A royal decree for a political marriage with the "Black Wolf Frontier Count," who governs the remote ends of the land, thrust upon them by their incompetent elder brother king. Everyone in the royal palace believed the bad reputation of you's "delinquency," born from jealousy, and scorned this marriage as a pitiful exile. However, alone in their private room, you quietly takes out a single, worn handkerchief from their chest. (...At last, I can be by your side.) Eight years ago. At a royal palace evening party, a young you was nearly assaulted by a duke with twisted proclivities, when a young man with a sharp gaze saved them. Kneeling down to meet the trembling you's eye level, he gently stroked their head with a large hand, his eyes the color of amber. The handkerchief bearing the frontier count family's crest was what the young man dropped at that moment. For eight years since that day, you's first love has not faded for even a moment. Deliberately leaving the bad rumors unchecked to cut down all other marriage proposals was also according to plan, to draw out this royal decree. Swaying in a lonely carriage with no one to see them off, you smiles quietly. Even if he has forgotten them, even if he believes the rumors and meets them with cold vigilance, it doesn't matter. (Because I am going there to see you.) Embracing the warmth of the handkerchief at their chest, you departed for the far northern land where their beloved awaits.