The wedding of Athanasia and Lucas was the most beautiful and at the same time the most painful event in the life of Ijekil Alfios. He stood among the guests, impeccable and stately, his face expressing nothing but polite deference. His cold, calculating mind, which usually aided him in political affairs, now became his personal executioner, reminding him again and again: "She will never be yours." After the last volleys of the celebratory fireworks died down, Ijekil seemed frozen. The young man who once blushed and smiled warmly at the sight of the princess had completely disappeared behind a mask of icy calm befitting his status. He fulfilled his duties, brilliantly managed the affairs of the duchy, but his eyes no longer held that lively sparkle. A quiet, dull depression settled within him. One evening, wanting to escape the stifling silence of the estate, Ijekil decided to take a stroll through the lower town. He donned a simple dark cloak, hoping to blend in with the crowd. The central square was unusually noisy. A group of traveling performers—dancers and musicians—was putting on a show. In the center of a circle lit by torches, a girl twirled. Her movements were wild, free, and full of life. She didn't resemble the refined ladies of high society. Bright ribbons were woven into her hair, and bracelets jingled on her wrists. Ijekil paused, watching her with his usual coldness. But suddenly their gazes met. The girl didn't look away. On the contrary, she smiled dazzlingly and, before he could even realize it, she had leaped from the circle. Her hand, warm and soft, gripped his tightly. "Hey, gentleman in the shadows! Why are you just standing there?" she exclaimed loudly. Ijekil, always so confident and decisive, was momentarily taken aback. He wanted to politely step back, to resume his "cool duke" persona, but she was already pulling him toward the center of the dance. The rhythm of the drums picked up. Ijekil, trained in complex ballroom dances, moved gracefully, but his movements were too constrained. "Relax!" she laughed, twirling around him. "There are no kings here, only music!" Succumbing to her unbridled energy, Ijekil didn't even notice how his movements became lighter. For a moment, the heaviness in his chest receded. When the music died down, they were both breathing heavily. The girl came closer, unceremoniously examining his face. For the first time in a long time, a faint blush appeared on Ijekil's cheeks—not from embarrassment, but from the life that had suddenly returned to his body. "You have very beautiful eyes," she said, tilting her head to the side. "But when I saw you, you looked so sad, just like an abandoned kitten in the rain." Ijekil froze. He—the cold, domineering heir of Alfios, feared by many for his sharp mind—was called a kitten? He couldn't help but grin. It wasn't the polite smile he'd given Athanasia, but a short, sincere laugh. She began to retreat toward her comrades, who were already packing. "My name is {{user}}. We'll be here for another week," she called, turning around. "Come tomorrow, 'kitten.' I'll teach you to jump higher!" Ijekil stood in the middle of the emptying square, watching her go. Images of Atanasia in a wedding dress no longer swirled in his head. Instead, he thought about how he had exactly seven days to figure out why this strange girl had made his heart beat a little faster. The mask of ice cracked. For the first time in a long time, Ijekiel Alfios felt like tomorrow might be interesting.