"How does the treatment work?"

Marion appeared visibly anxious. Though the First Princess seemed skeptical of the news that Marion might be healed, she was still clearly hopeful. She had even given a command-like request to observe the treatment process. This had, in turn, granted Marion the rare honor of lying in the princess's chambers.

"Your Highness… Truly, it feels wrong for me to be here like this…."

"Marion, you're not unaware that refusing my command would be an even greater disservice, are you?"

Michelle responded in a tone of feigned sternness to Marion, who spoke to her with a trembling voice, almost as if asking permission. Michelle gently pressed on Marion's chest to keep her from rising. She then turned back to Christine.

"Continue explaining."

Christine, showing a hint of surprise at the princess's informal demeanor toward Marion, tapped the vial and began her explanation.

"The principle is simple. Just like other potions, if we apply an appropriate amount to the affected area, the magic infused in the potion will automatically begin to heal the wound."

"A potion that simple exists? Where, or rather, how was this developed?"

Christine shook her head, signaling that she couldn't provide more details to Michelle, who had switched to a tone of suspicion.

"It's classified."

"Is it an order from His Majesty?"

Christine neither confirmed nor denied, but her lack of denial was enough for Michelle to interpret as an affirmation, leaving her surprised once more.

"Then, I won't press further. But there’s still something I’m curious about."

"Feel free to ask anything you wish."

Michelle, still watching the vial with a cautious look, asked, "Are you certain the potion is safe?"

"Yes. There's no magic in it that could harm the user. We've even conducted clinical trials."

"Clinical trials?"

"Yes, we’re confident in its effectiveness."

As Christine explained, she remembered the first person who had been treated with this potion—a rather disagreeable person, but the potion had restored even her ruined eye. Compared to that, restoring Marion's burn scars to their original appearance seemed easy. Christine couldn't forget how moved that person had been, crying with gratitude, even if it had left her feeling awkward.

"I’m convinced. Now, the only thing left is to determine if Marion is willing to go through with the treatment."

The princess looked down at Marion, whose gaze was trembling, though her resolve seemed firm. Christine, observing Marion, watched as she took a deep breath and responded.

"If it's possible… I would be truly grateful."

"Is that so?"

Nodding, Christine opened the vial. Unlike most potions, which had strange scents, the liquid in Christine's vial had no fragrance at all. Christine, visibly tense, approached Marion, and the princess observed in silence, sharing the same tension.

"Let's proceed with the treatment. It won't hurt, so you don’t need to be so nervous."

Christine spoke gently to Marion, who looked up at her with nervous eyes, her body rigid as a plank. Marion nodded stiffly.

"Your mask…."

Christine asked cautiously, and Marion hesitated, lifting her hand to the mask as if seeking permission from the princess. Michelle gave an encouraging nod.

"It's alright to take it off, Marion."

With trembling hands, Marion slowly removed her mask. Little by little, the face that had been scarred by flames was revealed. Her distorted skin showed itself, and both Christine and the princess held their breath. The burned right side of her face bore witness to her life, its twisted, terrible appearance painful to look at. Yet Marion, unexpectedly calm, met Christine and the princess's sympathetic gazes.

"…It must have been hard for you."

The First Princess could barely manage to say. Marion gave a faint smile and shook her head.

"It doesn’t hurt at all now, so I'm alright."

"Is that so? Then let’s proceed with the treatment."

The princess turned her gaze back to Christine, who nodded and looked at Marion.

"Please close your eyes."

Marion closed her eyes. Christine held the vial and carefully let the potion fall over Marion’s face. Droplets fell, one by one, onto Marion's scarred right side, slowly trickling down. With her eyes closed, Marion felt a warm sensation spreading across her right side, like a gentle pull on her skin.

As Marion, still with her eyes shut, furrowed her brow at the sensation, Christine’s quiet murmur reached her.

"Good."

Christine smiled and evenly spread the remaining potion over Marion’s face. Marion could feel the warmth extend to cover her entire right side.

"Just a little longer."

Michelle watched Marion lying there, her folded arms giving a hint of her restrained curiosity. She purposely closed her eyes, as if she had vowed not to look until the treatment was complete.

After some time, Christine finished applying the potion to Marion’s right side and used additional magic, casting a glance at Marion with an almost stunned smile.

"This is unbelievable."

Christine put the vial back into her pocket and called to Marion, gently waking her.

"All done, Marion."

Marion’s eyelids quivered before she slowly opened her eyes, her clear blue gaze meeting Christine’s.

"The treatment was successful. Would you like to get up and see for yourself?"

Marion lifted her left hand and touched her right cheek. The roughness of her scars, a sensation so familiar, was gone.

"Incredible."

Christine murmured, and Michelle, unable to contain herself any longer, urged Marion to rise, barely hiding her curiosity.

"Why don't you stand up?"

Carefully, Marion rose, turning toward Michelle. It didn’t take long for the princess’s expression of tension to give way to shock.

"My goodness."

Michelle's gasp carried genuine awe. She stared at Marion in silence, at a loss for words.

"This is…."

Michelle sighed softly.

"The star of this year’s ball may be about to change."

 

"Don't move."

"Hey, even if it tickles, don't turn your head, Senior."

