Hair peeking out from under the mask seemed brown at first glance.
"The lighting is dim, so I can't be sure," I thought.
Their solid physique hinted they might be a knight…
If my guesses were correct, only one major figure could meet both criteria—
"Excuse me, miss, is this a good time for you?"
"Oh, yes!"
A refined voice abruptly broke through my thoughts.
Before me stood a woman wearing a bird-beak mask and holding a tray. Her elegant black-feathered dress, enveloping her completely, was enough to indicate she wasn't just an ordinary staff member.
"Are you Madame Abigail? The one who sent me the letter?"
"I'm honored you recognize me. This way, please—Lady Witch, do greet our guest."
Lady Witch turned out to be a massive gray-haired dog. The animal, seemingly capable of fending off a bull, propped its paws on the back of a chair, sniffed my face briefly, and then backed away.
"She remembers every guest. My remarkable assistant," Madame Abigail said with a smile.
A dog in the salon? This place was looking better and better.
On the tray she set down before me were not just a cup of apple tea but also a veil-attached tiara. Likely, it was meant to conceal the face while drinking—a thoughtful touch.
The apple tea was extraordinary, its flavor instantly washing away the grim feelings from earlier.
"Wow, this is delicious!"
She offered a sweeter consolation than the tea itself.
"I've expelled those previous guests from the salon's list. I'll also make efforts to ensure you don't encounter them elsewhere. Rest assured."
"Ensuring we don't meet outside, too? Is that even possible?"
"It's all about using the information that flows through here. For instance, tarnishing their reputations with rumors to make them unwelcome at any party."
Got it. Like preparing for exams: focus on your core subjects.
Simple enough.
"Back to the main topic. Do you have any questions about the salon?"
Your identity, of course!
…I held back. Trying to unmask her would undoubtedly ruin my life.
"She doesn't seem like someone to trifle with, even from a few words exchanged."
I had briefly suspected that Madame Abigail might be Natalie. After all, the timing of my sister sending me accessories and a dress, paired with the invitation's arrival, had been suspiciously perfect.
But that hypothesis crumbled the moment I met Madame Abigail.
She was shorter than my sister and had a completely different voice. Judging by her tone, she was probably in her forties. It was hard to gauge more because of how the dress hid her figure…
"You seem curious about my identity," she noted.
"Ahem! I'm sorry. You're right."
"Everyone is. It's human nature."
Thankfully, she didn't seem angry; her voice carried a hint of amusement.
"But observing me is a waste of your time. Lady, choose your next question wisely."
"Ahem. Then—" I asked what intrigued me most.
"I heard that winning wagers here can grant a wish. How does that work?"
"Each time you win a wager, you collect chips. At the end of the social season, the person with the most chips has their wish granted. Of course, the wish must pertain to the social circle, and revealing my identity is off-limits."
"That's straightforward."
"You can also earn multiple chips depending on the stakes of the bet. There are plenty of opportunities, so feel free to try."
Simple enough. Whether I'd return here again was another matter.
Seeing no further questions, Madame Abigail rose from her seat.
"Once again, welcome to the salon. I hope to see you again."
"I hope so too."
"Oh, I'm not just saying that," she added, as if seeing through me.
"I mentioned earlier, didn't I? Through the information exchanged here, I grant my clients' wishes. While I can't move emotions, I can change quite a lot."
"…"
"That means you, with your sharp instincts for spotting this season's biggest players, also have a chance to gather and use information."
"I'm not interested in that!"
"Such modesty," she chuckled softly behind the mask.
"Yet here you are, wearing a bold dress you wouldn't ordinarily dare to wear, thanks to the anonymity of the mask."
"…"
"In this land of opportunity, why not explore a new side of yourself? And should you encounter another impertinent person, setting aside decorum for a slap might be rather amusing."
With that, the black dress swept away.
Watching her retreating figure, as graceful as a waterfall under moonlight, I felt my heart race. Partly from the thrill of conversing with an enigmatic figure…
"Wearing a bold dress you wouldn't ordinarily dare to wear…"
That's right. All my life, I had been a reserved lady. The kind of person who couldn't even dream of wearing an off-shoulder dress or slapping a harasser.
Even at the library, my retort to unruly patrons had been limited to a meek, "If this continues, I'll call the police."
The land of opportunity. A new self.
Her words lingered in my mind.
No longer just Lady Dory Redfield, valued solely as Tristan's betrothed…
Before I realized it, my gaze had wandered to the man in the skull mask at the bar. He was laughing and chatting with other patrons, but when he noticed my stare, he waved in my direction.
