Then, the face of the Black Knight was revealed.

His features were noble and elegant, like a classic bird of prey, with piercing, cold eyes. His short, windswept dark-blue hair, combined with his strikingly beautiful face, left the onlookers stunned.

“…A woman?”
A puzzled murmur arose from somewhere in the crowd.

The Black Knight spoke then, his low voice starkly contrasting with his delicate appearance.
“I am Mikhail, a newly appointed knight of the House of Capile.”
“Capile!”
“Then, that must be him!”

The renowned new knight of Marquis Capile—his reputation had slowly spread even to the royal family. Known as a swordsman of unparalleled skill, rivaling even Gelbart, Marquis Capile had never taken on a disciple so quickly before.

However, rumors had circulated recently about a commoner child being taken in and trained as a knight. That story had stemmed from none other than me.

“Hmph, I was curious about the one he boasted about endlessly…”
“Do you like him?” I teased.

Gelbart snorted, grumbling. “Hah. My own disciple couldn’t even compete this time.”

Despite his words, his tone suggested that he, too, was impressed by Mikhail.

Meanwhile, the remaining White Knight lowered his head in silent defeat.

With a flourish, Mikhail unfurled a flag to reveal his allegiance. It bore the eagle emblem of the House of Capile.

As the momentous rain of victory flowers descended, Mikhail snatched one mid-air. Acknowledging his triumph, he rode around the arena once more in a lap of honor.

‘Mikhail.’

And in that moment, I knew the future had shifted once again. How could it not? Euphil had gifted me that diamond, enraging the king and setting this joust in motion.

Originally, I should have met Mikhail again in my palace. Instead, our paths crossed here, in the arena. And then, I noticed something—I realised that Mikhail had been watching me.

‘Was it not my imagination?’
Our earlier eye contact wasn’t a coincidence. He had been looking at me, speaking with that low yet intense tone.

“This honor,” he began.

It was now the custom for the victor to dedicate their glory to a lady of their choice. This could be their master, someone they respected, or even a personal acquaintance.

But this was no ordinary joust. It was the birthday tournament held in honor of the Princess of Crothasone—me. Winning against two knights simultaneously made this a rare and profound honor.

I should have remained a quiet observer, like a flower on a wall, like a butterfly pinned in a case, silently witnessing this event unfold.

But Mikhail defied that narrative. Turning tragedy into comedy, he approached me.

The rhythmic clop-clop of his horse’s hooves on the dirt resonated as he stopped directly in front of me.
“I wish to dedicate this victory to the Princess Myrthi, the host of this tournament.”

With those words, he proclaimed me as the true host. The king’s face twisted into an immediate scowl. Everyone present, every noble in attendance, understood the implications.

It was well known that the king had orchestrated this tournament under my name as a front for his schemes. Mikhail, however, was unfazed, sitting tall on his horse before me.

The knight, whose face was as beautiful as a woman’s, smiled faintly—a smile that erased all traces of his earlier stoicism.

“Have you been well, my fairy?”

Ah, how disarmingly familiar. So this was his way. I responded with a gentle smile, realizing he remembered everything.

He knew that I was Princess Myrthi. He remembered that I, in my youth, had sent him to Marquis Capile’s household. And he hadn’t forgotten the name I’d once used, urging him to persevere—Arthiel, the name of the fairy.

“May I ask for your hand?” he said, bowing politely. To dedicate his honor, he sought my gloved hand, to kiss it as tradition dictated.

I extended my fingers toward his waiting hand. His lips brushed the tip of my gloved fingers as he murmured softly,
“Do you remember when I said I’d throw away any false gold coins for your sake?”
“Yes,” I replied. “I remember.”
“At that time, you told me to help you when the moment came.”

His eyes locked onto mine. A shiver ran down my spine as I nodded.
He continued, “I believed no one should lose their life on your birthday.”

Ah. My lips parted slightly as understanding dawned. That was why he had changed his target mid-charge, redirecting his lance from the White Knight’s helmet to his weapon instead.

‘But my lady, if what you said is true… and if I could see you again,’

Mikhail thrust his lance deep into the ground in a dramatic gesture, a feat requiring both immense strength and flawless technique.

‘I would offer you anything.’

“Sir Mikhail pledges himself to Lady Myrthi, Princess of Crothasone,” he declared solemnly.

I recalled his words from long ago. ‘Is this truly happening?’

Stepping down from his horse with a commanding hiyah!, Mikhail grasped the lance with both hands, bowing deeply before me. Across the fence between us, a knight’s vow was being made.

It was a solemn oath to serve me as his lady, to protect me until the end of his days.

He then took my outstretched hand once more, pressing a respectful kiss to the tips of my fingers. His dark blue lashes cast shadows across my hand.

“…Wow, Waaaaaaah!”
“Mikhail! Mikhail! Myrthi! Myrthi!”

The crowd erupted in cheers, celebrating both the knight and the princess.

I smiled faintly, turning my gaze toward the king seated higher up. His trembling cheeks betrayed his barely contained rage.

Lowering my eyes, I responded in the most refined tone I could muster,
“I accept your vow.”

At that moment, Princess Myrthi gained her first knight.

And so the celebration ended, marked by my victory.