Teodora stood silently in front of the firmly closed door, her hand hovering near the doorknob. Though she carried her Black Wolf Blade at her waist, she was dressed not in the black uniform of the Black Crow Knights but in casual attire. Despite her protests, insisting that she couldn’t perform her duties in such an unceremonious outfit, Michelle’s insistence had prevailed.

The First Princess’s chambers were as quiet and serene as usual. While the tranquility might have been welcome on any other day, Teodora found it almost suffocating. Even the comfort of her clothes felt alien and out of place.

Should she knock now? Her hand, balled into a loose fist, hovered indecisively between the doorknob and the empty air. Her brows furrowed, reflecting the awkward unease bubbling inside her, but then she steeled herself, straightened her expression, and inhaled deeply.

Just as her hand rose to knock—

Creaaak.

“Ah…”

The door opened abruptly, revealing a cascade of jet-black hair. Teodora’s gaze traveled upward, and she found herself face-to-face with a strikingly beautiful visage, unadorned by the usual mask. Those piercing blue eyes seemed to steal the breath from Teodora’s lungs, leaving her momentarily frozen.

“…You’re here, Lady Teodora,” Marion said, breaking the silence. Teodora stiffly nodded, her movements almost mechanical. A gentle smile curved Marion’s lips, exuding an effortless poise that seemed to tilt the atmosphere in her favor. Despite being considerably younger, Marion commanded the dynamic so easily that Teodora couldn’t even register it as strange. She returned a faint smile, forcing herself to regain composure.

Marion turned her head slightly toward the room behind her.

“Your Highness, Lady Teodora of the Black Crow Knights is here to see you.”

“…Regarding that incident, I assume?”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

There was a hint of displeasure in Michelle’s voice—not directed at Teodora or the increased security measures but stemming from something deeper. After a moment of contemplative silence, Michelle’s tone shifted to one of formal welcome.

“Let her in.”

Marion pushed the door open wider, allowing Teodora to step forward. She paused at the threshold and bowed deeply.

“Teodora Benning greets Her Highness, the First Princess.”

“I apologize for troubling you while you’re still occupied with your duties in the knights. I’ll rely on you to provide security for the time being.”

Teodora was momentarily struck by Michelle’s presence. Only a month ago, the princess had embodied the image of a delicate flower sheltered in a greenhouse. But now, seated in her chambers, she radiated the regal air of a monarch. Whether it was the result of her royal lessons or an inherent talent for leadership, the transformation was undeniably remarkable.

“I will dedicate myself fully to serving Your Highness,” Teodora replied earnestly.

“Come inside. There’s no need to linger at the doorway,” Michelle said, gesturing for her to enter.

Teodora stepped cautiously into the room. Despite its spaciousness, the chamber was minimalist in its décor, exuding a sense of understated elegance. A clean, soothing scent filled the air. While this simplicity reflected the teachings that royalty should eschew excess, it also spoke to Michelle’s personal preferences. The sunlight, tinged orange from the setting sun, streamed through the western windows.

“The days are getting longer. The snow will start to melt soon,” Michelle remarked.

In the northeastern reaches of the continent, the kingdom’s winters were long, and spring brief. By March, the snow would finally begin to thaw, signaling the arrival of spring. Michelle stretched her back languidly like a contented cat, exhaling softly.

“How are things with Sir Maxime?” Michelle asked playfully, a teasing smile tugging at her lips.

Teodora froze, her instinctive response cut off by the presence of Marion standing nearby. She quickly closed her mouth, glancing at the other woman.

“Don’t hold back. Speak freely,” Michelle said with a grin. “If there’s any lingering tension between you two, it’s best to resolve it now. It’ll be for Maxime’s sake… and for yours, Marion.”

Marion looked visibly uncomfortable, her gaze flickering toward Teodora. She wasn’t concerned about “sharing” Maxime; that wasn’t the issue. The dynamics were simply complicated. Teodora was Maxime’s first, and if they were to coexist under one roof, boundaries needed to be clearly defined.

Watching the two women navigate the awkward silence, Michelle sighed.

“Why not have an honest conversation about your relationships? Both of you, take a seat.”

“Your Highness, it’s inappropriate to—”

“It’s fine. Nothing will happen,” Michelle interrupted confidently.

