The spacious tent was filled with all manner of flowers and fruit, despite the winter season. The noblewomen, their ladies-in-waiting, and the finely dressed unmarried young ladies who had arrived earlier were each occupying their own couches. Roxana felt a sense of bewilderment at the sight of faces left unmasked—a common enough occurrence here, unlike outside—and Hans offered an explanation.
"You may remove your mask here. It is the only space where it is permitted."
"I see."
It felt as though she could finally breathe. If she removed her mask in a corner, it would be fine. A smile touched Roxana’s face.
"Then I shall stand outside. Please call for me whenever you need anything. Or for your maid."
With Curtis absent, the person she could rely on most was the Deputy Commander, Hans. At first, she had little reason to speak with him, as he had always stood behind Greg, who quietly radiated hostility, but as they exchanged words little by little, she found him to be kinder and more courteous than she had expected.
"Thank you for your consideration, Sir Hans."
"It is nothing."
After responding to her warm gratitude with a smile, Hans exited the tent.
Roxana ventured further inside and discovered an empty couch in a corner. She walked over and sat down immediately. Just as she was about to remove her mask to rest, someone spoke to her.
"May I sit here as well?"
"Oh. Of course."
Roxana smiled faintly and looked up. The woman who had addressed her was wearing a mouse-shaped mask. Since it was a mask worn by courtiers and was the most common one here, she could not tell who it was. Not that she would recognize them even if she could see their face.
Roxana stood up awkwardly and shifted over to make room.
"Please, sit."
"Thank you."
The woman, who had plopped down into the seat next to her, suddenly took an interest in Roxana’s mask.
"My, it is quite intricately made. It looks like a rather high-end piece."
"Is that so? I don't know much about such things."
The woman reached out, removed Roxana’s mask, and examined it here and there as if admiring a work of art.
"Which artisan did you commission this from?"
"I’m afraid I don't know that, either."
Roxana offered an embarrassed smile and held out her hand. It was a gesture meant to ask for the mask back, but what returned was a shrill voice.
"Oh my, how could you not know? Ladies commission artisans directly... and this is a rather high-end piece, at that."
"Is it?"
"Of course. If that isn't the case, then usually..."
"..."
"It belongs to the mistress of a wealthy man."
The woman drew out the end of her sentence, blatantly scanning Roxana from head to toe. Her gaze was as if she were putting a price tag on her.
The sudden commotion caused the women standing nearby to begin glancing at Roxana with strange expressions one by one.
"I should be going now."
She had not wanted this kind of attention. Feeling uncomfortable from the hostility radiating from the woman in the mouse mask, Roxana reached out to retrieve her mask. However, instead of returning it, the woman hid the mask behind her back and asked abruptly.
"What is your name?"
"Must I tell you? I heard that the unwritten rule of the Carnival is that we do not reveal our identities, nor do we seek to know them."
"An unwritten rule? You use such difficult words for a mistress."
The next moment, the woman let out a snicker and threw the mask onto the floor, stepping on it.
"Pick it up, put it back on, and leave. Like the vulgar mistress you are."
The surroundings grew noisy in an instant due to the sudden disturbance. Some of the voices whispered loudly, as if wanting to be heard.
"A mistress? A mistress is here?"
"To think she would follow him all the way to the Royal Castle without a shred of shame."
"The air in this place is going to be tainted."
Under the barrage of criticism, stinging gazes poured onto one spot. Roxana, receiving their contempt like sharp blades, bowed her head.
Thinking she was terrified, the woman in the mouse mask pressed her advantage triumphantly.
"Are you deaf? I told you to leave at once!"
Roxana took a deep breath and slowly lifted her bowed head.
"Have you said all you wanted to say?"
It was the opponent who was taken aback by the face she encountered. Roxana’s face, which they had expected to be flushed red or brimming with tears, was expressionless.
"Since it seems you are finished, let me tell you this."
At the words that followed, a crack appeared in the woman’s composure.
"I am not a mistress."
That could not be. The frozen woman managed to curl her lips upward.
"Ha. What kind of nonsense are you spouting now?"
Her tone was nonchalant, but the end of her sentence was trembling. Roxana lied without changing her expression in the slightest.
"It is the truth. This mask is actually an heirloom passed down from my great-grandmother. I have kept it carefully, so it looks new, but it was actually made a very long time ago, so I do not know which artisan crafted it."
"W-what did you say?"
At the same time, the atmosphere shifted. The stinging gazes of the women watching were now directed at the woman in the mouse mask.
"So you were accusing her of being a mistress without any evidence?"
"Goodness, there are things you say and things you don't."
As the criticism grew louder, the woman clenched and unclenched her fists. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. She hadn't anticipated this situation. Among the various gazes watching, she made eye contact with one mask. Her mouth went dry at the cold face. Her rebuttal spilled out impulsively from her anxiety.
"That’s not it! You *are* a mistress!"
"Yes. That is correct."
Roxana nodded, admitting it cleanly when the woman had expected her to resist. The tent grew restless again as the atmosphere shifted once more.
Having regained the upper hand, the woman criticized Roxana in a loud voice.
"Seeing you lie so brazenly, you really are a mistress."
"Since I am already being brazen, let me ask you one thing."
Roxana, brushing back her red hair, continued softly.
