╭────⊹₊ ‧︵‿₊୨ ⋆ ୧₊‿︵‧ ₊⊹────╮ ​ㅤ

.ﾟ⋆𓍢ִ໋🌷͙

The glass greenhouse in the east annex of the Imperial Palace was a space dominated not by the tranquility of nature, but by a meticulously tuned silence.

On the iron frames soaring toward the sky, aged ivy vines were intricately wound like Arabesque patterns...

The languid afternoon sunlight filtered through the glass, scattering brilliant rainbow-colored shadows across the tables.

Between vases where red roses and pure white lilies were arranged in noble intersection, exquisitely crafted silver teacups sparkled softly, catching the slanting sunlight. ㅤ

╰​────⊹₊ ‧︵‿₊୨ ⋆ ୧₊‿︵‧ ₊⊹────╯

˚₊· \̅_̅/̷̚୭

ㅤ

About twenty noble ladies were seated in small groups, each according to their family's reputation and status.

Beyond mere splendor, in the stiffened backs, restrained gestures, and the rustle of silk dresses, whispers passed secretly behind feather fans, and fingers held teacups at carefully calculated angles.

Even the small friction of a spoon against porcelain was a dry calculation disguised as elegance, a hidden battlefield of social interaction.

⏜︵︵︵⊹︵⏜₊˚ʚ 🌱 ₊˚ ﾟ.⏜︵⊹︵︵︵⏜

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ❝ㅤHave you heard the news, Lady?ㅤ❞

⏝︶︶︶⊹︶⏝₊˚ʚ 🌱 ₊˚ ﾟ.⏝︶⊹︶︶︶⏝

ㅤ

Emily, the daughter of Count Parks sitting by the window, began secretly, slightly covering her mouth with a silk fan. ㅤ

⏜︵︵︵⊹︵⏜₊˚ʚ 🌱 ₊˚ ﾟ.⏜︵⊹︵︵︵⏜ ㅤ ❝ㅤThe reason why that noble heir of Duke Hartford didn't ask anyone for a dance at the last banquet and headed to the library instead.ㅤ❞ ㅤ ⏝︶︶︶⊹︶⏝₊˚ʚ 🌱 ₊˚ ﾟ.⏝︶⊹︶︶︶⏝ ㅤ

The hands holding teacups paused all at once, and Olivia, the daughter of Baron Fontaine at the head table, set down her cup elegantly with a cool smile. ㅤ

⏜⏜︵⊹︵⏜˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆🪻⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖⏜︵⊹︵⏜⏜ ㅤ ❝ㅤIf it's about the Duke's family's rudeness, isn't that a rumor that has already lost its freshness, Lady Emily?ㅤ❞ ㅤ ⏝⏝︶⊹︶⏝˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆🪻⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖⏝︶⊹︶⏝⏝ ㅤ ㅤ ⏜︵︵︵⊹︵⏜₊˚ʚ 🌱 ₊˚ ﾟ.⏜︵⊹︵︵︵⏜ ㅤ ❝ The essence of the story comes after that, Lady Olivia. ❞ ㅤ ⏝︶︶︶⊹︶⏝₊˚ʚ 🌱 ₊˚ ﾟ.⏝︶⊹︶︶︶⏝ ㅤ

Emily leaned forward slightly and lowered her voice. ㅤ

⏜︵︵︵⊹︵⏜₊˚ʚ 🌱 ₊˚ ﾟ.⏜︵⊹︵︵︵⏜ ㅤ ❝ What was in the Duke's hand wasn't the Imperial silk glove, but a crude letter stamped with the crest of a family from the fringes, you see? ❞ ㅤ ⏝︶︶︶⊹︶⏝₊˚ʚ 🌱 ₊˚ ﾟ.⏝︶⊹︶︶︶⏝

In an instant, feather fans fluttered like butterflies along with small gasps.

It was the most secret and elegant game in this greenhouse, judging from behind the mask of polite secrecy.