Caelith stepped aside slightly, avoiding the hand Yvaine extended toward her.
"You wished to see me. Is there something you require?"
For a fleeting moment, displeasure flickered across Yvaine's eyes—but it vanished just as quickly.
She lifted a hand and lightly touched the hairpin at her temple with deliberate grace.
"A few days ago, our lord sent me some gifts. Since you are his lawful wife, I thought you ought to see them."
At once, Charlotte stepped forward carrying a polished wooden box.
She placed it upon the garden table and opened the lid with a careful gesture.
Inside lay several exquisite hair ornaments, their gold settings gleaming around luminous pearls and gemstones. Beside them were two bolts of fine cloud brocade—luxurious fabrics rarely seen even among the nobility of the capital.
Dolly's brows knitted in anger at the sight. She stepped forward, clearly ready to argue on her mistress's behalf.
But Caelith lifted a hand and stopped her.
Yvaine selected a hairpin from the box, holding it delicately between her fingers.
"This one was specially commissioned by our lord from the finest workshop in the capital," she said sweetly. "Just this single South Sea pearl took them ages to find."
"If you like it, that is all that matters," Caelith replied evenly.
She knew perfectly well that Yvaine had called her here merely to flaunt these things before her—but the display stirred no interest in her at all.
"This brocade came recently as tribute from the Kingdom of Miaelin," Yvaine continued, glancing at the folded silk. "And he even remembered how fond I am of peonies. Truly, that is rare."
The words sounded like a simple remark—but each phrase carried an unmistakable implication: that Dorian Valehart remembered Yvaine's preferences far more attentively than those of his own wife.
Yvaine had expected Caelith to show jealousy—perhaps even to lose her composure and quarrel. That would have allowed her to strike at Caelith's pride.
Yet Caelith's face remained calm, utterly untouched by envy.
"Indeed," Caelith said quietly, her tone composed. "They are very finely made."
Yvaine did not believe that Caelith truly felt nothing.
"If you like these ornaments, dear sister," she said with a faint smile, "I could mention it to Lord Valehart. Perhaps he would have another hairpin crafted for you—exactly the same as mine."
The words sounded generous, yet their meaning was cruel: Dorian Valehart's attention was fixed upon her. If Caelith wished for the same, she would have to rely on Yvaine to speak for her.
"There is no need," Caelith replied calmly. "The silks and ornaments in my chambers are more than sufficient. Since you like these so much, sister, you should keep them well—and not waste Lord Valehart's thoughtfulness."
Seeing Caelith so utterly unmoved, Yvaine's anger flared.
She refused to accept defeat so easily.
"Tell me, dear sister," Yvaine said slowly, her gaze sharp, "why do you suppose our lord gave me these things? Could it be that he intends to bring me into the Valehart household as an official mistress?"
She believed that no matter how composed Caelith might appear, she could not possibly tolerate another woman entering the household openly. If Caelith lost even a trace of composure, then Yvaine would have won.
Yet Caelith's eyes showed not the slightest flicker of surprise.
"How should I know the heir's thoughts?" she answered coolly. "If you wish to understand them, you should ask him yourself. Why trouble me with the question?"
Ever since that night—since hearing those words through the stone wall—Caelith felt nothing toward Dorian but disgust. If he truly wished to bring Yvaine into the household, she would gladly relinquish the title of Lady Valehart.
Yvaine let out a cold laugh.
She had schemed and struggled to compete with Caelith for Dorian's favor, yet in Caelith's eyes the entire matter seemed utterly insignificant.
The humiliation burned.
For a moment, she nearly overturned the table in fury, but she restrained herself with great effort.
"It seems I will soon be joining the Valehart household," Yvaine said darkly.
"Then congratulations, sister," Caelith replied without the slightest change in expression.
"You—!" Yvaine clenched her handkerchief tightly, anger blazing in her eyes. For a moment, she seemed ready to rise and strike Caelith across the face.
Seeing her mistress's expression turning dangerous, Charlotte hurried forward.
"My lady, perhaps you should have some tea."
But Yvaine slapped the girl's hand aside. The teacup slipped from Charlotte's grasp and shattered upon the ground.
"Do you truly not care at all?" Yvaine demanded again.
Caelith looked at her steadily.
"Your question is strange. If Lord Valehart wishes to marry someone new, he may do as he pleases. What does that have to do with me?"
Yvaine's fists tightened.
"You are remarkably generous, my dear sister."
"Thank you for the compliment," Caelith replied with a small inclination of her head.
Seeing Yvaine trembling with barely suppressed rage, Dolly stepped forward quietly and murmured to Caelith:
"My lady has only just returned to the estate. Perhaps it would be best to return to your courtyard and rest."