"You were so certain in calling me a mistress twice—you must be sure of whose mistress I am, right? Surely you aren't just making accusations based on this one mask."
"Th-that is..."
She would have to be a madwoman to say no in this situation. While the woman was left speechless, Roxana let out a small sigh.
"If that is the case, then this method is honestly quite poor."
"W-what on earth are you saying?"
The flabbergasted woman stammered. In the meantime, Roxana, still masked, brushed herself off and stood up.
"If you want to win his heart, it is better to approach him directly. What I mean is, doing this to me is completely meaningless."
It was advice delivered with such sincerity that it was hard to believe it was sarcasm. The woman’s face grew even more inflamed at the sight of a face that appeared entirely devoid of malice. As she suddenly became the person who had picked a fight out of low-class jealousy, snickers could be heard from all around.
The woman, her face turning beet red, followed her up and was just about to grab Roxana’s shoulder when—
"Excuse me for a moment!"
*Slap.*
The woman’s head snapped to the side in front of everyone. Roxana’s eyes widened at the loud sound. Everyone held their breath at the intriguing situation that followed.
The person who had slapped the woman’s cheek slowly removed her mask. Everyone bowed their heads at the revealed identity. Harold, her brow furrowed deeply, clicked her tongue.
"I never imagined I would witness such rudeness right before my eyes."
"I-I am sorry, Your Highness."
The woman, who had picked up her dropped mask, knelt down.
"To think you are a courtier. And my own maid, at that? Goodness."
The Princess clicked her tongue and waved her hand.
"I do not wish to see you again. Withdraw."
At the cold dismissal, the woman—no, the maid—clutched her reddened cheek and fled the tent as if running away. Once the commotion settled, the Princess turned her head and spoke to Roxana.
"I apologize for the earlier disturbance. Allow me to apologize on their behalf."
"…It is nothing. I am fine."
"I would like to treat you to tea as an apology."
Roxana, who had bowed her head deeply, refused in a low voice.
"I am sorry, but that would be difficult. I must return shortly."
Harold raised an eyebrow at the polite refusal. Her plan had gone awry. This woman was not as easy to handle as she had thought.
"Are you saying you will not accept my apology?"
Despite the words of apology, her voice was sharp, and Roxana lowered her eyes. There was a clear difference in status between them. Refusing repeatedly was not only bad in the eyes of others, but it was also disrespectful. Just as Roxana was about to nod in resignation—
"So you were here."
A hand reached out from behind her, wrapping around her waist, while the other hand covered the back of her hand and interlaced their fingers. Gasps could be heard from all around. The Princess, gritting her teeth, stared at the man.
"…Margrave."
Like a broken wooden doll, Roxana also stiffened as she looked up. Curtis, who had approached without a sound, stood firmly behind her. He whispered, his breath hot against her.
"I found you."
While a frozen Roxana fought the urge to reach out and stroke his sharp jawline, gazes mixed with curiosity, envy, and jealousy were pinned upon her.
Among them, the only one harboring pure rage was the Princess. Curtis smiled thinly as he watched her distorted face.
"I apologize, but I must decline the offer. My mistress has work to do. A great deal of it, at that."
"How disrespectful!"
The nanny, horrified by the clear implication of his words, attempted to step forward. Harold, raising a hand to stop her, replied with forced composure.
"This is a place for ladies. I believe men are forbidden from entering."
"Is that so? I am afraid I am not well-versed in etiquette."
Curtis, still holding Roxana’s interlaced hand, stared straight at the Princess and pressed a kiss to the back of his mistress’s hand.
At the same time, *slip*. Roxana’s sleeve slid down. As the faint bite marks engraved on the inside of her arm were revealed, the faces of those watching flushed deep red. With a gaze that seemed to imply something much deeper, a few noblewomen fanned themselves rapidly, as if trying to cool the heat. The Princess sneered through her teeth.
"I... know that you are unaccustomed to court etiquette, Margrave, having spent so long away as a mercenary."
"Thank you for your understanding. Then."
Curtis responded to the cold sarcasm with a polite farewell, then scooped Roxana up into his arms in one motion. And before a startled Roxana could even struggle, he walked away with swift strides.
My body swayed with Curtis’s stride. I wanted to look up at his face, but I knew what his expression would be without even seeing it. Every nerve in my body sensed his quiet fury.
"Put me down. I can walk."
"Don't bluff. Your ankle is still hurting."
Ignoring my refusal, he sat me onto the saddle of the horse he had prepared. Then, he addressed Hans, who was waiting nearby.
"Cancel all my remaining appointments for today."
"Understood. I will cover for your absence."
Curtis kicked the horse’s flanks and snapped the reins. The horse snorted and set off toward the royal castle, which stood a short distance away. I shifted my gaze from the arm wrapped around my waist to his hand gripping the reins. He was gripping them so tightly that the tendons stood out. I didn't understand his anger. But I couldn't just let this suffocating situation continue indefinitely. After struggling to find the right words for a long moment, I finally parted my lips.
"Nothing happened."
"Nothing happened, you say..."
It was a sentence I had barely managed to force out, but a cold, mocking repetition returned to me. I found myself shrinking back instinctively.
"I..."
Curtis looked down at the top of my head. He was waiting to see what else I would try to stammer out. At the words that followed, he gritted his teeth.
"I have no intention of getting in the way between you and the Princess."
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