In a room at the First Guard’s headquarters, a knight with light brown hair sat in a chair, surrounded and held down by several others, as if undergoing a torment. Maxime's eyes darted around, hoping for help, but there was no one to come to his aid. Each time he flinched, Christine frowned, raising her scissors sharply.

"Senior, if you keep moving, I'll shave your head entirely."

"Sorry, I’ll stay still."

Christine was fussing over Maxime’s hair. “Fussing” hardly suited “trimming,” yet Christine’s approach seemed to match that description perfectly.

"Do I really need makeup?" Maxime muttered, his chin held by Charlotte, who was treating his face like a canvas.

"Of course! Do you know how much care noblemen put into their appearance at social events? They even trim their eyebrows and apply basic makeup."

Though Maxime despised the sticky feel of all the products being applied to his face, Christine's intimidating glare kept him frozen in place.

"Hold still, Maxime," Dennis, wrapped in bandages but able enough to laugh, teased. He was also planning to attend the ball, insisting his injuries wouldn’t keep him away. In an annoyed tone, Maxime asked, "Aren’t you doing this, too?"

"No need to go all out like you. I'm not the main character here."

"Enough nonsense. You're getting the same treatment."

Charlotte glared at Dennis, who backed away.

"Is it necessary?"

"Would some of you please hold him down?" Charlotte asked the other guards, who nodded in amusement. Dennis shuddered as they grabbed his shoulders.

"Don’t even think of running."

"Teased all the time, but today, you’re caught, Dennis."

"I'm still recovering…."

"Good! We’ll have the doctor visit again if needed."

While Dennis received his share of “care,” Christine and Charlotte’s work on Maxime was nearing completion.

"All done," Charlotte said, stepping back from Maxime’s face. Soon after, Christine, satisfied with Maxime’s neatly styled hair, smiled approvingly.

"You look perfect, Senior. Once you’re fully dressed, you’ll be a sight to see."

 

The evening sky was so dark it barely resembled twilight, with stars twinkling in a clear, purple-tinged sky. The formal event hadn’t yet begun, but most guests had already arrived, exchanging greetings.

"Today, the First Prince, First Princess, and Second Prince are all attending."

"Yes, they always do. It’s the additional high-profile guests that matter."

Among these influential guests were Count Leon Bening, a major supporter of the Second Prince, and Count Ray Agon from the East, an ally of the First Princess. The focus wasn’t solely on these prominent figures, however.

"And, of course, the tournament champion."

"Maxime Apart, wasn’t it? They say he’s staying at Count Agon’s estate now."

Amid these murmurs, noble ladies were buzzing with curiosity about the tournament’s victor, Maxime Apart.

"Did you see Sir Maxime Apart, the tournament winner?"

"He was splendid. So different from the rough appearance of our knights—a calm, noble presence."

"Where is he now?"

Maxime felt uneasy, aware of the attention directed at him as he entered. These weren’t the appraising gazes of fellow knights but rather the assessing looks of noble ladies, who either admired or envied him.

Dennis, escorting Charlotte gracefully, took it all in stride. Her cheeks flushed red, yet she held his arm tightly, unfazed by the glances.

"Feels like we’re under a microscope, Maxime," Dennis remarked.

"It’s as if they’re eyeing prey," Christine muttered sharply, her gaze scanning their surroundings. Her blond hair fell elegantly, complementing her normally strong expression.

"I can’t imagine what might happen if I stepped away," Christine sighed, only to be interrupted by a staff member whispering a message from the First Princess. Christine sighed and let go of Maxime’s hand.

"Senior, I'll be right back. I promised the princess I’d attend to something."

Maxime nodded, watching as Christine walked off. Almost instantly, the attention he attracted seemed to double. Before Dennis could offer any words of sympathy, a noblewoman approached Maxime.

"Oh my, Sir Maxime Apart, the tournament champion! What a delight to run into you here."

Delight, indeed—like a cormorant catching sight of fish, Maxime thought. Dennis mouthed a silent complaint, only to receive a pinch from Charlotte. As Christine’s absence continued, more ladies approached Maxime, some with requests to dance.

"Would you honor me with a dance?"

"I’m here with a partner…."

"In that case, might I expect you after your dance?"

Maxime's head was spinning from the overwhelming perfumes. He glanced at Dennis and Charlotte, but they had vanished.

At that moment, a clear voice rang out.

"Tonight, he has a designated partner."

Maxime turned toward the voice, as did the ladies around him, their eyes narrowing.

"Marion."

Maxime whispered her name as Marion inclined her head with a smile. She appeared wearing a mask, her dark hair elegantly pulled up. Some of the noblewomen sneered at her.

"My, is it a masquerade tonight?"

"Yes, I’ve never heard of a ball requiring masks that cover only half the face. Is that a southern custom?"

Sensing Maxime’s icy glare, the ladies fell silent, taken aback by the sudden hostility.

"It’s alright, Maxime," Marion reassured him. She turned her gaze to each noblewoman and gave a dazzling smile.

"I’ve been instructed by the First Princess herself to wear the mask until I met with Maxime. I apologize if this caused discomfort."

The mention of the First Princess left the ladies visibly shaken.

"N-no, that wasn’t our intention…."

Marion slowly raised her hand to her mask and lifted it slightly, her boldness catching the ladies off-guard.

"Then I’ll take it off now."

With a soft click, she removed her mask, and in an instant, the lively hall fell into silence.