In the imperial capital, not far from the main avenue frequented by nobles…

There stood a flower shop whose name was fairly well known for its beauty and meticulous care.

The flowers within were always fresh, as though untouched by time, arranged with a grace that made anyone pause, even if only for a moment, to admire them. Its reputation was so esteemed that even the Queen herself had once paid a visit—enjoying the fragrance of the blooms while sipping tea brewed from carefully chosen petals.

Every customer who waited would be offered warm floral tea, served freely, as a gesture of hospitality—and perhaps, as a reminder that beauty is never born of haste.

It was there that Duke Evander Shawn first arrived. At first, merely as an adipate in need of flowers for official matters of the empire. Yet his visits did not end at one or two. Day after day, his steps returned to the wooden floor of the shop, his presence calm, his demeanor professional, always courteous—yet slowly, something began to change.

He started to linger a little longer. His gaze often lingered on small details—the fingers arranging petals, the gentle steam rising from the tea, the soft stillness that could only be found in that place.

And at some point, without either of them quite noticing when it began, a small habit was formed—each time he was about to leave, Duke Evander would stand before the display window, incline his head slightly, and say,

“It seems this tie is never quite right when I fasten it myself,” he said quietly.

He looked into her eyes,

“My Lady, would you help me straighten my tie again today?” he asked.