What now? Even with the mask, he looked handsome—
"No! What am I doing? I have a fiancé!"
This was bad. At this rate, I'd sink to Tristan's level!
Just the thought gave me goosebumps. Becoming comparable to him? Never.
I hastily approached the nearest table to distract myself.
"What's this game? A wager or information?"
"This is a social betting table. Care to place a wager? The current topic is this—"
Who will be the first dance partners of the season's top players at the May palace ball?
At the top of the list of key figures were familiar names: Arthur Albion and Maria Meyer.
People were marking lines on their papers as if assembling a winning streak betting slip for horse racing.
"I'll bet on the Marquis' daughter snatching the first dance with Arthur."
"I hear the young duke is shy around strangers. Wouldn't he pair well with Maria?"
"They say they haven't even exchanged introductions. I bet Tristan will go after Maria again this time."
Someone nearby shook their head.
"But it's a royal ball. Surely he wouldn't approach a woman other than his fiancée in front of the queen?"
"True enough."
One by one, people wrote their predictions on notes and placed them on the table. My note ended up on top.
What I wrote was—
"…Maria and Tristan?"
"Yes."
"Didn't you hear what I just said? Or do you distrust His Highness that much?"
"In a way, it's a consistent kind of trust."
"Haha! Fair enough. No takebacks now."
An attendant collected the betting slips. Since I was the only one who wagered on Maria and Tristan, I was told that if my prediction came true, I would earn two chips.
Not bad, huh?
…If this keeps up, I might even win the wish ticket.
I don't have any pressing wishes at the moment, but—
"You never know when it might come in handy."
For instance, in case Tristan continues to dislike me until the end of the season.
"Madam Abigail did say she couldn't influence emotions… In that case, I'll ask her to introduce me to another man."
Of course, it'd be best if Tristan came to his senses.
Not because I particularly like him or anything, but because I'd rather not overthink it.
I just want a stable life.
The memory of moving back and forth between my divorced parents' houses resurfaces. Eventually, I lost contact with both of them. After that, I started living alone and cycling through jobs…
I don't want to go through that kind of unstable life ever again.
Tristan.
Do whatever you want for now.
I don't expect much from you. Just follow the original story's course.
***
9 PM, Royal Palace
Tristan was carefully reading through the documents he had obtained not only through messengers but also via maids and servants.
Society newsletters, political and economic journals, and even cheap tabloids costing no more than a coin—each from different walks of life, but all shared one topic in common:
The comet-like appearance of a man in the capital, Arthur Albion.
The young duke's favorite dishes from royal balls were revealed!
Approaching marriageable age, the young duke's stunning appearance sparks romantic dreams in many ladies. Yet, his choice of partner will likely hinge on political advantages, as this magazine analyzes prospective noble families…
Shocking! Secrets of the northern heartthrob! While perfect on the surface, he surprisingly hasn't experienced "this" compared to his father?!
"This," what?
Tristan flipped the page of the trashy tabloid.
He hasn't… married yet!
…I want to shut this paper down.
Deep breaths. Shutting down newspapers is the act of tyrants. Tristan suppressed his irritation and crumpled the low-quality tabloid.
Just then, there was a knock on the door followed by a quiet voice.
"Your Highness, I've brought the report you requested. May I come in?"
"Hold on!"
Tristan hastily swept the articles about Arthur off the desk with his sleeve. They scattered to the floor and slid under the desk.
The subordinate who entered laid the documents on the desk.
"This is the fiscal, administrative, and defense report for the 'Blue Atrium' estate for the past year. It only arrived this evening."
"Late as usual. That old man seems to be causing trouble from the grave."
The elderly lord of the northeastern estate "Blue Atrium" had no heir. It was widely expected—by Tristan himself included—that the land would revert to the royal family, who would likely grant it to a less prominent third party.
Even so, it didn't hurt to be prepared.
As Tristan grasped the documents, the subordinate noticed the bundle of papers on the floor.
"Your Highness, what are these papers…"
"Ah, those—"
Before Tristan could stop him, the subordinate read the headline of the scattered newsletter. Fortunately, it wasn't the trashy tabloid.
"You've even been reviewing society gossip about Arthur Albion?"
"Ahem! That's…"
Tristan scrambled to think of an excuse. He couldn't exactly admit that his overly virtuous fiancée suddenly told him to "live freely," only to then ogle a man who burst onto the scene like a comet.
Even Tristan himself frequently asked, "Am I really that bothered by my boring fiancée and this northern country bumpkin?" at least ten times a day.
However, it seemed his subordinate had already drawn his own conclusion.
"Impressive, Your Highness. You've already grasped the rumors and are looking further ahead."