Chapter 4

Having just barely escaped the forest of noble ladies due to Consort Pamela’s entrance, Harzen stepped onto the terrace with a bottle of Atražan—Tane’s traditional liquor. He headed for the usual smoking spot he and Patrick frequented.

Under the clear moonlight, a lady in a purple dress stood by the terrace railing, gazing up at the moon. Of all places, she happened to be right where the cigar box was set.

Harzen placed his mask and the bottle on a wisteria chair. He asked the lady politely if she could move aside. As she turned her head, her golden hair rippled like a cascade of sunlight.

Tears glistened on her pale cheek under the moonlight, but her blue-gray eyes burned with fierce defiance.

Was the lady crying?

Harzen couldn’t bring himself to speak. Just then, the lady swayed like a flower petal swept by the wind.

“I… I can’t breathe…”

Thud.

The mask slipped from her hand and fell.

Harzen caught her by the arm and waist, steadying her. Her face had gone pale, completely drained of color.

He had seen many ladies faint at banquets. Some would starve themselves or lace their corsets too tightly for the sake of appearances and would end up collapsing from shortness of breath.

His three younger sisters often over-tightened their corsets as well.

Whenever they felt faint during a ball, his raven-haired sisters would pull him behind the curtains and ask him to loosen the strings beneath their dresses. He had always found it foolish.

This seemed to be the same situation.

With practiced hands, Harzen reached behind her and untied one of the ribbon knots at the back of her dress. He slipped his hand into the opening and loosened the corset strings.

“Hoo…”