When the two continued to hesitate, Michelle took matters into her own hands, grabbing both Marion and Teodora by the hands and leading them to the table.

“Let’s start by hearing your stories,” Michelle said, her tone brokering no argument.

Marion glanced at Teodora’s profile, as if weighing whether to speak. Teodora turned her head slightly to meet Marion’s gaze, realizing how foolish it felt to tiptoe around each other. Simultaneously, they let out soft chuckles, shaking their heads.

“Well, things with Maxime are going smoothly. I’m sure Lady Teodora and I have resolved any tension we might have had. The real issue is probably… this awkward distance between me, Lady Teodora, and Lady Christine,” Marion admitted with a small smile.

Teodora nodded thoughtfully. “It’s still strange to suddenly treat one another like close siblings. We’re not there yet.”

“You’re going to be living under the same roof anyway. You might as well get used to it,” Michelle said with an exaggerated sigh.

“I understand your perspective,” she added, “but the way you’re both acting right now isn’t particularly dignified.”

“Apologies, Your Highness…”

Knock knock.

Their conversation halted at the sound of a knock. Marion seized the opportunity to stand and walk briskly to the door, leaving Teodora sitting stiffly in her chair. Watching them, Michelle let out a small sigh.

“At this rate, I wonder if they’ll even make it to the altar,” she muttered.

The door opened to reveal another knight. Unlike Marion, this one had a darker complexion and neatly tied hair.

“Lady Charlotte, what brings you here?” Marion asked.

Before Charlotte could answer, Michelle’s voice rang out.

“Let her in.”

Marion turned back, puzzled by the sudden change in tone, only to see Michelle wearing a sly smile.

“Well then, let’s get some advice from the knight most likely to marry first.”

“…It really won’t open,” Maxime muttered, staring blankly at the immovable door—or rather, the wall it seemed to have become. He tried pushing with all his strength, pulling it, even jiggling the handle. Nothing worked. It didn’t budge. His hand instinctively rested on the hilt of White Fang, his mind briefly entertaining the idea of cutting it down. But all he could imagine was being dragged to the palace dungeons for destroying royal property.

“Have you tried using magic?” he asked.

Christine frowned deeply, shaking her head. “The defensive enchantments are too strong. If I tried forcing it with magic, the backlash would probably fry me to a crisp. Even my hair would turn completely black.”

“…Makes sense. This is the vault holding the kingdom’s treasures, after all,” Maxime replied, glancing back at the vault.

He sighed, his frustration mounting. How long had it been since they started this post? The palace remained peaceful—silent, even.

"Better this than someone stealing another treasure, I guess."

“Looks like we’ll just have to wait for the next shift,” Maxime said, resigned. “Unless I really want to test my luck opening it by force.”

“Sure, let’s wait,” Christine responded, her tone lacking enthusiasm. Then, as she looked at Maxime’s profile, a new thought struck her.

Wait a minute. This is… an absolutely perfect, legitimate opportunity to monopolize him. They were on duty, under orders from the count, locked in here together, and no one else could get in.

Suddenly, her perspective shifted. The dim vault lighting became a soft, romantic glow, and the small, confining space transformed into something cozy and intimate. Christine swallowed nervously, her mind wandering to possibilities she would never dare voice aloud.

“Hey, Maxime,” she called out.

“What is it?” he asked, turning to her. His brow furrowed slightly at how close she had suddenly gotten, her face almost uncomfortably near.

Christine realized her enthusiasm might have been showing too much. She cleared her throat lightly, trying to play it cool. “Why don’t we go back to the vault area? I mean, unless you plan to try breaking down the door. Not that you wouldn’t get reprimanded for that.”

“…Good idea. Something about this is still bothering me, though,” Maxime admitted.

Without warning, Christine grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the vault. Maxime, distracted by his thoughts, flinched slightly at the sudden physical contact.

“Whoa.”

Christine smiled in quiet satisfaction at his startled reaction. “What’s the matter? Surprised by something as simple as holding your arm?”

Maxime glanced at her and let out a soft laugh. No matter what they’d gone through, Christine was still Christine. He loved that about her. “And what’s put you in such a good mood all of a sudden?”

