The silence stretched long enough that Alice wondered if the orb had gone dead.
Then Lady Voss finally spoke, her voice quieter now, tinged with steel.
"...You’ll hand him over to us? Just like that?"
Alice smiled faintly. "Do you doubt my word?"
"I doubt anyone’s word when it concerns that man," Voss said flatly. "He humiliated my house before half the empire. A single duchess’s promise isn’t enough. What guarantees do I have that you won’t keep him for yourself?"
Alice’s fingers tapped against the polished table, calm and measured. "Because I have no interest in trophies. I want only one thing—his capture. Once he’s in chains, his fate is of no concern to me."
There was another pause. Then a sharp laugh rang out through the orb.
"Interesting. Very interesting. I see you’ve been burned by him too, Lady Draken. That explains your sudden... eagerness."
Alice’s eyes narrowed at the mocking lilt, but she didn’t rise to it. "My reasons are irrelevant. What matters is whether we have an understanding."
"You want information," Voss said slowly, almost tasting the words. "And in exchange, you’ll deliver him alive, directly into my custody."
"Yes."
"And if your birthday gathering truly becomes a trap for the Phantom Thief, you’ll ensure my people are the ones waiting at the end."
Alice’s lips curved into a blade-sharp smile. "Exactly."
For the first time, Lady Voss’s tone softened—not into warmth, but into something far more dangerous: agreement.
"...Then we have a deal, Lady Draken. I’ll send what I know. But heed this warning—"
Her voice dropped, carrying the weight of a predator that had already been bitten once.
"If you cross me, if you dare use my family’s grudge for your amusement... you will find that the Voss do not forgive twice."
Alice’s reflection in the orb gleamed with cold amusement. "I would expect nothing less from you."
The orb dimmed, the connection cut, leaving Alice alone once more.
Her hand hovered for a moment over the now-dark crystal, her nails pressing against the smooth surface.
Then she whispered, voice low and venomous.
"Facless Imposter... your time is running out."
Her lower lip curled inward, bitten by her teeth in the humiliation of her defeat.
The thought of capturing him and making him pay fueled a sinister light in Alice’s eyes.
Her lip trembled for a moment before she forced it still. Weakness was intolerable, even in private. Yet the memory of that night—the heat of failure, the mocking echo of his escape—seared her as if carved into her skin.
Alice Draken, outplayed.
Her hand tightened around the edge of the desk until the wood groaned in protest. She could still see it clearly: the faceless shadow slipping past her reach, as though laughing at her without a mouth, without a face, without fear.
The humiliation gnawed at her pride like rust eating through steel. She was heir of Draken blood, raised to command armies and outwit courts. Her name alone bent lesser nobles to silence. Yet he—he had made her feel powerless, if only for an instant.
That instant was unforgivable.
"I’ll drag you out of the dark," she whispered to the empty room, her tone more a promise than a threat. "No mask, no silence, no trick of shadows will protect you when I’m finished."
Her thoughts spiraled, sharp and unrelenting.
If she couldn’t unmask him by force, then she would unmask him with cunning. Piece by piece, she would strip away his cover until nothing remained but his raw, vulnerable self—then break him.
Alice leaned back in her chair, exhaling slowly, her eyes glinting with an eerie calm. Hatred alone wouldn’t be enough. She needed patience. Precision. A trap so subtle he would walk into it willingly, convinced it was his own design.
She touched her lips, still stung from her bite, and let the corner of her mouth rise into a thin smile.
"Faceless Imposter... next time, I won’t simply catch you." Her voice sank into a venomous whisper. "I’ll strip you bare and tear your legend apart with my own hands."
----
Julies Evans POV:
Being part of a ducal household meant one thing above all else: nothing was ever simple, and never more so than on the eve of a grand celebration.
Garden maintenance, food preparation, decorations, weapon polishing, guest lists, furniture inspections—the list stretched endlessly, and the servants had been scrambling since before dawn.
For them, it wasn’t just another busy day. It was a day when the highest of nobles would gather under one roof, people so far removed from common life that even a single mistake could ruin a servant’s career. Their nerves showed in their movements, doubling their haste.
And me? As the one supervising them, I was twice as busy as usual.
"Hurry up! Make sure there isn’t a single speck of dust left!" I barked, stepping past a pair of maids furiously polishing the stair rails.
"Vegetables—are they ready yet? They should’ve been chopped and sorted already. Do you want the cooks to curse you later?"
