marican stiffened under the emperor’s eyes until Ruan squeezed her hand gently.
The Duke, nervous? How strange…
Viseluc smiled faintly. “Tonight we have another joy to announce. The Duchess of Canoluf has returned. Once the Duke’s illness doomed their marriage to be temporary, but now he is healed. Therefore, I declare their union renewed.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Ruan said, bowing deeply. Applause thundered through the hall.
But before the congratulations could continue, a voice cut through the cheer:
“I’m afraid, Your Majesty, that the marriage of Duke Ruan Canoluf and Marican cannot proceed.”
Gasps rippled as Lucianne stepped from the crowd, walking forward with deliberate grace.