He reached out and tousled her neatly combed blonde hair. Even as her carefully styled locks turned into a mess, Christine simply laughed, clearly unbothered. If she’d had an actual tail, Maxime was sure it would’ve been wagging furiously.

“Let’s just sit down and keep watch for now,” Christine suggested, patting the floor next to her.

Maxime nodded and sat down beside her. The two of them, sitting on the cold floor, didn’t exactly radiate the dignified air expected of First Division knights. But at that moment, decorum hardly seemed to matter.

“So, what’s bothering you?” Christine asked.

“Do you really think someone broke in and stole the crown?” Maxime’s voice carried a hint of skepticism.

Christine tilted her head. “What do you mean?”

“Well, think about it. Even if the black magicians were skilled, could they really break in, steal the crown, and leave without leaving a single trace? Especially with those defenses. It seems like a massive risk for something so specific.”

Christine frowned, mulling over his point. “…You’re right. Even for them, sneaking in here and risking getting vaporized doesn’t make sense. They’d be better off fleeing to another country.”

“Exactly,” Maxime agreed. “So why did the crown disappear? Or maybe… the culprit wasn’t an outsider at all.”

“You mean… someone from the inside?” Christine’s voice dropped to a whisper. “But who, and why?”

“Let’s not jump to conclusions,” Maxime cautioned, leaning back against the wall. Speculation would get them nowhere, especially in a palace still recovering from its internal strife.

The silence in the vault grew heavier, broken only by Christine’s voice.

“Doesn’t this remind you of old times?”

She turned to Maxime, her knees drawn up as her long hair cascaded down her back. Maxime, sitting cross-legged, rested his head against the wall.

“Did you enjoy those days?” he asked.

“Did you dislike them?” Christine countered, her tone playful but laced with curiosity.

Maxime hesitated, then cleared his throat. Christine, sensing his discomfort, leaned closer, waiting for his answer with unblinking green eyes. He couldn’t look away.

“…I’m not sure. Not all the memories are good ones.”

Christine felt a pang of disappointment, a tightness in her chest. If those days were nothing more than a painful blur for Maxime, what part of her could she appeal to now?

“But,” Maxime added, his voice softening, “if you hadn’t been there, they would’ve been unbearable. You’re the reason I have any good memories at all.”

Christine’s smile returned, her tension melting away. How does he always know exactly what to say?

“Like what?” she teased.

“Let’s see… you cutting my hair, visiting the orphanage together, training sessions, and pulling all-nighters dealing with budgets.”

“Budgeting as a good memory? You really are something else, Maxime,” Christine replied with a laugh.

Maxime’s golden eyes glimmered as he recalled the past. “And those rock-hard, day-old market rolls. Somehow, they tasted incredible back then.”

Christine’s heart swelled as she listened to him. Those two years they shared were as precious to her as they clearly were to him.

“So, did you enjoy that time?” Maxime asked.

“Of course,” Christine answered without hesitation. “I got to monopolize you.”

“…You still do,” Maxime quipped.

Christine chuckled, delivering a light punch to his chest. “I’ll work on it. I know I’ve been harsh with Lady Theodora, but suddenly being friendly is… difficult.”

Maxime nodded, knowing this was a step Christine would have to take on her own.

Her punches slowed, and her hand came to rest on Maxime’s chest. Her face was close—closer than he’d realized. Her warm breath brushed against his skin. For a moment, the world seemed to shrink to just the two of them.

“Christine?” he murmured.

“Tell me, Maxime,” she whispered, her voice low and teasing. “Back then, when I came to heal you late at night, what were you thinking?”

Maxime’s mind flashed to those nights: a dim room bathed in moonlight, Christine’s hands on his bare skin. Her presence had been a source of both comfort and confusion.

“When my hands were on your body,” Christine continued, “when our skin touched… were you really just focused on the curse?”

Maxime swallowed hard, his words catching in his throat. Christine’s gaze didn’t waver, her emerald eyes filled with mischief and something deeper.

“…I don’t think it was just the curse,” he finally admitted.

Christine’s lips curved into a soft, satisfied smile. She leaned in, the distance between them disappearing.

Thud.

The door swung open with a loud crash.

“Maxime! Christine!” Dennis’s urgent voice rang out.

Christine’s eye twitched, a vein bulging at her temple. "This better be good…"