"The hunting equipment’s fine, but let’s not take chances. Stock up on another crate of arrows—better to be safe than short."
Running the household staff was no small burden. Every flaw they left behind would reflect directly on me. Yes, they were the ones breaking their backs, but that didn’t mean I had it easy. Herding them all without collapsing myself? Sometimes I thought it’d be simpler if I had three bodies.
To be fair, some of them were competent. But most... well, most left me wanting to bang my head against the nearest wall.
"Phew, this work never ends," I muttered, pinching the bridge of my nose.
"Come on," a fellow footman chuckled as he passed me, balancing a tray of cutlery. "It’s fine to do just enough. You’re too meticulous for your own good."
I only shrugged, not bothering to argue. "There’s no such thing as ’just enough.’ It’s Lady Alice’s birthday. At least the parts I’m responsible for will be perfect."
I rolled the guest list in my hand, already shifting my thoughts ahead. "Let’s see... most of it’s under control now. Just the garden check left, and then..." A faint smirk tugged at my lips. "Verren’s condition."
The snow lion pup had a way of making his needs known—if he was hungry, he’d tug at my hem with those sharp little teeth until I gave in.
"Honestly," I muttered as I pictured him lounging like royalty in Alice’s chambers, "that creature’s life is downright unfair. While I’m running around losing my mind..."
My thoughts darkened further. Not only would Verren be dining on the most luxurious food set aside for Alice’s birthday, but he’d also be spoiled rotten by the young noble guests. They’d see him, squeal about how adorable he was, and shower him with treats.
Meanwhile, I’d be running in circles, scolding servants and double-checking table placements.
"The life of a dog is better than mine," I sighed under my breath, shaking my head. "Seriously."
I left the kitchens behind and stepped into the hallway, the noise of pots clattering and orders being shouted fading into a dull hum. The air here was calmer, scented faintly with polish and the flowers the maids had carried in earlier.
Calm didn’t mean safe, though. A single oversight could slip past if I relaxed now, and the last thing I needed was Alice catching me slacking. Her gaze alone was enough to freeze a man in place—and she didn’t miss details.
I adjusted my cuffs and kept moving.
The garden came first. It was already manicured to near-perfection, but nobles had sharp eyes and sharper tongues. A single wilted rose or uneven hedge could start a chain of whispers that ended in someone’s dismissal.
"Trim that edge again," I said, pointing to a corner where a gardener had left the hedge just slightly too high. He sighed but got to work. I crouched by the flowerbed myself, brushing a stray leaf off the gravel path. Perfect wasn’t optional here.
Next, the weapons display. Alice wanted it polished and set out—hunting rifles, lances, bows. A subtle reminder to the guests that this was the Frost Duchy, not some gilded southern estate where nobles grew fat on wine and gossip.
The quartermaster beamed as he showed me the racks. I only nodded, running my finger along one of the blades. Clean. Good. Still, I leaned in. "Oil the hilts again. I don’t care if it’s the third time. I want them gleaming."
The man bit back a groan. I didn’t blame him—but better his hand cramps than Alice’s displeasure.
By the time I finished that round, my head felt stuffed with to-do lists.
"...Now, for the real headache," I muttered as I climbed the stairs toward Alice’s quarters.
Verren.
That little snow lion was probably curled up on the finest rug in the duchy right now, belly full, waiting for someone—usually me—to give him attention. Spoiled didn’t even begin to cover it.
I opened the door to my own chamber first, intending to grab a short breather before checking on him. But the moment I stepped inside—
—thump.
Something heavy hit my leg.
"...You again?"
Sure enough, Verren was there, his icy-blue eyes blinking up at me. He must’ve slipped in while the maids were airing the room. A soft growl rumbled from his throat as he pawed at my trousers.
Hungry, no doubt.
"You know," I said, scooping him up with a grunt—he was definitely heavier than last week—"you’re the only one in this mansion who doesn’t care about Alice’s birthday."
He licked my chin in response, smug as ever.
"Figures. Must be nice, living like royalty while I’m running myself ragged."
Still, as his warmth settled against me, some of the weight in my shoulders lifted. For all his attitude, the little beast had that effect—filling the silence, grounding me in a way I couldn’t quite explain.
"Fine," I sighed, scratching behind his ear as he purred like a massive cat. "Let’s get you fed. Again."